Archive of Our Own ^beta

The world ends on a Thursday morning. The sky is bright blue, a light breeze ushers in summer, and there’s even a cheerful song playing from Mrs. Kim’s radio downstairs. The melody, something by that boy group that just debuted a few months ago (New Revolution or something equally as pretentious), floats in from the open window. It grates Sanghyuk’s nerves as he packs the last box in his room. Folding his bedsheets, a Chopper action figure clatters to the floor. Chapstick and spearmint gum wrappers join Chopper as Sanghyuk moves faster and faster, trying to hide his shaking hands with the continuous motion.

“Get everything?”

Sanghyuk nods as he pushes the box into the foyer, another two balanced precariously in his arms—manga books Jaehwan didn’t want and some CDs Taekwoon had left behind. Maybe he could bring them over next week; Taekwoon had promised he could visit sometime. Sanghyuk bites his lip. Taekwoon probably wouldn’t remember. Glancing around the empty apartment, the bare walls and dusty floors and the impossibly empty shoe rack, Sanghyuk chokes back a laugh. They’d all forgotten promises, especially the most important one of all.

“The cleaning guys will probably send what you left behind.” Sanghyuk finally glances up to see Hakyeon’s beaming face. “Besides, you can always buy more things.”

“Of course.”

Hakyeon’s grip falters, his hand slowly dropping from Sanghyuk’s shoulder. Ever the leader, he manages another wide, confident smile. “We’ll see each other soon.”

Liar. Sanghyuk copies the stretch of Hakyeon’s lips, even showing some teeth for extra effect. Such a wonderful liar. “I’m sure we will, hyung.”

And that’s how it ends. Everything is packed neatly into boxes, folded alongside clothes and memories, and thrown haphazardly into the back of a truck. Eleven years, Sanghyuk muses as he waits for the elevator. New Revolution softly serenades him, echoing in the empty hallway.

Ooo, baby baby~ I can’t let you go~ ooo, baby, baby…

Eleven years packed away, just like that—no complaints, no fights or tears. It had been very quiet, uneventful and calm even as Sanghyuk’s eyes had clenched shut, mind screaming otherwise as the disbandment was finalized. The elevator dings, the doors sliding open. It’s a beautiful fucking day. The world ends on a Thursday morning, and Sanghyuk didn’t do a damn thing about it.

Retirement, Sanghyuk thinks, is a loose term. He still finds his days packed full, hardly any time for meals as he’s whisked around from one event to another. Recordings, interviews, MC gigs—Youngwoon sunbae says he’s lucky. “It only goes downhill from here,” Youngwoon mutters, pouring another shot. He pauses, a fond smile crossing his face before he tosses back the soju. “Well, at least in show business it is. Marriage life is a fucking coaster ride.” Sanghyuk thinks back to Youngwoon’s wedding, a quiet affair where Super Junior had gathered for an impromptu, drunken medley of hit singles as they sent off their final member to tie the knot. A late marriage, some had whispered that night. Sanghyuk didn’t think it mattered, not when two people looked that happy.

Sanghyuk wonders if he could ever be married. He glances down at Youngwoon’s ring, the bar’s dim lights bouncing off the silver band. Every promise held in such a small, fragile thing. Sanghyuk thumbs his own ring, pressing the grooves into his skin.

“Still wearing it?” Youngwoon nods at his hands. Sanghyuk quickly drops them in his lap.

“Yes.”

Another shot of soju sits in front of him, Youngwoon’s hand clenched around the bottle as he watches Sanghyuk. He opens his mouth, closes it; his fingers twitch against the glass. He repeats this a few more times before gesturing at Sanghyuk’s glass. “Drink.”

It burns his throat. Sanghyuk thinks back to his first drink, when Hakyeon had watched in half apprehension, half pride as he laughed at Sanghyuk’s scrunched face. His face had been very red that night, and almost as warm as Hakyeon’s arms around his waist.

“It’s best to forget it.” Youngwoon stares at Sanghyuk’s ring. “Best to move on.”

May 6th, 2012. Sunday. It had been raining, a light drizzle really, with a sliver of sun reflected in the wet streets. A good sign, Hakyeon had said happily as he led them out the shop, six rings wrapped firmly around six trembling fingers. Sanghyuk thumbs his ring again and refills his empty glass.

He could never forget.

Jaehwan loses a lot of weight. Sanghyuk almost doesn’t recognize him when someone with an unfamiliar thin face and a familiar sharp nose sits across from him. It’s only when Jaehwan spreads his lips into a wide smile, eyes curving into a greeting, that Sanghyuk relaxes.

“Hyung.”

“Hyukkie, you’re too thin.”

Sanghyuk snorts, reaching for the menu. “Not as thin as you. How many kilos did you lose? Ten? Fifteen?”

“Five.” Jaehwan frowns at his menu before closing it shut. “The musical’s been killing me. Double shows aren’t a joke.”

“You should ask for a break.”

“And get fully replaced? I don’t think so.” Jaehwan sips his water. “You’re the one who should take a break. I see your face every time I turn on the TV.”

Sanghyuk ducks his head. “Stop it.”

“Still so shy,” Jaehwan coos. He leans over the table to pinch Sanghyuk’s cheek, only stopping when the waiter stops by. “When did our baby turn into such a famous actor?”

“When you stopped babying me.” Sanghyuk grins at Jaehwan’s pout. He almost expects Jaehwan to break into a high-pitched whine, some fake tears and exaggerated aegyo to garner his sympathy. Instead, Jaehwan’s downturned lips shift into a tight smile.

“Well, you’re almost thirty now.” Jaehwan sighs, fiddling with a napkin. “We’re all so old. Can you believe Hongbin’s turning thirty-two next weekend?”

“Yeah. I got the invitation.”

“Formal attire. For a birthday.” Jaehwan groans and slouches over the table. “What the hell do we need formal attire for? What ever happened to soju and barbecue and loads of cake?”

Sanghyuk chuckles. “We’re adults now.”

“So? That doesn’t mean we have to do adult stuff like fucking formal attire.”

Jaehwan gripes long into the meal, Sanghyuk offering a few agreeing nods every now and then. He had missed Jaehwan’s lively personality. It feels nice to slip back into a familiar conversation, a warmth that temporarily fills an emptiness. Sanghyuk laughs when Jaehwan imitates Hongbin’s nagging voice, wildly waving around his arms as he tells his story. It feels nice to know that some things haven’t changed.

“Have you talked to Hakyeon hyung?”

Sanghyuk pauses, his spoon clinking against the plate. “No. We’ve all been busy so…”

“Yeah.” More spoons clinking and Sanghyuk can feel Jaehwan’s stare on him. Jaehwan clears his throat. “He hasn’t been taking any jobs.”

“Well, he did want to relax for a while so I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“But this isn’t like him.”

“Maybe you didn’t really know him then.”

There’s no response. Sanghyuk can barely taste food, forcing himself to chew and swallow and repeat. Jaehwan puts down his spoon, pushes away the plate. “I’m worried. Even Taekwoon hyung can’t get a hold of him.”

Even Taekwoon. Sanghyuk reaches for the water. That means Jaehwan’s also tried, maybe even Hongbin. Wonshik would have been the first to try. Sanghyuk wipes his mouth and checks his phone. “I actually have a schedule to go to so—”

“I get it.” Jaehwan waves him off, a cheeky grin that stretches uncomfortably on his face. Sanghyuk can’t meet his eyes as he gets up. “No one wants to remember the past. I get it.”

Sanghyuk doesn’t correct him. He doesn’t tell Jaehwan that no, that’s not true at all. Jaehwan’s actually wrong because Sanghyuk does nothing more than remember the past. It keeps him up at night, haunts him long into the morning and throughout the day, and suddenly it’s night again and he’s still stuck thinking about their before.

“See you at Hongbin’s party.” He hears a noncommittal grunt, a clink of glass as Jaehwan reaches for his water. Sanghyuk grabs the check and leaves.

The past isn't anything particularly special. Like any other idol group, they had had their time in the spotlight, watched their fame light up and flare before dwindling into slow burning embers. They were lucky, really, to have even lasted so long. Some idols barely made it past a year, shuffling through groups and companies faster than Sanghyuk could remember their names. They were lucky to have transitioned so seamlessly into the entertainment world. Others were lost in the crowd of pretty faces and perfect personalities. VIXX had managed to stay relevant despite it all. They were very, very lucky.

So Sanghyuk shouldn't complain. He shouldn't mope about the past or cling to their before because it had been good and it had been nice. There were memories, friendships, growth—all things that molded them into the stars they are today. He’s very lucky. That's what he tells himself every night. Maybe some day he'll actually believe it.

Fireworks, Sanghyuk discovers, aren't as bright as they used to be. Maybe it's the glaring Seoul city lights seen beyond the penthouse rooftop or the pretentious shit behind all the extravagance, but the yellow and blue sparkles seem especially dull to him. Then again, one should expect nothing but extravagance for Lee Hongbin, beloved music video prince of Korea. Sanghyuk had read the headlines for years. The voiceless splendor. The music video statue. The names had only gotten more and more ridiculous, and Sanghyuk could only manage an amused snort now. He sips on the champagne, wondering what Hongbin thinks of all of this.

"Hyukkie!"

Heavy cologne, a heavier arm on his shoulder, and he turns to see a cheesy smile. Sanghyuk automatically mirrors the grin, relief flooding through his body. "Wonshik hyung."

"Enjoying the show?"

"Yes. So much. I love fireworks. It's not like we see them at every award show. Awesome."

"I see the sarcasm is still strong in you." Wonshik ruffles his hair and grabs the champagne out of his hand.

"Bet Taekwoon hyung is loving this," Sanghyuk says. He smiles at the thought of the scary hyung cowering at the loud noise. A kitten, as Hakyeon had once described him. A lion, Sanghyuk had argued.

"He's off hiding in Hongbin's room." Wonshik tugs on his arm. "I was actually supposed to come and get you. Everyone's already there."

"Everyone?"

Wonshik's hesitant glance answers his question. Even as he's led into the room, his eyes search for one more when his mind already expects four. Sanghyuk tries to focus on Hongbin, on his tired smile and worn-out dimples. "Hey, hyung."

Hongbin tugs him into a hug. "You made it."

"Of course I did. It's the artwork’s birthday."

Jaehwan cackles from the side, and Sanghyuk sees Taekwoon cover his smile. Hongbin rolls his eyes and shoves him away. "Brat."

They fall all too easily into light-hearted banter, a few bottles of soju helping the words and memories tumble back out. It’s already been half a year, but if Sanghyuk closes his eyes, it would be like a decade ago. And yet, glancing around at their faces, he thinks they couldn’t be any more different. They look much more worn, as if all those hours in the practice rooms, the recording studios, the tiny van, had finally shown their effects. Jaehwan offers him a bottle and he doesn’t hesitate to grab it.

Pretty soon, all five are spread out on Hongbin's obnoxiously large bed, the last of the fireworks crackling outside the window. Sanghyuk blinks sleepily at the sight, his hand reaching at the empty space beside him. He's met with wrinkled sheets and Wonshik's growing snores.

"It's not the same." Hongbin sounds much too sober considering how much he'd had. Or maybe Sanghyuk is just too drunk. He had lost count after the fourth glass—after his hand didn’t close around a familiar wrist. When he shuts his eyes, his mouth opens.

"I keep expecting him to tackle me. You know, suffocate me. He'd always hug us and we'd push him away." Sanghyuk turns on his back, letting the dizziness come in bigger waves. "I still feel suffocated though." Sanghyuk snaps his mouth shut. He breathes through his nose, letting each intake and exhale carry him further into numbness.

"My invitation got returned," Hongbin says softly. "He doesn't live there anymore."

Sanghyuk turns over again, this time to see Jaehwan drooling against Taekwoon's shoulder.

"Taekwoon hyung said he went by his place the other day and it was empty." Hongbin's voice wavers. Sanghyuk wants to squeeze his eyes shut, but he turns them to Hongbin, watching as he worries his lip. "No one can get a hold of him. His phone's out of service."

Sanghyuk thinks back to their last conversation. We'll see each other soon. Such a good liar. Ever the good leader.

"Is this normal?" Hongbin rubs his head. "Are we just worrying too much?"

Normal. Sanghyuk supposes it's normal to let go of the past, to move on and pursue individual activities. He supposes it's normal to go from meeting three times a week to once a month, then to maybe once a year. Normal. Yes, it's completely normal for five middle-aged, washed-out idols to be snoring on a bed, shitfaced out of their minds. But. Sanghyuk slowly sits up. It's not normal that the one person who promised them forever is gone.

"I'll find him."

Hongbin jerks his head up. "What?"

Sanghyuk pulls out his phone, scrolling through his list of contacts. He'll start with Youngwoon. That man knows everything. "I'll find him. And I'll bring him back."

Hongbin gapes at him for a little longer, opening and closing his mouth a few times before leaning back in the bed. "I knew you cared."

Without looking up from his phone, Sanghyuk throws his nearly empty soju bottle at Hongbin’s head. "Happy birthday."

July 5th, 2012. It’s eleven p.m. and the summer humidity draws sweat from his brow. Sanghyuk digs his heels into the dirt, idly pushing himself on the swing as he presses the phone to his ear. Manager hyung said he has thirty minutes, but at the rate his sister’s talking, it’ll be thirty hours before she’s done.

“And then Kyungah said that actually Eunkwang is the funniest and I just—I mean, obviously Changsub is the funniest, he’s, like, high all the time—and she said I had no idea what I was talking about, and, like, did she forget that my brother knows them? So then Jungin from history class heard this so she started asking all these stupid questions and, like, she said you’re really cute which is absolutely disgusting but completely true, but anyways the point is…”

Usually, Sanghyuk would drop the phone, maybe go get a snack or watch a short video, and then come back to find her still talking. But after months of not hearing her voice, Sanghyuk relishes in her words.

“Basically, you need to get your ass back to Daejeon and set Jungin straight.”

Sanghyuk snorts. “I’ll make sure to put that in my schedule.”

“You better.” He imagines her smirking, probably rolling her eyes. “Did you get my present? Mom and Dad also sent you something.”

“Not yet. Maybe it’ll come tomorrow.”

“What about fan gifts? I heard idols get loads of stuff, like headphones, clothes, stars…”

“We just debuted.”

“So? You’re cute enough for the noonas. I’m sure they bought you, like, diapers or something.”

“Keep this up and I’m not getting you Taekwoon hyung’s autograph.”

Her laugh is loud, and Sanghyuk, still smiling, glances around the empty playground. He’d really missed his sister, and the momentary lapse back into his childhood helped soothe the lonely night. When her voice becomes hushed, his smile wavers. “Are you getting along with them now?”

“It’s fine. Just newbie stuff, you know how it is.” He forces out a chuckle. “They’re stuck with me now.”

It’s her turn to snort, but Sanghyuk can hear the worry in her voice. “Well, just let me know if someone bullies you and I’ll beat them up. Taekwoon or not.”

Sanghyuk’s still laughing long after they hang up. His frail sister against Taekwoon hyung, the king of scowls and hard punches. The idea, while endearing, is too funny, and he almost falls off the swing as he leans back to take a breath.

“Having fun?”

Sanghyuk quickly straightens, ducking his head sheepishly when Hakyeon joins him. “I was just talking to my sister.”

Hakyeon beams. “That’s nice.”

“Yeah. I haven’t spoken to her in a while so…”

“It’s good to call every now and then.” Hakyeon stares up at the sky, his hands gripping the swing’s chains. “Reminds you of why you’re still doing this.”

There’s a funny smile on Hakyeon’s face, one Sanghyuk’s never seen before; it’s a little twisted, a little pained—something much less hopeful and excited than Hakyeon’s usual smiles. For some reason, it scares Sanghyuk.

“Oh!” Hakyeon pulls something out of his pocket. The swing’s chains rattle as he leans over to Sanghyuk. “A little gift from your leader.”

It’s a pair of sunglasses, plain black with thin blue streaks on the sides. They’re nothing special, except that they’re just like the ones Sanghyuk had seen at that store in Gangnam last week. He’d followed Hongbin and Wonshik on a shopping trip and ended up turning the glasses in his hands until he had seen the price tag. Hakyeon hadn’t even been there.

“Hyung…”

“It’s all I can afford for now, but I’ll get you something really nice once we’re rich and famous.” Hakyeon laughs. Tugging Sanghyuk up, he wraps an arm around his neck and pulls him back towards the apartment. “Let’s give manager hyung his phone back and maybe eat some cake.”

Sanghyuk thinks he might have blubbered out a ‘thank you’, maybe even let out a few sniffs and tears he wipes away before entering the apartment. He doesn’t remember where those sunglasses are anymore; probably lost between their van’s seats or left behind in some hotel overseas. But he never forgets the warm hand on his neck, the quiet strength in Hakyeon’s grasp, and a soft murmur of, “Happy birthday, Hyuk-ah.”

As it turns out, Youngwoon doesn’t know everything.

“I know everything,” Youngwoon says. “I just don’t know where your leader disappeared to.”

“Then you don’t know everything.”

“Shut up, kid.” The phone line crackles when Youngwoon huffs. “But I know a guy who might know something.”

Turns out, the guy is Sunggyu. Of all the people in their small entertainment world, it’s Kim Sunggyu that walks into the café to meet him. Sanghyuk can’t even remember the last time he’d seen the man. Did Hakyeon even talk to him? Is it a leader thing? Sanghyuk considers leaving, maybe go hunt down Youngwoon, but then Sunggyu slides into the seat across from him and he’s stuck smiling awkwardly at an old sunbae.

“Sunbae.” Sanghyuk clears his throat. “It’s been a while.”

“Only a year. I saw you at Jaehwan’s musical last winter.”

“Oh?”

“I was in it too.”

“...Oh.”

“Yeah.” Sunggyu shrugs, motioning for the waiter. “Time flies.”

He had never been close to Sunggyu, much less interacted with him outside of necessary circumstances. They had maybe a handful of recordings together, and he’d probably bowed to Sunggyu more often than actually speaking to him. Sanghyuk could barely breathe in this awkward atmosphere. Then again, Sunggyu looks comfortable, pleasantly drinking his cappuccino as Sanghyuk fidgets in his seat.

“I’ve got a recording after this so let’s get right to it.” Sunggyu puts down his cup. Sanghyuk tries not to shrink under his gaze. “So I heard you’re looking for Hakyeon.”

“Something like that.”

Sunggyu grins. “There’s no gray area here, Sanghyuk. He’s either answering your calls or not.”

“He’s not. For any of us. And no one can find him, he’s dropped out of shows, his apartment’s empty…”

Sanghyuk chokes on his words. Holy fuck. It’s real. Everything seemed like a bad joke, a horribly written story for the end of VIXX, but it’s finally hitting Sanghyuk. They’re really over and Hakyeon is really gone. He bites his lip, knee shaking uncontrollably under the table. Hyung, where did you go?

“It can happen. Sometimes people don’t realize how long they’ve been in this industry and just kind of—” Sunggyu snaps his fingers. “—crack.”

“But I didn’t see this coming.”

“No one does. Some people just handle it better than others. Imagine everything just ending in one day. That’s not okay, especially for a leader.”

Sanghyuk thinks back to the end, to Hakyeon’s bright smile that was too weak to be real, to Hakyeon’s trembling hand on his shoulder. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have let this happen? “I need to find him.”

“Chances are, he went back to the beginning.”

“We already checked with his parents…”

“Do you think he’d really tell them?” Sunggyu sighs. “Think, Sanghyuk.”

Changwon. That city had over a million people on its own. Sanghyuk rubs his face. How was he supposed to find one person in that place?

“You didn’t hear it from me, but a certain someone asked me for a favor.” Sunggyu jots something down on a napkin. “I have a friend who owns small apartment complexes in Changwon. Hakyeon might have asked to rent one.”

Sanghyuk runs his finger over the address on the napkin. That’s three hours by train, four hours by bus. Sanghyuk tucks the napkin into his jacket. He has a car, that’ll be four hours, five with traffic. He’ll have to pack a bag, cancel his schedules for a while. Sanghyuk thinks about his manager’s frustrated face. Maybe he’ll just tell Hongbin and tell manager hyung later.

“How long has it been anyways?” Sunggyu stares at him over his cup. “Since VIXX broke up?”

“Um, maybe six months?”

It’s been seven months and fifteen days. Sanghyuk swirls his coffee, watching the cream melt into the dark abyss. And five hours. It’s been the longest and shortest time of his life. He can’t believe it’s already been this long, and yet, every tick of the clock and passing minute feels like an eternity.

“Only that long,” Sunggyu muses. “Must have been pretty bad if he disappeared like that.”

It was a beautiful day. Sanghyuk still remembers the clear sky and the last of the spring breeze. “It was fine.”

Sunggyu’s gaze is sympathetic, pitying as if he knows of the broken pieces and the lingering taste of regret that consumes Sanghyuk’s entire being. He doesn’t say a word, not even a sigh, when Sanghyuk looks him firmly in the eyes and repeats, “It was fine.”

Hakyeon had always hated watching movies with Sanghyuk. “You keep spoiling the ending,” he’d complain, and Sanghyuk would just shrug, maybe shoot back a smart response. It was just too easy to predict movies, to connect the dots before the second half or to see when the actors were trying to hard to preserve something that had been obvious from the start. “He’s probably a ghost,” Sanghyuk had once whispered when they were watching The Sixth Sense. Taekwoon had slapped him across the head for that, Hakyeon shrieking angrily in Sanghyuk’s ear.

Like most endings, Sanghyuk had seen VIXX’s coming. Fewer nights in the dorms, fewer nights at a table for six. Then there were individual promotions, army requirements, personal lives—it had been an inevitable outcome. (Everyone in this industry was doomed from the start.) But Sanghyuk had seen it earlier, before Wonshik and Hongbin were the first to move out, before Taekwoon actually started giving in to his pranks, as if he were cherishing what days they had left, and before Jaehwan became forcedly happy after late night rehearsals. Sanghyuk had known when he’d caught Hakyeon staring at them. He’d watch them, no longer participating in their conversations or being the brunt of their jokes. He’d be in the back or the front, off to the side with his eyes wide and mouth tightly closed in a thin smile. He’d watch as if he didn’t belong, Sanghyuk now realizes.

One time, Hakyeon had met his gaze, that terribly familiar smile on his face—a little twisted, a little pained—and just like that, it was gone. Hakyeon winked at him, getting up to squeeze in between Wonshik and Taekwoon so that he could hear Jaehwan’s jokes. Sanghyuk should have said something then, maybe even just reached out and said a simple, “I saw that.” He’ll think about that moment in the future, five or ten years later when he has his own room, his own apartment, and sitting in the dark he’ll recall that haunting smile. And he’ll remember everything he didn’t do to let it happen.

Of all the people in his world, Sanghyuk tells Taekwoon where he’s going. Maybe it’s because Taekwoon’s the closest to Hakyeon or because Taekwoon’s the least familiar with Sanghyuk, but he’s the first number Sanghyuk dials. The line barely rings twice before he picks up.

“You found him?”

Straight to the point; so typical of Taekwoon. Sanghyuk manages a grin as he throws shirts into his overnight bag. “I think so. I’m leaving in an hour.”

“Oh. That’s good.”

Sanghyuk hesitates at the following silence. “Do you want to come with me?”

A short grunt. “No. Just you go.”

Sanghyuk suddenly recalls all the times he had thought Taekwoon was terrifying. Piercing eyes, strict discipline, biting words—Sanghyuk had stared at Taekwoon’s feet more often than his eyes. That sentiment had continued long into their debut, him referring to Taekwoon as “that super scary hyung” and even going as far as staying for extra rehearsals so he wouldn’t have to ride back to the dorms with him.

“He thinks you’re adorable though,” Hakyeon would say. “A brat, but adorable.”

Sanghyuk thinks back to the times when he’s pulling pranks on them, like tickling Hongbin while he’s trying to weight lift, because abs are overrated, or drawing mustaches on Wonshik’s face while he’s sleeping on the plane. He’d once caught Taekwoon’s smirk, Hakyeon laughing in the background, and later on, when Hongbin complained about sore abs and Taekwoon just threw a towel at his face, Hakyeon had leaned over and whispered, “See. I told you he likes you.” Sanghyuk swears he didn’t blush, that he didn’t feel an overwhelming rush of satisfaction—acceptance—consume him.

It would later be Hakyeon who told Sanghyuk what to buy Taekwoon for his birthday—as it turned out, a puppy keychain was the best way into Taekwoon’s heart—and it would be Hakyeon who forced Sanghyuk and Taekwoon to stop their petty fights about who left the toilet seat up. (“We’re all boys, hyung! Why can’t the seat be up?!” “I refuse to live with barbarians.”) In fact, half of why Sanghyuk even likes Taekwoon is because of Hakyeon. Maybe that’s why he can’t bear to look Taekwoon in the eyes anymore. He reminds him too much of what they’ve lost.

“Bring him back,” Taekwoon says roughly.

Sanghyuk zips up his bag, already heading out the door. “I will.”

May 6th, 2012. It was a Sunday and Sanghyuk was trailing behind five broad shoulders. Hakyeon had decided they deserved one last break before debut and snuck them out after rehearsals. “Team bonding,” he called it. The worst decision ever, Taekwoon’s face said. Sanghyuk thought it was a bit exhilarating to explore Seoul with his future team. He sucked in a quick breath. Team. His team.

“Keep up!”

Sanghyuk jerked his head at Hongbin’s voice and ran after him. It all seemed surreal.

They stopped at the end of a market street, Sanghyuk hesitantly staring up at the store sign before ducking inside to see case after case of jewelry. The shop was just about to close, Sistar’s Alone playing in the background as they looked around. Taekwoon tapped the glass in time to the beat, Jaehwan hummed under his breath, and Sanghyuk shivered in the back, his eyes flickering around the dim shop.

“Choose one.” Hakyeon leaned over the counter. His eyes glowed under the cheap lights, the glass cases reflecting diamonds in them as he met Sanghyuk’s gaze. “Choose a ring for us, Hyuk-ah.”

It was a rainy day, the streets slick when they stumbled outside. Hongbin didn’t think it was a good sign, but Hakyeon said, “The rain clears the path for a better tomorrow.” Jaehwan screeched about how cheesy he was, Wonshik and Hongbin groaning in agreement—Taekwoon had already put his headphones on, walking ahead of them all—and Sanghyuk. Sanghyuk was stuck between a drawn-out sigh and an awkward smile as he drank in Hakyeon’s words. He decided on a nervous laugh as he followed behind them, thumbing the double-banded ring on his finger.

Sanghyuk had always thought that moment would be infinite. He had always believed that moment—six boys with six identical rings stepping into the rain—to be their story. He never thought Hakyeon’s ring would be left behind in Sanghyuk’s box of old manhwas, slipped loosely between One Piece and Naruto.

Changwon is a little like Seoul, with more people than cars and more cars than buildings. It’s also nothing like Seoul, with the mountains looming over buildings and the noticeably fresher air. On his drive in, he sees a sign that reads Join our azalea festival this spring! Sanghyuk snorts. The five hour trip had passed in a daze, but now that he’s here, he feels exhaustion slowly creep into his body.

When Sanghyuk arrives at the modest apartment complex, tucked behind a row of grocery stores and book shops, he makes it all the way out of the car, up the stairs to the fourth floor, down the hall to door number 43, and he freezes. He’s finally there and he can’t move, can’t press the button or tear down the door. His hand doesn’t tremble, his head not lightheaded or dazed anymore—everything is crystal clear, like the calm before the storm. But he can’t do it. So he goes back down the hall, down the stairs to the front exit, across the street to a bakery, orders a double latte, sits at the window bar, and he watches. He waits.

He sits there for two hours. He orders another latte and sits there another hour. He almost gives up when Hakyeon, or someone with the same hair but a thinner body, with the same motions but a stooped walk, comes out. Sanghyuk forces down the wave that threatens to consume him, pushing aside every single emotion that he’d swallowed for the past seven months. (Eleven years.) He waits some more, orders one more latte because what the hell he’s come this far, and when Hakyeon comes back, he follows.

Across the street, up the stairs, down the hall—he knocks. And he waits for Hakyeon to open the door.

Where were you? Did you eat well? Did you take your vitamins, the ones you would set out for me every morning? How many hours have you slept?

Sanghyuk watches as Hakyeon pours the tea. When he sits down, his sweater engulfs him, burying him under the red fabric. Hakyeon’s face is gaunt, cheekbones protruding painfully against too pale skin, and his fingers, tapping quickly against his cup, are trembling. His eyes, when he finally looks up, are dull.

“Hyuk-ah.”

Why did you leave? What are you running from? Why didn’t you keep your promise? Why?

There’s a rushing noise in Sanghyuk’s ears. Something’s building, threatening to burst out of him. He musters a soft, “Hyung.”

“Why are you here?”

And that does it. Sanghyuk breaks.

“I don’t know what to do.” He feels the wave coming, his chest expanding so tightly he can barely feel the heaving breaths escaping from him. It’s too much, too fast or slow or late or early—it’s all just too fucking much and it overwhelms him. The words tumble out of him, slipping through his hands that try so desperately to hold back his cries. “I don’t know how to move on. Without you.”

He’s still shaking, seven months of tears, questions, and emptiness pouring out in one overdue confession. When he looks up, Hakyeon’s leaning forward, his hands hovering near Sanghyuk’s face.

“Just the way you’ve been doing.” Hakyeon taps Sanghyuk’s ring, giving him a slow ghost of a smile. He leans back and meets his eyes. “Just like that.”

Sanghyuk stays for the night. Hakyeon refuses to let him find a hotel, already pulling out some extra blankets as the night rolls in. Sanghyuk’s lying down in the middle of the living room on a futon, barely feeling the hard floor against his back, when Hakyeon joins him. Sanghyuk doesn’t move as he continues to stare out the balcony door.

“Why didn’t you love me?”

He hears Hakyeon suck in his breath. “But I did. I loved you so, so much.”

“Then why did you leave?”

“I…” Hakyeon sounds panicked. “I got lost. People move on, I get that, and this idol thing doesn’t last forever. My place seemed less significant the older we got, and I understood that. I was willing to accept it. But you.” His voice strains, a weak laugh following. “You wouldn’t let me go. You kept me in that same leader spot since the beginning, and I found that I couldn’t move on as well. Hyuk-ah. You were just too dependent on me.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Your life shouldn’t have to revolve around me.”

“Well, then you should’ve never come into my life.”

Hakyeon doesn’t respond. They sit there a little longer, hesitant breaths between them. Sanghyuk takes in the night stars; they shine so much brighter here than in Seoul. Hakyeon sighs deeply. Such a silly reason. Sanghyuk glances over at him. Such a silly, silly reason to leave.

If only Hakyeon knew what he meant to him. Sanghyuk only has VIXX. After everything that has happened in his twenty-eight years on this earth, it boils down to this: Sanghyuk needs to know that the past eleven years of his life wasn’t wasted. He needs to know that his dreams did come true and that every challenge and success on the way was worth it. He needs proof—everyday, tangible and undeniable proof—that he made some small mark on this planet, and Hakyeon is proof that he did.

“I haven’t been moving on since you left. At all,” Sanghyuk whispers. “I’m not okay without you.”

Sanghyuk reaches over, finding Hakyeon’s hand in the dark. Hakyeon flinches, but he doesn’t pull away.

Sanghyuk isn’t sure if this is romance. Maybe. In some ways, he can see it. With the way his heart searches for Hakyeon, it can be interpreted as that. Maybe they even have a future, together. And in other ways, it has absolutely nothing to do with romance and everything to do with just being together. Sometimes he imagines them with their own families, their kids best friends and partners in crime against Taekwoon’s own brats. Maybe.

But it is love. It’s him needing Hakyeon to be in his life so that Sanghyuk can breathe a little easier, smile a little wider, laugh a little harder. It’s Hakyeon keeping him in orbit when everything else that is and was his life has moved beyond him.

And above all, it’s knowing that he can reach out—into the darkness, the light, anywhere and everywhere—and know that someone will take his hand.

May 22nd, 2012. Sanghyuk is sitting in the practice room after another bad rehearsal, Jaehwan’s encouraging smile and Hongbin’s silent shoulder nudge lingering on his mind as he tries to justify, reason, and figure out why he’s doing this. He’s still questioning himself when the door opens and someone sits next to him.

Hakyeon doesn’t say a word at first, idly humming Super Hero under his breath, before he talks. He starts talking about how Sanghyuk has to understand why Taekwoon still hasn’t opened up to him and, “He’ll come around eventually, he loves everyone.” He talks about how often Jaehwan trips on his own feet that it scares him but, “I’d trust that guy with my life.” Then there’s Hongbin and his beautiful smile, “But he’s really scared and nervous, just like you,” and how Wonshik hasn’t even been snoring lately, “He’s been spending all his nights in the studio.” And Hakyeon who seems so confident all the time but, “I’m kind of terrified of the future. I don’t even know what tomorrow holds. I guess what I’m trying to say is that we’re all a little insecure, Hyuk-ah. Maybe you don’t have the same talents as we do, but you have something. That’s why you’re still here.”

“What’s that something?”

“I don’t know.” Hakyeon laughs, tilting his head back and then sliding down so that he’s leaning against Sanghyuk’s shoulder. Sanghyuk doesn’t say anything as he watches their tired and broken bodies in the practice room mirror.

“You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

He swears Hakyeon’s eyes sparkle then. Hakyeon doesn’t say a word. And for that second, Sanghyuk’s okay.

The bottom line is, Sanghyuk needs Hakyeon. He can go over their past, present, and future in so many different ways with every kind of scenario—What if we didn’t meet? What if I never walked into Jellyfish? What if you weren’t my leader? What if we forgot you?—but it all comes down to the same thing: Sanghyuk needs Hakyeon and there can be no other way.

“We’ll see each other soon.”

Sanghyuk stands in front of Hakyeon’s door. He has one foot outside and a hand on the doorknob, the other hand grasping his duffle bag. When he hears Hakyeon utter those words, he stops. And he turns.

“We need you.” Sanghyuk drops his bag, not bothering to slip off his shoes as he walks back to him. Hakyeon takes a step back, and Sanghyuk takes his hand. “Maybe not VIXX, but Taekwoon hyung, Jaehwan hyung, Wonshik hyung, even Hongbin. And me, especially me. I need you, hyung.”

Before standing on stage, before taking his first steps into the VIXX dorm, before MyDol filming, Sanghyuk had found himself in an empty practice room surrounded by unfamiliar faces. And then years later, standing before a crowd of ten thousand, stepping into a brand new apartment, filming their fourth reality show, Sanghyuk had still felt like an awkward seventeen-year-old barely aware of the world. But through it all, there had been one constant in his whirlwind life to keep him up and breathing.

His left hand reaches inside his pocket, his right grasping Hakyeon’s hand. He slides Hakyeon’s ring onto his finger. It’s a bit loose, slipping weakly on worn skin and frail bones, but it fits perfectly into the double-banded groove in Hakyeon’s skin.

“You’re such a brat, Han Sanghyuk.” Hakyeon’s voice is muffled, his face hidden behind his hands. Later, he’ll swear he wasn’t crying and Sanghyuk won’t say a word about the tears dripping between his fingers. Instead, Sanghyuk will remember the sound of wet hiccups between choked laughter, the snot-ridden but huge smile on Hakyeon’s face, and he’ll always treasure the warmth of their clasped hands.

The world ended on a Thursday morning, and it was a beautiful, clear day. Today is a Saturday and it’s raining but someone had once told him that the rain clears the path for a better tomorrow. Sanghyuk squeezes Hakyeon’s hand. They’ll be just fine.