Archive of Our Own

Chan dropped his bag on the floor before kicking off his shoes. He didn't even bother to turn on the lights, knowing his apartment was exactly the same as it was when he left around twelve hours before. 

He maneuvered around the couch before face-planting on it, completely limp. He moved only when breathing against the fabric turned unbearable. 

From this position, he had a privileged view of his living room. His coffee table looked exactly the same as the day he bought it. The only things on top of it were a stack of magazines that he didn't have recollection of picking, probably tastefully left there to give a sense of, well, life. 

Something was stabbing him below the ribs, and he moved around to retrieve the remote of his TV, a brand new one that barely hit the market a month or so before. He didn't even know what half the buttons did. The remote made a soft thud when it hit the carpet. 

He laid on his back, fishing his phone out of his pocket. He scanned through his notifications, quickly swiping a few emails from his manager with his schedule for the next week and some scripts he had to check. He dismissed Jeonghan's invitation for a late bite, giving the excuse that he was tired from shootings. Then he turned off his phone, killing the blueish light and letting himself be engulfed again by the darkness in a place that was barely his. 

The sun was barely a promise of orange on the horizon when Chan rolled onto a studio. He had managed to steal a few more blinks of sleep lulled by the moving car. His stylist clicked her tongue when he sat on her chair, assessing the bags under his eyes and his grayish skin. 

“You need to get more sleep,” she said, piling products onto his skin. “You'd save me so much concealer.”

Chan only hummed while she dabbed his face with a sponge. His eyes were dry and heavy, after a sleepless night. Lately, he'd been too anxious and on edge, rolling around on his mattress until his alarm went off and it was another day of promoting his latest movie. 

His phone lit up in his hand just when he was about to hand it to his manager before stepping on the twelfth talk show of the week to answer the same questions over and over. 

It was his mom. 

Omma: Chan-ah, dad and I are watching the show waiting for our handsome son to come in! Let us know when we can call you. We're sad that we won't get to see you this year as well, but we are rooting for you! Fighting!!! 

The trailer was playing loudly while he waited before the sliding doors, the audience cheering and laughing at the right times. He tried to recall the last time he had traveled back to Korea to see his parents, he tried to count how many years it had been. How many birthdays, Christmas, Chuseoks, New Years he had missed since moving to Los Angeles to try his lucky stars, running from an oversaturated market. 

Chan exhaled the air he had been holding in his lungs when the host called his name and the doors revealed him. The audience cheered, and the host clapped and grinned in the overly exaggerated manner that characterized American talk shows. He could barely see anything with those reflectors in his eyes, but he waved anyway and smiled like he was having the time of his life. 

He sat on the velvet couch, crossing his legs and trying to ignore the fact that his shoes were squeezing his feet. The host praised his skills while holding a printed still of a scene from the trailer. He just nodded and thanked, without whipping the smile off his face. 

Chan let mostly his muscle memory do all the work, laughing at the right times, bantering with the host even though he couldn't, for the life of him, recall which Jimmy he was, answering all the questions about his career that he had answered routinely so a billion times before. 

“So, I think we've all been curious about this one,” the host asked, “what made you shift gears on your career? After all, you are the new darling of action flicks.”

“I was just tired of all the running around and stage fighting,” he replied. “I wanted to come home without a black eye for a change.”

Everyone laughed like on cue.

“But even so,” the host continued, “why did you pick a rom-com?

Chan smiled. Everyone on set was silent. 

“I wanted to try something new.”

After some more banter about his love life, hinting cheekily that he might be hiding something -Chan could have laughed, nothing was furthest away from reality-, Jimmy fired the last question of his segment.

“And what's next for Chan Lee? What can we expect?” 

Chan felt the staged smile slowly dripping from his face, while the host looked at him expectantly and the audience waited for an answer. 

The seconds stretched before he could answer. 

“I don't know. We'll see.”

“Are you planning on leaving in the middle of your movie promotions?” Jeonghan asked, stabbing his rice with his chopsticks. 

“ No , hyung, do you ever listen?” Chan groaned. “I have two weeks free for the Holidays. I just plan a little vacation.”

“I mean, your Korean gets worse by the second so it'd be nice for you, a trip to your roots.”

“Fuck off, I just don't speak it regularly,” he grumbled into his plate. 

“No, but seriously, I think it'd be good for you. You have been complaining a lot lately.”

“I don't complain,” he snapped, resting his plate on his lap. “It's just… I don't know.”

“Lonely?” Jeonghan supplied, his voice softer. 

“Yeah.”

“Then I'm glad you get to do this,” Jeonghan said, before going back to his takeout and grabbing the remote from the couch. 

He was sprawled on the carpet, just changing channels without stopping for more than six seconds. Every light in his apartment was on, the TV was loud and Jeonghan was louder now that he decided to stop on a movie starring Chan as the lead. 

He thought Jeonghan understood him because he too came back to a similar impersonal apartment every night. Probably that was why, whenever they both had the night off, he rode the elevator one floor up and knocked on his door. 

They filled the silence up for each other. 

“I can come and water your plants,” Jeonghan said, drinking from a can of beer without peeling his eyes from the movie. 

“You know they are all plastic,” Chan replied, amused. 

“Then I'll walk your dog.”

“Hyung, I don't have a dog,” he laughed. 

Every day Chan was grateful that, when he first got his breakthrough, he met Jeonghan at one of those parties for Asian celebrities living in America five years previous. They'd been inseparable since then. So he chugged some more beer and kept listening to Jeonghan's nonsensical rambling.

After some thinking and some rescheduling from his manager, he was able to free two weeks. So he was about to spend Christmas and the New Year on vacation, for the first time since he moved countries. 

He recently had read in some random internet article that one had to learn to live with their own thoughts, and even though he hated his empty apartment, he thought maybe a change of air would be nice to sit around with his solitude. So he planned a week for himself, and a week to spend with his parents and family. 

Now was the tricky part. He was thinking of a small house, maybe even a cabin, but where? He had checked on every travel site he could think of, but nothing like the picture he had in his mind was coming up. Almost feeling defeated, he smacked his keyboard with some random keywords, pulling up Naver instead of Google. This time, a house came up, and even though he didn't recognize the site, he clicked on it. Chan hunched over even more, like he was trying to fall inside his computer, while he clicked through the pictures. It was a small house, with one bedroom, a tiny and cramped kitchen, and a living and dining space. He fell absolutely in love, zooming here and there, picturing himself making breakfast on that stove, sitting on that couch with that throw blanket on his shoulders, taking a warm bath in that bathtub.

He quickly created an account under a pseudonym (Pi Cheolin, the usual one he used to order takeout and make hotel reservations) and sent a message. He checked the time and quickly estimated that in Korea it was around two in the morning, so he jumped on his seat when the laptop dinged with an incoming message. Chan quickly opened it, scanning through the common niceties and jumping onto the important stuff:

[kimmingyu] when is it convenient for you to exchange? 

“Exchange what?” he said to his computer, the frustration crippling up his neck. He furiously clicked on his mousepad until he found the About us section and read through it. “Oh, well, fuck, I guess.”

There it was, what he failed to read before. The site wasn't something he recognized because it wasn't a simple accommodations booking site, he was supposed to swap houses for the holidays with a complete stranger from another continent. 

Even so, was it something too insane to do? The site seemed legit and this Kim Mingyu guy had his Instagram linked in his profile, and after a light session of stalking, he seemed normal and, most importantly, a real person and not some catfish scammer who was searching for his newest victim to kill in the forest. 

Before he could think about it some more and chicken out, he walked his home taking pictures and truly resenting the place he mockingly called home. He sent the pictures along with the dates he expected to be in Korea, and in no time Kim Mingyu replied to confirm he was indeed interested.

The following weeks bled tiredly while Chan kept promoting his movie. He was actually very proud of it, and now that he was looking forward to something, he was able to enjoy the promotion period so much more. He loved the movie, in which a quirky office worker tried to set up her boss with Chan's character for the office's Christmas party, but ended up falling in love with him instead. He had a nice relationship with the rest of the cast, and he enjoyed the press conference, the red carpet and all that jazz, but when the calendar marked the day he was finally off, he sighed in relief. 

The flight kicked Chan's ass, being around thirteen hours long. Luckily, he had anticipated it would so he had booked a private car company to take him to his destination. While on the road, he checked the time and, knowing his host slash house guest was currently on his way to his apartment, he shot him a message.

[picheolin] Mingyu-ssi, hope you have a nice trip! Let me know when you arrive. I'm on my way to your place :)

He also texted his parents to let them know he was, again, in the same time zone as them, and for the rest of the trip tried to feel normal about the fact that he had come all the way to a different continent to stay at a strangers house in some small village he had never heard of before a few hours away by car from Seoul. 

The house was bigger than in the pictures but still cozy. He opened the door with the code provided by Mingyu, and as the overhead lights washed everything in golden he let himself look at it in awe. 

That, Chan thought, was a home . He inspected every millimeter of it. The rugs were worn, the curtains were slightly discolored, and the mugs were stained from probably years of drinking coffee from them instead of Starbucks disposable cups. He sat on the couch, threading his hands through the fabric and catching some loose threads between his fingers. The coffee table had multiple markings of various glasses and cups, he presumed, and the legs were scratched. Chan smiled. Around the ghosts of this Mingyu guy's life, he felt already less lonely. 

It was already dark, even though it was still early, and when he looked out the window it was snowing. He had missed experiencing actual winter while living in LA, so he rushed to the kitchen to make some tea, and after fumbling with the stove an embarrassing amount of time, he sat on the couch with the mug warming his hands. He was enveloped in a blanket that smelled like fresh soap and he could just hear the silence. His own thoughts. After enjoying himself for a few minutes, he went to his luggage, still hanging out by the door, and fished some scripts for a few movies that he was supposed to check over the holiday and decide his next project. 

Snuggled again on the couch, Chan read the first one -to his sappy delight, another rom-com- but, tired from the trip and relaxed by the tea and the silence, the stack of papers quickly fell from his hands to the floor as he fell asleep. 

He woke up startled by a knock on the door. But not just your average knock, this was impatient and somewhat urgent. He fumbled until he found his phone, on the floor beside the script. The screen light blinded him as he tried to make up the time. It was past 11 at night, he had crashed for quite a few hours, not surprisingly as he was probably jetlagged too. 

He had forgotten what woke him up until there was another round of knocks, this time accompanied by someone shouting. 

“Yah, Kim Mingyu! Open up!” 

Chan stood beside the door in complete bewilderment. He didn't want to open up to a stranger, but then he seemed to know the owner. But, again, he didn't seem so friendly. 

“Your car is here so I know you are home,” the voice came muffled from outside the door. Chan chewed on his bottom lip, conflicted. But, soon enough, the decision of whether to open the door or not was stripped from him. “I surely hope you are dressed because I'm coming in,” the man outside said, and soon came the recognizable sound of the keypad approving the code, so the door opened with a soft click. 

Chan didn't even have time to pretend he was doing something when the door revealed a man. So he stood there like an idiot while this really handsome guy looked at him confused. 

“You are not Mingyu,” he observed. 

“I am certainly not,” Chan replied, feeling his ears turning red. 

The handsome stranger took a look around, searching for, probably, the owner, maybe some signs of struggle or a breaking and entering, until his eyes landed on his suitcase. 

“This is awkward,” the man said, adjusting his thick-rimmed glasses on his nose. “Who are you?”

“Uhm,” Chan said, eloquently. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, noticing how the blanket was still hanging from his shoulders. “Shouldn't I be the one asking that question?” 

The handsome stranger, as Chan had now dubbed, looked around again as if thinking the cat clock on the wall or the mug on the coffee table could suggest to him something to say. 

“Fair, I guess. I'm Kim Mingyu’s friend?” he said like it was a question and something inside Chan stirred. 

“Well, he rented me his house for Christmas,” Chan replied, and when the stranger scrunched his nose in confusion he added. “He didn't tell you?” 

“No,” the stranger looked behind him to the path leading to the house covered in snow as his footprints were barely visible already. “Do you mind…?”

Usually, yes, Chan would very much mind, thank you, but something about this man was captivating to him. Maybe it was the soft nerd vibe, the way he was snuggled inside his coat from the cold, the cat-like eyes or his gravelly voice, or maybe the fact that he hadn't met someone who wasn't either another celebrity or screaming at him for an autograph in years. Maybe it was the whole package, but Chan, not trusting his voice enough, just nodded and moved out of the way. 

He looked at the guy while he methodically took off his shoes and with the familiarity of someone who had done it a million times before, closed the door behind him and hung his coat on a rack beside the door that Chan hadn't even noticed before. 

“I'm Jeon Wonwoo, by the way,” he said, bowing politely. 

“I'm Lee Chan,” he replied and he suddenly felt so awkward. He needed to do something with his hands. “Do you want some tea?” 

Before he got a reply, he rushed to the kitchen and, thankful that he now got the hang of it so he didn't look like a complete tool, tried to not acknowledge the fact that handsome stranger, Wonwoo , had followed him. 

“Sorry, but would you mind telling me how is that you are here and Mingyu isn't?” he asked, with that low voice. 

Wonwoo wasn't yet convinced that Chan wasn't a murderer who had killed Mingyu and buried him in the backyard, so he had to show him even the chat exchange between them. They read together the last message from Mingyu, where he enthusiastically let him know that he had arrived safely in Los Angeles. 

“He's in Los Angeles,” Wonwoo said, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes. “Would you excuse me for a second?”

Before Chan could answer, Wonwoo was back outside, under the yellow light on the front porch. Chan rushed behind him and tried listening with his ear against the door. 

Wonwoo was obviously on the phone with Mingyu.

“Are you out of your mind? You just fly across the globe to some stranger's house and even let him stay at your place? What if he's a murderer? Well, he could murder me! Next time you have some insane idea, please, tell me beforehand.”

Chan rushed again to the couch, where he pretended he wasn't interested in his conversation. 

When Wonwoo made his way back inside, he looked apologetic.

“I am really sorry, Lee-nim, but it's snowing pretty hard. That's why I'm here in the first place, I was walking home but Mingyu's place was closer.”

Chan blinked at him owlishly until finally, his brain cells decided to come back alive. 

“Oh, right, yeah, sure, please, you can stay,” he babbled like a maniac and Wonwoo smiled at him. Shit . “And please, just call me Chan.” 

“Then I suppose you can call me Hyung,” Wonwoo replied, and his eyes crinkled when he smiled. “I'll make sure to stay out of your way.”

“Don't,” Chan replied, and when Wonwoo raised an eyebrow he was completely sure all of his brain cells had committed mass suicide. “I mean, don't worry, hyung. Make yourself at home. Are you hungry?”

He hid in the kitchen again, discarding the tea and going for some snacks that he found in a cupboard. This Mingyu guy had left his fridge packed with alcohol, and Chan was grateful at the moment as he grabbed two beers and re-emerged in the living room. 

Wonwoo was sitting on the couch, trying to find something to watch on TV and landing on some cringey Christmas movie. He eyed the bottle that Chan placed before him. 

“I shouldn't,” he said, “I was drinking with friends just then.”

Chan opened both bottles, “please, don't let me drink alone.” 

Wonwoo caved in, and soon enough they were laughing at how ridiculous the movie was. Chan flexed all the knowledge he had about movie making while the beer stash in the fridge was being decimated and slowly he felt warmer and an easy buzz filled his head. 

“How do you know so much about movies?” Wonwoo asked, his cheeks slightly pink while holding his bottle. 

“I work on the field,” he said, trying to sound mysterious but failing as he slurred his words slightly. Wonwoo laughed and Chan felt god-damned butterflies in his stomach. 

He looked at Wonwoo and Wonwoo looked back at him. Chan tried to commit all the details of Wonwoo's face to memory, which was a feat since his vision was slightly doubled due to the alcohol. But as he examined Wonwoo's face, he saw how his eyes jumped from his eyes to his lips, lingering there for a second before looking into his eyes again. 

“Fuck it,” he said softly before grabbing Wonwoo by the collar of his shirt and yank him forward, pressing his lips against his.

At first, Wonwoo seemed surprised and even confused, but he was quick to respond to the kiss. 

It was messy and a little dirty, as Chan sneaked his hand under Wonwoo's shirt and felt him shiver under his touch. Fuck it , he thought again, as he trailed kisses from his lips to his neck. Wonwoo was like putty under his hands, letting him do as he pleased while he struggled with his shirt. 

Chan noticed how Wonwoo's hands were bigger than his when he covered them with his own, before softly kissing his knuckles. Suddenly, all the urgent energy left Chan's body and he let himself be led by Wonwoo to the bedroom. 

Chan was completely tangled in the blankets. He blinked as frosty light came from the window and for a whole terrifying second, he didn't know where he was. Then, all the memories from the previous days came barreling down and he felt heat creeping up his neck. 

He quickly noticed that he was alone, and tried not to let that sting. He took a long hot shower, like he was trying to boil himself alive, and tied a towel around his waist before wandering again to the living space. His suitcase was still beside the door, he'd better wheel it back to the bedroom so he didn't have to prance naked again. He tried not to keep his hopes up, but something fell nonetheless when he confirmed the house was completely empty. 

He was trying to decide if he should have coffee or get dressed first, shivering while some droplets traveled from his hair to his skin, when the door opened and a whole Jeon Wonwoo appeared. 

They looked at each other in silence for at least ten whole seconds, and Chan -with no little delight- was a real-time witness to how pink Wonwoo's ears could turn. 

“Hi,” Wonwoo said, fumbling nervously with a plastic bag in his hands. “I thought you would still be asleep.”

Chan just shrugged, trying to play it cool even though his heart was pounding.

“I blame the jet lag.”

Wonwoo just nodded awkwardly. 

“Breakfast?” he asked, finally, showing up the bag, and before Chan could reply he was messing around in the kitchen while talking to himself about pots and pans. 

By the time Chan got dressed, he was presented with a plate of food. 

“Listen, Chan, I had a really good time last night…” Wonwoo said, sitting across from him.

Chan winced. 

“Listen, we don't have to talk about it,” he rushed to say. 

Wonwoo looked at him dead in the eye. 

“Do you want to grab a drink tonight? With me, I mean.”

Chan looked at him confused. He was so sure Wonwoo was about to say that the night before had been a mistake, that they probably should never see each other again -which would be easy since Chan lived across the globe. He was not expecting to get invited to, allegedly, a date. 

“Sorry, god, how embarrassing. You can say no, it's just me and a few friends, it's not a big deal,” he babbled to his plates. Chan found it cute. 

“It's okay,” he replied softly. “I'll be there.”

Chan arrived at the pub Wonwoo had sent via text fashionably late. He was hoping Wonwoo was already there, he didn't want to sit on his own or, god forbid, sit with his friends without him. Luckily, he found him as soon as he made his way inside, as Wonwoo waved a hand to catch his eyes. 

Chan peeled off his coat and made his way to the table after ordering something to drink at the counter. Wonwoo made some space beside him on the booth and softly shook off some snow that was trapped in his hair. The gesture was suddenly intimate, Chan felt something turning around in his stomach. 

“Hello, my name is Lee Chan,” he greeted politely. 

“I mean, shit, yeah you are,” said the guy sitting directly across from him. That was when Chan noticed how they were all looking at them. Well, fuck. 

“What?” Wonwoo said, his eyes furrowed. Chan couldn't help but think how cute it was, even in this situation. 

The table erupted in various forms of screams and Chan looked around concerned, but no one was really paying attention, the music was loud, the place was poorly lit and overall everyone was too focused on their own worlds. 

By the time everyone calmed down, his IMBD profile was being passed around in someone's cell phone and Wonwoo was looking at him funny. 

“So Mingyu exchanged houses with a Hollywood celebrity for the Holidays?” he asked. Chan found it funny how that was the first thing that came to Wonwoo's mind instead of what he originally expected, say asking for a picture or an autograph. 

“I don't think he knows, though,” he said, “I have a pseudonym.”

“That guy will get himself killed any day now,” one of Wonwoo's friends said. 

Now that the initial shock had passed, he was introduced to Wonwoo's school friends. Jihoon, Junhui and Soonyoung.  

Everyone took the fact that Chan was actually pretty famous like they had a beer with a Hollywood actor every other week. They all talked about work and other boring adult stuff. Stuff that Chan never got to experience, since he had moved so young. 

Turned out, that Wonwoo was the only one who still lived in town. All of them had left for work in bigger cities and were just visiting family and friends for the Holidays. Wonwoo had come back as soon as he finished getting his degree, tired of the hustle of the city and longing for a more quiet life. Signing for an IT firm allowed him to choose where he established his office, so he came back home. 

“So, what does Mingyu-ssi do for a living? I almost feel like I know him,” Chan asked. 

“Ah, he is an elementary school teacher, actually they met-” Soonyoung replied, but looked with his big confused eyes at Wonwoo when he suddenly cleared his throat, cutting him mid-sentence. 

“It's getting late,” he said. “Do you mind if I walk you home, Chan?” 

Chan nodded, enjoying the warm buzz in his stomach from the drinks and food. 

Chan woke up feeling rather content with himself. This time he remembered where he was, as the frosty morning light drew shapes on Wonwoo's naked back. He allowed himself to trace them with the tip of his fingers and smiled to himself. 

He felt like he was living inside one of those rom-com scripts forgotten deep in his suitcase, especially after he got to walk completely unbothered under the snow, hand in hand with a guy he liked. He made a mental note to send a fruit basket to Mingyu as a thank you. 

Wonwoo stirred under his touch, so Chan hugged him, resting his cheek between his shoulder blades. Wonwoo exhaled and his hand intertwined with his. 

While Chan slowly drifted back to unconsciousness, some brain cells woke up from deep sleep and rang an alarm that asked in big red bold letters what are you going to do when you leave in a few days? But Chan pressed the snooze button and the alert disappeared. The world outside the warm and safe blanket was a problem for tomorrow Chan. 

“I can't believe you kept from me that you have a dog,” Chan said as Seollie tugged from the leash to sniff on a bush. 

“It didn't come up,” Wonwoo said, and Chan thought he noticed an awkward quirk to his smile.

He shoved it aside while letting the dog take the lead, strolling easily through the park.

It was nice, for a change, thought Chan, to be able to do this. For one, being able to just be out and about, as not many people knew he was, well, him. And not having to be places, being able to relax and not live around a tight schedule for a few days. 

“Do you have any plans for tomorrow night?” Chan asked, trying to sound nonchalant but side-eyeing Wonwoo as he pretended to be looking at Seollie. 

“Actually, no,” Wonwoo replied, hands buried deeply in his pockets. It stopped snowing but it was freezing anyway. Chan had to steal a snow jacket from Mingyu's closet. It was two sizes big on him. “I was planning to just stay at home.” 

“Oh,” Chan turned to look at him but found Wonwoo already standing too close to him. He could feel the warmth coming from his body. 

“Do you want to come spend Christmas with me?” 

“Yes,” Chan replied and felt his ears turn red completely unrelated to the weather when Wonwoo smiled knowingly. “I mean, yeah, okay, I'll save your lame ass from spending Christmas alone.”

Wonwoo's laugh rang loudly as he resumed the walk, Chan and Seollie following closely behind. 

One thing about Lee Chan that everyone should be aware of is that he was, above all, an actor. Therefore, he was very good at pretending. It was his craft, carefully and painstakingly trained for years. So, he quickly dismissed things that he noticed, pretending they were never there. 

For example, when Wonwoo interrupted whatever it was that they were doing when a very specific ringtone bursted from his phone to check it out. The way he leaned slightly away so the screen was obscured from Chan's view. How sometimes he rather took calls out in the porsche instead of just answering with Chan in the room. How, even though they spent most of the days together, Wonwoo never invited him to his place. 

Chan also was good at pretending there wasn't something nagging him in the back of his head, something akinly similar to a countdown until the day he would climb up a train without any plans of ever setting foot on that town again. 

So Chan pretended that nothing stirred him the wrong way when, as soon as the clock struck midnight on Christmas, Wonwoo rushed outside with his phone after kissing him. He kept watching the corny Christmas movie playing on the TV, not really knowing whatever the hell was happening between the two leads. He could see Wonwoo out of the corner of his eye through the window. Wonwoo was all snuggled up in his coat, the snow falling giving him a spectral shine that was overrun by his warm smile, his pink cheeks and the tip of his nose from the cold. His phone chirped, startling him, and just then he noticed he was chewing on his cuticles. His stylist wouldn't like it, he was bound to some scolding. 

[jeonghannie hyung] yah, why is there some random guy walking around your apartment in his underwear

“Shit,” he exhaled. 

[leechan] i completely forgot to tell hyung about this house exchange thing for the holidays

He looked at his phone anxiously for a full five minutes, but the next text only read "merry christmas” with a bunch of emojis of varying types that Chan could not for the life of him seem to descifre. 

He was still looking at his phone, puzzled, debating if he should call his hyung to check when Wonwoo came back shaking the snow off his shoulders. He kissed him on the cheek before offering to make hot chocolate, laughing when Chan enthusiastically agreed that it was a good idea. 

Chan got so good at pretending that the things he didn't want to see, like how he was able to sneak a peak when the call came through and the ID read a woman's name, just disappeared in a nebula of stuff that simply was not something he wanted to take care of at the moment. So he un-spoke it out of existence as he back-hugged Wonwoo while he trashed around in the kitchen. 

The days came and sluggishly came to an end. Chan was enjoying the free time, not having a tight schedule, taking trips to the grocery store where the nice old lady at the counter would talk nonstop about how handsome he was as she rang his products. He especially liked how Wonwoo decided that he would spend every moment possible with him. Maybe because of the impending doom, also known as the train ticket dated Friday sitting on his bedside table that would take him to his parent's house. They would not mention it, though, just spending time together. Whereas walking Seollie, watching movies, or cuddling as he read through his scripts. 

Wednesday found Chan alone in bed, missing the warmth provided by Wonwoo. It was a rare occasion that Wonwoo chose to spend the night at his own place, and Chan spent his own night pretending it didn't nag him at all that he wasn't invited. 

He was scrolling through Instagram, still in bed, liking Jeonghan's latest post -two glasses of whiskey on what looked suspiciously like his coffee table- when his phone dinged with an incoming message. 

[jeonwonwoo] Chan, sorry but I won't be able to make it today. Something came up at home, I'll call you later.

Chan furrowed his brows, confused. Their plans for the day were a cozy dinner back at the town's nice restaurant. But he figured that, if Wonwoo couldn't make it, he'd take the dinner to him. 

He took his sweet time, showering and picking carefully an outfit. He then spent the rest of the morning on the couch, actually flying through the scrips now that there was no one distracting him. Quickly enough, he was able to shoot a text to his manager with his impressions about each project and which was the one that he was the most interested in. 

Now that he was hanging by himself, he could appreciate how homey the house was. Especially now that he knew that every scratch was Seollie's handiwork, that there now was a new stain on the coffee table that made him feel strangely proud, like his time spent there wasn't without notice. Now he knew that the crack on the front door window was from a time Mingyu and Wonwoo came along drunk and slammed the door a little too hard. He knew exactly how to maneuver the shower to get a temperature he enjoyed. He knew all the tricks to the stove. 

It felt more like a home than, well, his own home. 

Suddenly uncomfortable with the turn of his thoughts, he grabbed a quick lunch and set towards the store, buying enough groceries for a party of ten when he actually intended for two guests. Back at the house, he googled and compared many recipes like he knew what the hell was marinate or cumin. 

Chan sighed as he rolled his sleeves, not thinking about how it was the first time in his life he cooked for someone who wasn't himself and definitely not noticing how alarmingly close his train ticket was sitting. 

Wonwoo's place was within walking distance, Chan knew the overall placement and trusted that some holiday miracle would help him locate the house. 

Lo and behold, as we wandered trying not to look too suspicious to any passerby, carrying a bag full of his most successful tryouts at cooking, he recognized the sound of Seollie's barks. 

Suddenly, his hands felt clammy and he had to rearrange the bag in his hand. He felt too uncomfortable inside his own skin, he wondered if this was the worst idea he'd ever had and thought of the idea of just simply bolting. 

Chan felt exposed . 

He was almost convinced it was about time to turn on his heels and crawl back to his temporary house and eat his roasted potatoes directly from the bowl while rotting away on the couch when Seollie noticed him standing outside the door like an absolute idiot. 

He could hear the dog sniffing under the door, a shadow against the wood whimpering, trying to make its way to Chan. When Seollie started scratching the door, he heard Wonwoo's soft voice. 

Panicking, he looked around and wondered if it was too insane to just throw himself in the bushes to avoid this interaction. It certainly did work in his movie, so it was worth a shot. But before he could lose all his marbles, Wonwoo yanked the door open. 

Seollie rocketed towards him, colliding with his legs. But Chan barely noticed because he was too distracted by Wonwoo's look of pure horror. 

“Surprise?” he said, voice shaking. 

“Chan, what are you doing here?” Wonwoo asked, and as soon as he seemed to regain a hold of himself, he closed the door behind him. 

Chan ignored the ugly twist inside him. 

“Not so happy to see me, I guess,” he said, feeling like the world's biggest clown. 

“This isn't the best time-” Wonwoo tried and Chan understood, really, he appreciated that Wonwoo was evidently trying to save his dignity.

“I'm sorry,” he cut him off. He would not for the life of him listen to any excuses, he was not about to bear that kind of humiliation. “Sorry for coming, I don't know what I was thinking… Here,” he offered the bag, and Wonwoos took it with a confused look on his face. “Sorry, I'll leave now.”

Wonwoo opened his mouth to say something, and Chan was absolutely convinced he was about to die from embarrassment when the door opened and a tiny head peeked through it. 

Both men turned to look at the little girl who in turn looked at them intermittently. She had the biggest, darkest, and kindest eyes Chan had ever seen. 

“Dad?” she said, in a tiny voice. 

Chan's eyes darted to Wonwoo, who sighed as resigned. 

“Yes?” Wonwoo replied. 

Chan felt like maybe if he was hiding in the bushes it would be a nice place to puke since he was now feeling nauseous.  

“Who is this?” the little girl asked, a tiny hand moving her bangs out of her eyes. 

Wonwoo looked at Chan out of the corner of his eye. Chan, on the other hand, couldn't do anything else but stand there like a statue. 

“Uhm. He's my friend, Chan,” Wonwoo said. 

“Oh,” the girl, apparently Wonwoo's freaking daughter , assessed Chan from head to toe. She nodded to herself, satisfied, and said, this time louder: “Oppa, are you having dinner with us?” 

Suddenly being addressed, Chan opened and closed his mouth a few times. Not trusting his voice enough, he nodded. The girl smiled before disappearing inside the house, closely followed by Seollie. 

“You have a daughter , hyung, what the fuck ?” he whispered angrily while taking off his coat and hanging it by the door. 

Wonwoo was about to reply, looking incredibly apologetic, when she appeared again like a whirlwind dressed in beige. 

She took Chan by the hand and guided him all the way from the entrance hall to the living room, all the while telling him that her name was Yunjin and that she was seven years old, the grade she was currently in school, that she liked Maths the most and that her dad was about to let her play video games before bed. 

“Just for a little bit, since it's a special occasion,” Wonwoo reminded her, looking at Chan who was still in disbelief.

She climbed on the sofa, grabbed a controller, and Wonwoo nodded his head towards the kitchen. Chan followed him. 

Wonwoo opened his mouth to speak, but the bizarreness was starting to sink in for Chan.

“What the fuck? You have a daughter, a whole ass tiny human and you never thought of telling me?” he hissed, before checking that the girl was too immersed in her game to listen. 

“ Of course , of course I wanted to tell you, I wanted to bring you home to meet her but… it's difficult,” Wonwoo replied, his shoulders up almost to his ears.

“Oh, gee, I can't imagine. Try just saying I have a kid next time,” Chan replied. 

Wonwoo furrowed his brow.

“She wasn't supposed to come back for a few days more- Could you try to put yourself in my shoes, at least?” Chan was about to speak but Wonwoo raised his hand. “I don't want her to meet just anyone, since her mother and I split we-” 

“Oh, I see,” Chan interrupted. “I am just anyone. Right, hyung?”

“Chan…” Wonwoo said, this time softly. He looked into his eyes and Chan could see, oh, just how much sadness there was. “You leave in two days.”

It was a factual statement and, logically, Chan understood. He really did. But at the same time he would rather had Wonwoo been an asshole so he could walk out of it harmless. But instead, Wonwoo was the voice of reason, stating the obvious. It was painful because it shook Chan out of the fantasy, it threw him back to reality, a reality he was about to get back to, and soon . 

“I can't do this,” he said, feeling his eyes prick. If anything, he would leave with his dignity -the rest of it at least- intact. 

He walked to the front door, and then a tiny voice interrupted his dramatic exit. 

“Oppa, aren't you staying?” 

Chan turned back to meet Yunjin. She looked impossibly tiny on the couch, she sounded as articulate as Wonwoo, she had his eyes and his back hair, and the controller in her hands looked so big while she addressed him with curiosity. 

He stole a look, but no one was coming from the kitchen. 

This is not a rom-com. He isn't coming to get you in a grand romantic gesture.

“Something just came up,” he said. His throat was scratchy. “I'm sorry, Oppa needs to leave now.”

“Will you stay next time?” she asked. 

“Yeah, sure, we'll have dinner next time,” Chan said, suddenly feeling very tired and wanting to leave the conversation quickly without being rude to her. 

“Good. Dad will like that, he likes oppa.”

“What?”

“Dad thinks I don't notice but he talks about you like my best friend Hana from school talks about Youngseok.” 

“He talked to you about me?” he said, his own voice tiny.

The girl nodded, before going back to her game. 

Chan struggled with his shoes, feeling his hands trembling before coming out to the freezing cold. He walked all the way back to the house in a daze, and if someone would ask him to retrace his steps he would have no idea how. 

He didn't turn on the lights, just stood there feeling like the saddest excuse for a human. 

“Fuck. This,” he said, loudly, to no one at all. Then he got to work. 

The weather, before romantic and cozy, was hostile to him now as he waited for his ride. He didn't sleep a blink, collecting every single one of his belongings and tossing them into his suitcase. Then he lay awake on the sofa, staring at the ceiling until his alarm went off. 

Chan threw his suitcase in the cab's trunk, his fingers red from the cold. Then he climbed in the back seat. The driver tried to make small talk, but when Chan was unresponsive he cranked up the radio. So he had to endure, on top of it all, the happiest Christmas jingles he had ever heard. 

The lady at the train station's counter was really nice, like the rest of that damn town apparently, even if it was barely 7 AM on Christmas morning and she was working. She changed his ticket and, before he knew it, he was sitting on the first train Seoul bound. 

Chan looked around, trying to locate anyone familiar within the sea of people. A woman accidentally collided with him, he adjusted his facemask and cap, but she barely apologized before going on her way, too busy to even give him a second look. 

Good. Easier to blend in, in a big city. 

Finally, there, by the pillar, the people he was waiting for. 

Seungkwan was typing furiously on his phone while Hansol chewed on a hot dog, even when it was barely mid-morning. 

“There you are!” Seungkwan said when he approached him, engulfing him in a hug. “I was afraid we had the wrong train details.”

“Yeah, I can see,” Chan said, pointing at the half-eaten hot dog. Hansol just shrugged. 

“I get hungry when I'm worried,” he replied, giving him a soft pat on the shoulder as a greeting while Seungkwan kept smothering him.

Finally, Seungkwan let him go, but just to check he was all in one piece, safe and sound. Then he led him to the exit, while Hansol dragged his luggage along. They piled on Seungkwan's car, with him behind the wheel. 

And they just caught up with each other's lives. 

It was nice for Chan, to have some sense of normalcy. Just chatting along with his old school friends, Seungkwan filled the silence to the brim with everything. Chan knew, though, that he knew something was up, giving the little looks he sent him through the rearview mirror. After all, Seungkwan was one of his closest friends, just like Hansol, the ones he regretted leaving to chase his dreams. The ones he cling to, through video calls and texts from the first dark months all through the day before. 

The ones he was supposed to see back in their hometown, for the Holiday, until he called them in the middle of the night to ask if he could crash on their sofa. 

“Okay, fine,” Seungkwan said, standing like a mother hen, hands on his hips. “I gave you enough time. Now spill.”

Chan sighed, suddenly very interested in his plate of leftovers from the takeout they had for lunch.

And then he started from the beginning. 

Seungkwan and Hansol listened carefully, with just some interjections here and there or to ask for clarification. When Chan reached the end of his tale, they both stared at him for a full ten seconds before opening their mouths. 

“He had a fucking kid ?” Seungkwan asked all high pitched and eyebrows scrunched. 

“I know! That's what I said!” Finally, vindication. 

“But is it really that much of a deal?” Hansol asked, calmly taking a sip from Seungkwan's coffee that he had left unattended on the table. 

“Of course it is,” Seungkwan replied before Chan could open his mouth. “He lied.”

“Yeah, but as I see it you weren't even supposed to meet her. Why bother?” 

“Oh, wow, Hansol, very helpful,” Seungkwan replied exasperated. 

“He could have mentioned it, at least,” Chan said, justifying his hurt. “Even if I never got to meet her, I-” 

“Would you have slept with him knowing he had a kid?”

“What? Why would I care about that?”

“Well, that's you personally. But not many people want to mess around that kind of responsibility.”

Silence.

“I don't know. To me, he was just trying to protect his kid without ruining his chances to meet someone. Probably not the best strategy, but can you blame the poor dude?” 

Seungkwan and Hansol gave it a few rounds more until they noticed Chan wasn't listening to anyone's arguments anymore. So they tucked him into bed to nap the hours he didn't get sleep the night before and left him with his thoughts until exhaustion took him. 

The next time he woke up, it was dark outside. It was raining and outside the covers the world was cold and damp. He tried to chase sleep again but it was too late. 

He had been laying on his back for a few good minutes, enjoying the weight of the blanket on top of him, grounding him, when the door opened with a soft click. Golden light came through, making him squint his eyes. 

“Got you some tea,” Seungkwan said, showing a mug with tangerines drawn all over. He remembered it was from a time he and Hansol went to one of those hipster cafes where you can paint your own cutlery. He had sent Chan a thousand pictures about it. 

Chan barely made some human resembling sound while Seungkwan placed the steaming mug on the bedside table. His friend looked at him for a few beats until he clicked his tongue and signaled for him to scooch over. 

Seungkwan made his way under the covers with Chan, and he gratefully accepted the heat coming from his friend's body. 

“So…” he started, and Chan knew it was useless to try to escape. When Seungkwan was onto something, that was it. 

“So...”

“So we've talked about facts. What about feelings?” Chan could feel Seungkwan's gaze, boring holes down his skull. He didn't look at him in return.

“I don't know,” he sighed. “I guess… I guess I really liked him. Otherwise, I wouldn't be this hurt.”

Seungkwan was silent, so Chan kept talking. 

“I liked spending time with him, not just the sex but being around each other… You know, being domestic. I liked that he made me feel things…” he played with the ring on his middle finger. “Not just the good things… If I'm being honest, even this. Because it means I can still feel something real. Not just for a character. Without the part where I try to figure out if there's a hidden interest behind it all.” 

“You are such a sad gay,” Seungkwan sighed. Chan barked a laugh, relief filling him, feeling a little more like himself. “You are a human, humans have feelings. You'll be able to feel again.”

Chan didn't say it, but something sunk deep in his stomach as he worried that maybe there wouldn't be another opportunity for him to be a whole human again. 

When Seungkwan left him to his own devices again to help Hansol with dinner, he fished his phone from where it was tangled in between the sheets. It took him just a quick Instagram search to find what he was looking for. 

[feat.leechan] hi, hyung, it's lee chan from the pub the other night… 

[tigerkwon] fuck yeah i know who you are

[feat.leechan] i was wondering… can i call you? its okay if you dont want to

[tigerkwon] call me, ill send my number

The phone rang for a few beats until someone picked up. 

“Chan?” Soonyoung’s voice came a little muffled. There was music and voices going off in the background.

“Yeah, it's me, hi, hyung,” he replied. There was a rustling of fabric before the background noise went quiet. “Is this a good time? I can call later-”

“It's just my sister's Christmas party, I was looking for an excuse to leave actually so, please, you can't hang up now,” his tone was playful so Chan laughed a little. Nonetheless, there was something heavy hanging between them that needed addressing.

“Thanks for agreeing to talk, I know Wonwoo Hyung is your friend and-” 

“Oh, no, Wonwoo is my closest friend that's why I told him he's an absolute idiot,” Soonyoung replied like it was your typical Thursday's conversation about the weather. 

“Huh?” Chan sat up, hitting his head with the headboard. 

“Yeah, he called me this morning whining so I, as the absolute great friend I am, made him realize his mistake. So he decided to look for you. But, oh, well,” Chan could hear the dissatisfaction in his voice.

“What do you mean oh well ?” he pressed, trying to rearrange the pillow behind him with just one hand.

“Oh, well, you weren't there anymore,” he replied like it was obvious. 

“ Oh .”

“Yeah. Listen, Chan, you seem like a cool guy. And I know Wonwoo was a dumbass but… you could have said goodbye,” 

“But… he lied to me,” Chan replied, his voice tiny, more to himself than to Soonyoung, but he heard him anyway. 

“You shouldn't be talking to me. You should be talking to him.”

“I know it's a lot to ask… but I just want to understand.”

Soonyoung sighed and the background noise became a little more distant. 

“Wonwoo and Seri met really young… They had been married for about four years when they got a divorce after he came out. She travels a lot for work so Wonwoo has Yunjin most of the time. It was a mess, you should have seen it. That's actually how Mingyu and him became friends, he was her teacher back then. I guess he felt sorry for Wonwoo, he couldn't even manage to match her socks.” 

Chan tried to imagine younger, messier versions of the Jeons, so polished now. He found it difficult. 

“Seri usually takes Yunjin for the Holidays, but this year she had an emergency and Yunjin came back early.”

“Oh.”

“He likes you, really. I haven't seen him this excited with someone since… well, since Yunjin learned how to write her name, I guess.”

There were voices closer this time, and Soonyoung replied something that Chan couldn't quite make up.

“I need to leave,” he said, even though he sounded like he didn't want to.

“Okay. Thanks for talking to me, hyung,” he replied, toying with his ring with his thumb. 

“Chan,” he could picture Soonyoung's mischievous eyes being all serious. 

“Yeah?” he said, his voice tiny.

“Talk to him.”

A pause. 

“I will.” 

He remained there, bathing in his thoughts. Trying to disentangle the mess that got even worse after talking to Soonyoung. 

Some minutes later, when Hansol came to the room to let him know dinner was ready, he was already reaching for the doorknob. 

“So you'll just… leave?” Seungkwan asked, following him to the car service that was waiting for him under the rain. 

The rain was cold as ice and it sneaked under his collar, making him shiver immediately. He turned around to look at his friends, standing under the sad lamppost light trying to avoid as much of the rain as they could with just one umbrella. 

“Yeah?” He cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said with more confidence. “I'll call you later with details, I promise.”

“You better,” Seungkwan said before enveloping him in a hug, this time Hansol joined them. 

The rain made them all shiver while Chan jumped on the car, and waved goodbye one last time before it took off. 

He retrieved his phone as the car left behind the city lights to send a message.

[lee.chan] hey, mom. I'm sorry but i dont think ill make it home tomorrow… i will call you later to tell you properly but i think i met someone… at least i hope so 

Then he tried not to panic for the rest of the trip. He thought back to the scripts now buried at the bottom of his luggage, and how he always lost it at the last grand romantic gesture because it was always so corny and exaggerated. 

Chan could now say he understood .

Credit where credit was due, his big, corny, cheesy romantic gesture was amplified by the fact that the car decided not to work anymore, right outside the town's entrance. 

“Thank you, I'll take it from here,” he said, leaving a pile of bills on the driver's hand while he waited for a tow truck to come get him.

Thankful that he had left his luggage in the care of his friends before parting on his fool's errand, and even more so to the fact that he never skipped workout routines, he ran. 

The snow was watery, clinging to his clothes but not solid enough to stay on the ground, forming a slippery coat on the pavement. His boots had a hard time trying to cling to it, making him slip here and there. 

By the time he made it to Wonwoo's house, he was grateful that he managed to not break his skull against the floor. 

Chan was agitated, and even though it was freezing, there was sweat running down his back. His hands were shaking when he rang the doorbell. 

He came to realize he didn't have any idea of what he was about to say, and if he did, it would have been useless because every single thought left his mind when Wonwoo opened the door. 

The only thing he was able to produce in his now vastly filled by a white void that his head had transformed into was how soft . Wonwoo was wearing a huge caramel-colored cardigan, his hands covered by the fabric. He had his phone against his ear, but went silent when he saw Chan standing there like an idiot.

“Mingyu, listen, I'll call you later,” he said to his phone, and without waiting for a response he hung up. “What are you doing here?”

Chan struggled to make up the words he was trying to say. 

“Can I come in?” He said instead. 

Wonwoo nodded and made way for him to cross the threshold, closing the door behind them. 

Chan followed him again to the kitchen. There was already a glass of wine on the countertop, half empty. Wonwoo rummaged through the cabinet ignoring the fact that the silence could crush them both against the floor, poured another glass and handed it to Chan.

“You look cold,” he said, like it was the most sensible thing to say, or do, at this point in time.

Like Chan wasn't feeling like pulling off all his hair. 

He took the glass but, after giving it some thought, he placed it on the countertop. Wonwoo sipped from his, calmly. 

“Hyung…” he started, deciding that screw it, he was improvising. “Let me explain why… I know my reaction may have been over the top, but-” 

“Oh, you mean when you didn't even let me explain? Because I know I lied, and it gnawed at me. I really really like you, and I wanted to tell you but,” Wonwoo pressed his lips tighter, his fingers white on the stem of his glass. Chan wondered if the glass would break under the pressure. If he might break under the pressure. “I know you'll leave. You have a life, a career, and we've known each other for what? Days? And even if this feeling is bigger than that timeline, your place is not here with us , and how would I explain to my daughter, who would have loved you, that you'd walk out of her life, our lives , before the new year even starts?” 

Wonwoo finally stopped looking at the wine in his cup and his eyes encountered Chan's. They were glittery. His breathing was a little jagged. 

“Are you done?” Chan asked.

“What,” Wonwoo said but it didn't sound like a question.

“I'm asking, have you said your piece?” 

Wonwoo looked confused. 

“Yes?” 

“Okay,” Chan replied, then took the glass off of his hand and placed it softly on the countertop behind Wonwoo. “If you let me, now I'll kiss you, and then we can keep talking. Okay?” 

Wonwoo just nodded, looking at Chan while he pushed him softly against the counter, and then he cupped his face with both his hands and kissed him. 

And they had kissed before, of course, but there was something different, an unique quality to it this time. There was something primal about it, in how Wonwoo clawed his damp jacket like his life depended on it, in how Chan could feel like his skin was too tight for him.

Wonwoo was the one to pull out but he didn't go far, resting his forehead against Chan's. Chan felt grateful for Wonwoo's hands, resting at his waist, grounding him. 

“Did you come back for that?” Wonwoo asked, his voice incredibly soft. 

“More or less, yeah,” Chan replied, carding his fingers through Wonwoo's hair. “Yunjin is asleep?” 

Wonwoo pressed him closer. 

“She's spending the night with Jihoon. I kind of wanted a night to myself, hold a pity party, you know?” 

“Can I join Hyung’s party?” Chan asked, his own voice sounding foreign to him, incredibly soft. 

“Only if you say what you have come here to say,” he replied. 

“Fair enough,” Chan found a loose thread on Wonwoo's cardigan and decided that it was easier to stare at it than to look at Wonwoo's dark and expectant eyes. “I think the lying was an excuse. As you said, the feelings were too big for a few days and I guess I'm too used to not feeling things. Too used to never expecting to find someone that makes me actually feel things,” finally Chan met with Wonwoo's eyes. “I don't know what to do with these feelings that won't sit still inside my chest, the inconvenient fireworks that light up when I look at you, with the fact that you came in opening doors and windows and I am afraid but what else, what else can this be if it threatens to tear me in two when I'm far from you.” 

Wonwoo's eyes were full of stars.

“I have a kid,” he said. 

“I know.”

“She's everything to me.”

“I know.”

“I want you in our lives. But I don't want her to bear your absence. We need commitment.”

“I'm ready,” Chan said, sure of something for the first time ever. 

“Good,” Wonwoo said before kissing him again.

Chan had to adjust a few things the next morning, from the cozyness of Wonwoo's bed. He called his manager and told him he was extending his trip for a few more weeks and then asked him to start searching for a Korean agent, since he was ready for new challenges. 

He called his parents, and told them that it would take him a few more days to make it there. He endured his mom's jokes and his younger brother calling him a simp. He also called his friends, who cheered for him and threatened Wonwoo in case he made Chan suffer (mostly Seungkwan, screaming so loud that Wonwoo could hear him without turning on the speaker). Chan also rang Jeonghan, to tell him the news about his impending migration plans, but someone else picked up and barely told him to try later because they were busy. 

Chan looked at his phone still displaying the amount of seconds it took the stranger to hang up on him, puzzled, when Wonwoo opened his mouth in surprise.

“I think that was what Mingyu wanted to talk about last night, something about a neighbor that kept showing up at your place?” 

“Oh, wow, I think that it was.”

“Do you think I should thereant this Jeonghan?”

“Oh, I am most certainly threatening Jeonghan-hyung.”

“You mean Mingyu?”

“No, I definitely mean Jeonghan-hyung.” 

Wonwoo laughed and Chan felt again those fireworks coming alight in his stomach before throwing his phone wherever and kissing him. 

When Yunjin came along for breakfast, she was elated to know that Chan was indeed spending New Year's with them. He would need to leave eventually, to spend time with his parents and later to finish all business back in LA, and there were still some logistics and details to polish off and future was uncertain, but also the future was theirs and even though it wasn't perfect, they were okay with adding a little mess in the mix. So Chan would never have to come back to an empty, too-clean, too-impersonal house.