Archive of Our Own

All Jiseok knows, is that Jungsu and Gunil’s love was once something bright and burning. Not quite a fire; something like the sun. Untouchable, but the warmth was enough to keep them alive. They were like flowers, the two, blooming and blossoming in soft pretty blue hues. Some say something like that is unsustainable. Always destined to wilt with the season. 

He’s sure Jungsu thinks sort of like that too. Jiseok can’t help but think it’s his own fault. How can he not? They had a whole life ahead of them. Then Jungsu’s aunt died, Jiseok’s mom, though he never knew her the way he knows Jungsu, and Jungsu fought to take him in. 

Gunil had helped. 

Jiseok loves Gunil too, though he’s yet to exactly meet him. It’s a thing of proxy. Of service too. Gunil takes care of him. Jiseok is sure that’s the only way Jungsu convinced him to leave. Is if he could still, always and selflessly, help. 

They were never married, Jungsu’s name is the only one in Jiseok’s records of legal guardian. Still, Gunil keeps in touch the same way an estranged father does. Christmas checks and anonymous birthday cards and bouquets every month. 

Jiseok has come to admire him from afar the same way a child of divorce does. After too many years unbearably watching Jungsu leave traces of his love all around their already too stuffed full house, in the flowers Jungsu always kills, in the sweaters in the closet Jungsu never touches, in the songs Jungsu sings only ever under his breath, in the way all his dates go sour, in the forbidden box where all envelopes signed with his name are filed away, tucked out of sight. 

Jiseok learned how to keep love secret, and how to pick it apart in his own hands, petal by petal. 

Jungsu says he doesn’t love Gunil anymore, and that it was never Jiseok’s fault. All Jiseok knows, is that Jungsu is partial to the frequent white lie. 

“Seungmin needs me in the studio. I don't know how long it’ll take so there’s food in the fridge but if you don’t want that I can order you some, or the cookbook we never returned to the library is on my shelf–” He’s moving about the house rapidly, throwing things like his wallet and keys into his shoulder bag. This isn’t at all a situation new to them. 

Jiseok throws his head back against the couch, groaning, “I know, Su. I’m not a kid anymore.” Which he gets to say as much as he wants to now, freshly eighteen and quick to remind everyone of it. 

This only prompts Jungsu to drop everything, coming quickly up behind him and pinching his cheeks. He peppers Jiseok’s head in merciless kisses, Jiseok fighting for his life beneath the assault of them. “You’re always gonna be a baby to me,” Jungsu declares unabashedly and much to Jiseok’s chagrin. He’s used to it though. Well used to it. 

With one last peck to Jiseok’s nose, Jungsu is on his way out, propping the door on his hip as he checks his bag once more. He calls out cheerily just as the door shuts, “No inviting Jooyeon! He’s not an adult yet.” Managing to make Jiseok’s cheeks flare red without even sticking around to see. 

Having no schoolwork, college applications submitted, out of boredom and curiosity Jiseok decides to search for the cookbook they never returned to the library. 

He pads through the hall of their two bedroom apartment, cozy and homey, decorated with pictures of them and Seungmin and Hyeongjun and all the posters Jiseok’s fixations have brought in over the years. The lights dimly flicker, but because it’s only the hall, they never bother to fix it. Their rooms sit across from each other, and Jiseok easily pushes open Jungsu’s door and slips inside. 

He’s in Jungsu’s room as much as he’s in his own. Jungsu’s like his big brother, parental status aside. Their boundaries are a lot different, a lot stranger, than most. Jiseok spots his hoodie on Jungsu’s desk chair, huffing because he’d forgotten where he’d left that. Tugging it off and folding it over his arm, he squats before Jungsu’s bookshelf. 

Running his fingers idly over the many colored spines of books and DVD cases, Jiseok hums to himself, trying to recall what the cookbook had even looked like. He finds it, hissing out a small aha , pulling it out of its place in the crammed shelf a little too carelessly. Out with it falls several books and knick knacks. “Shit,” he mutters, hurrying to fix his mess. 

It calls to him, really, the too fake palette of the book, the paper edges too flat, too shiny. The book is big, tall, and hollow. It’s not a book at all. He rubs his thumb over the surface, brows furrowing. He picks up all the rest, but hesitates to put the fake book, no doubt a box, back in its place. 

He holds it midair, a few centimeters from putting it away, his teeth caught in his bottom lip. He swallows, stumbling to his feet and sprinting into his room. He switches on the light, shuts the door, and drops the box on his bed. 

Tossing aside his hoodie, climbing atop his outgrown spaceship duvet, Jiseok hooks his nail beneath the box’s magnet. He takes a deep breath, second guessing invading Jungsu’s privacy like this. But can he help it when he knows, deep down in his racing heart, that this is as much his as it is Jungsu’s?

He tugs it open, blinking wide. 

Gunil’s face stares back at him. 

He slams the box shut, tumbling out of his bed and onto the floor, apologizing to the downstairs neighbors as he clutches his thumping chest. He chews on his lip, slowly rising back onto his knees, crossing his arms over the edge of his mattress, eyeing the box from afar like it would come to life and attack him. 

Everything in him screams not to do this. Everything except his heart. If there is one proverb Jiseok has always admired best, it would be that curiosity killed the cat. He drags the box back to his chest, scanning for any indication as to what’s in here beyond that photo. And satisfaction brought it back. 

With trembling fingers, he reopens the box, drinking in the sight of the man he only knows in abstract theory. Young, as young as Jiseok himself is now. Still a teen. The polaroid is taken with love, and Jiseok can tell , versed in the language well, thanks to the echo of the woman, and the man who raised him. 

Sprawled over a couch, grinning so brightly up at the camera, his smile obscures his eyes, rosy cheeks pressing up against them. He’s got a hand raised, as if to try and stop the picture from being taken, and ultimately, hopelessly, happily failing. 

Like glass, Jiseok lifts the picture, holds it in his two hands as delicately as you handle any precious memory. The polaroid is signed with nothing but a heart, still smelling of sharpie. 

For a while, he just stares at it, unsure of how to move on, when this already felt like so much. He turns it over, spies the fingerprints smudged along the back. He wonders, distantly, how often Jungsu sits before his bookshelf on his knees, and holds this very picture just as preciously. 

Carefully, Jiseok sets it aside with a new resolve to make his way through the box, caution thrown to the wind. He forgets who he is, who Jungsu is to him, and sets on discovering who they were, before he was thrown in the mix. 

The top layer of things are envelopes Jiseok recognizes. They were sent to him after all. The seals meticulously broken, the cards somewhere in Jiseok’s storage. He takes them out one by one, confirming his suspicions that Gunil really has been there all along. These can’t even be all of them. There are eight years of envelopes to go through, these ones just might be the most important, the others in some other Gunil box. 

Jiseok knows there’s got to be many, based on this single one. 

He stifles a sharp breath; beneath all the envelopes, are boundless pictures. A clustered pile of them. Every single one of them Gunil, very few including even a peek of Jungsu. Jiseok begins questioning himself, settling on his shins, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of it all. 

Jungsu is such a filthy liar, saying he ever stopped loving the man Jiseok sees laid out before him in the perspective of Jungsu’s precise eye. Polaroids, printed gloss photo paper, developed strips of film. Gunil is at the center of it all, aware or not, some sort of knot in Jungsu’s world that won’t untangle itself. 

Jiseok climbs back into his bed, pulls the box into his lap, arranging everything he uncovers in categorical columns and rows at his knees. Gunil fits startlingly well against the childhood comforter he’s yet to leave behind. Even when he isn’t smiling, focused on something, the lines of his face blurry, stolen glimpses of him in their once everyday mundane. There’s a youthful light in him that glows within, that Jiseok recognizes. 

It feels a lot sometimes, like looking in his own reflection. 

There’s more than photos, he eventually discovers. Fingers catching on shell necklaces and dried pressed petals, colorful bottle tabs and mini sticky notes. He reads them briefly, a lump building in his throat at the sweet repetition of you’re pretty s, i love you s, and the worst: i miss you s. 

He can’t explain the sorrow he feels holding out a faded, worn guitar pick between his thumb and forefinger. Somehow it feels all the more personal, more than anything else, the whispers of a song seeping into his seeking touch. He wants to pocket the pick, a thief, but he wouldn’t dare. He doesn’t even lay it out, the temptation too much, dropping it right back into the box. 

There are three things left, the pick he must neglect, a folded piece of paper, yellowed and stained, and…a ring. Jiseok catches the jewelry along his pinky, bringing it up to his eyes, hand shaking untameably. It’s a simple ring, with the tiniest of pearls caught in silver carved spirals. 

Experimentally, he loops it over each finger. It doesn’t fit any of them, ever so slightly too big. Jungsu’s size through and through, not made to hug anyone else’s finger but his own. Jiseok swallows a stinging heartache, holding an abandoned promise in the careless hollow of his hands. 

He pauses, leans his head against the box’s edge with a shuddering breath. How does Jungsu bear this? Alone, too, never deigning to lean on Jiseok regarding this matter of all matters. As if somehow, that would help erase the guilt and heartbreak that trails in Jiseok’s wake. The two must hate him at least a little, the Jungsu and Gunil who were once a “they”. 

Inhaling sharply, he sits up straight. If he’s gone this far, he’s got to see it to the end. Taking the paper between his still ringed grasp, gentler and ginger than he’s been thus far, the material feeling like it’ll disintegrate at any impure touch, any unloving intent. Jiseok tells himself, this is all love. He’s doing this, because he loves Jungsu, and because Jungsu still, despite all he says, loves Gunil. 

A bit enviously, staring at all these, Jiseok wants to love Gunil too. It goes without saying, at that point, that he wants Gunil to love him too. Though somehow he’s sure, that’s already an event occuring.

He unfolds the paper, taking in the neat, slanted writing before any of the words. He wets his lips, lays back against his pillow, reading the crafted sentences under shadow. 

Su-nshine, 

I don’t hold anything against you. Nothing in the world could ever make me hate you. In fact, nothing in the world could ever make me not love you. I think even when I’m gone, I’ll manage to only love you more and more everyday. When I look at the sky, when I watch the sea, each sunset and tide will only remind me that the nature of me, means loving you. Scientifically. 

I can’t lie to you, and say it doesn’t hurt. I don’t know where I go from here, without you, but I’ll find a way, and I’ll still always support you, in every way you’ll let me. I understand, so don’t worry. Jiseok comes first. 

Jiseok’s eyes widen upon seeing his name. Even knowing all he does, seeing himself acknowledged by someone theoretically so separated from his life. 

Jiseok comes first. I know you’re afraid, Su. Of taking care of him, of raising him wrong, of making any mistake. I know that’s why we can’t be together. You can’t focus on loving so many things at once without stressing about breaking something . But just know that you’re going to raise him so well. You’re going to be the best parent, brother, cousin, whatever he needs. You’re a good older brother already, you’ll be a great what Jiseok needs. 

If there is anyone who I would trust to take care of anything small and precious, it’s you, Jungsu. You’re just the right amount of soft, of sturdy, to hold his small hand. 

I promise you, he’s going to love you. Even if he hates you a little, for not being his mom, he’ll know it’s not your fault. He’s a kid, he’s going to mix up all his big feelings in such a tiny body. He’ll love you though. I know best, that fragile things love you most. You give the best hugs, and he’ll know that at the end of the day. He’ll go to you, and you’ll know you chose right. 

Holding the paper higher over his face, Jiseok wipes at his eyes, a sniffle helplessly escaping him. 

If you ever need me, I’ll always be here. Wherever I am, at whatever time. I’ll lift myself off of my deathbed to be there for you. I’d tear myself out of the grave, to be there for Jiseok too. I know that may be useless to you, but it’s absolutely true. You’ll never be alone. You’ve got him. And you’ve got me. And we’ll both always love you, Su. Even if you mess up, you’re always trying your best, and you can tell. That matters. It always matters. 

So forgive yourself, for pushing me away, for any mistake you might make. I say you’re perfect, only because you never try too hard to be, because you’ll never be but you still don’t give up. You’re gonna do great, god you’re going to do so fucking great. Give Jiseok lots of kisses for me. Even if he never knows me, when you kiss him on the nose, it’ll be from me. A little selfish request, but I love him too. 

I won’t stop loving you. Keep it in mind, or don’t, if you forget me, if you don’t want to ever remember me, I get it. But don’t forget, that you’re loved. That you’re never alone. Because you’re so good, Jungsu. You’re gonna do so good. 

Forever yours,

Gunil

No more recklessness or carelessness left in him, Jiseok arranges everything back the way he found it. Except the ring. He keeps it loose on his finger; he’s not going to let this promise break. It’s okay. 

Jungsu is going to find him out. Jiseok is betting on it. 

The love, isn’t so secret anymore. 

Jiseok sits on the couch, his acoustic guitar picked off its rack, settled comfortably in his lap, when Jungsu comes home. Not so late at night to yet call it morning, but late nonetheless. Cracking open the front door soundlessly, careful not to wake Jiseok if he were to be sleeping, stifling a yawn with his palm. 

He startles upon closing the door, spotting Jiseok semi-bathed in the dark, strumming a phantom song. He rubs his eyes, throwing his bag on a hook as he locks the door. “Whatcha doing up so late?” he hums, voice soft from the long day, “Aren’t you meeting up with Yeonie tomorrow?” 

“Couldn’t sleep,” Jiseok answers truthfully, tilting his head and observing Jungsu differently. Jungsu and his faded bleach blond hair, somehow soft despite the damage. Running his fingers through it tiredly, regarding Jiseok blearily, a small smile sitting on his lips. 

He sidesteps the couch, approaching Jiseok, taking Jiseok’s face in his hands. “Mmk, baby. You’re not gonna sleep if you’re not in bed though.” He pinches Jiseok’s cheeks, unable to ever resist doing so. Noting the puffiness of Jiseok’s eyes with a purse of his mouth. “You sure everything’s okay, Ji?” Bending his knees so they’re eye to eye. 

Jiseok looks down at him, trying desperately not to cry, not even sure why. His heart just pumps so sluggishly, aching for Jungsu, for whatever he is to Jiseok. “Everything’s great, Jungie…” His voice trails off, and Jungsu raises a brow, dropping his hands to Jiseok’s knees to encourage him to continue. 

Unable to withhold a sniff, Jiseok smiles shakily. “I swear. I’m just…Thank you. For everything you’ve done for me—” Jungsu opens his mouth, frowning “—Don’t worry. I’m not blaming myself for anything. You’ve just…you’ve given up so much, to make sure I was put in the right hands. I just want to thank you.” 

Lips thinning, chin wobbling, Jungsu’s eyes go shiny. Snorting, Jiseok pats Jungsu’s head, letting the guitar fall limp beneath his arms. “Your sacrifice deserves to be acknowledged, without making me feel guilty. So thank you, Jungsu. Thank you for taking such good care of me.” Than, because the suffocating impulse takes hold of him, Jiseok tilts forward, presses a quick kiss to Jungsu’s nose. 

Jungsu’s eyes go wide, watering unsubtly. Swiftly, he pulls Jiseok into a crushing hug. “What’s gotten into you, Jiseokie?” he whines, “It’s too late at night to be making such an old man cry.” 

Jiseok rolls his eyes, pushing Jungsu away. “You’re hardly even thirty. Go to bed.” Giggling, too tired and now too emotional to do anything but comply, Jungsu stands, ruffling Jiseok’s hair one last time, and pecking him on the head before lumbering off to his room. 

First though, he makes sure to tend to his flowers. He never misses a day, even if they always die. 

Here’s the thing. Jiseok long ago made the conscious choice to not search for Gunil too thoroughly. If he’d wanted to, he would have been capable. However, he knew when he was young, he wouldn’t know what to do with any form of reaching Jungsu’s former love. It would be too much, to have anything more than he already did, and not be able to do anything with it. 

However, that doesn’t mean he has nothing . 

He squeezes Jooyeon’s hand hard enough to tear it right off Jooyeon’s wrist. Jooyeon only complains because he kind of needs that hand, if he’s going to keep holding Jiseok’s. “C’mon, Ji. What’s up? You’re acting strange,” Jooyeon says, prying his endangered hand from Jiseok’s, linking their arms instead. It’s really saying something, for Jooyeon of all people, to call Jiseok anything like strange. 

Jiseok exhales lengthily, facing Jooyeon with an expression of determination Jooyeon nervously recognizes. “I’m about to do something really big,” Jiseok declares, “I’m gonna need the emotional support.” 

So wordlessly, brows furrowed, Jooyeon offers back his hand, and Jiseok takes it, back to squeezing. “What kinda big?” he asks, watching as Jiseok pulls his phone from his pocket, rubbing his thumb over Jiseok’s knuckles, where he notices the pearl ring being held in place by another ring. 

“Life-changing,” Jiseok answers curtly, clicking something, his heart racing. He brings the phone up to his ear, one stray breath from hyperventilating. But Jooyeon is there, leaning in and digging his chin into Jiseok’s shoulder, grounding him. He places his other hand on Jiseok’s chest, pushes it in and out, so Jiseok gets the air he needs. 

His phone rings and rings, bringing him the most terrible anxiety, before finally, it picks up, and a voice comes through. “Hello, who is this?” Somehow, the voice is everything Jiseok had imagined. Gentle and warm, deep like the ocean where the sun still reaches. He almost swears he’s heard it before. Way back then, a great long time ago. 

Jooyeon is still awfully confused, but at Jiseok’s hesitation, he straightens, looping both his arms around Jiseok, squeezing him, the pressure around Jiseok’s ribs and spine comforting, keeping his heart tucked safely in place. “Is this…” Jiseok licks his lips, blinks away the fuzzy franticness. “Is this Gunil Koo?” 

He squeezes his eyes shut, digging his finger into Jooyeon’s sleeve as the man over the line answers, “Yeah, this is him. Do I know you?” 

Somehow smiling, maybe a nervous tic, this grin of his uncontrollable, Jiseok nods to nothing. “Hi, um, I think you do. My name–my name is Jiseok. Kwak Jiseok or–or…” Jooyeon hums into his shoulder, something inaudible, but something soothing. “Kim Jiseok.” 

A thick heavy silence resounds through the air, taking up space in its choking density. Jiseok shakes, and Jooyeon holds him still, piecing things together, wide eyed as he witnesses exactly what his boyfriend is doing. Discovering exactly what Jiseok means by life changing. 

When Gunil finally speaks, it’s muffled, through something Jiseok can’t discern. Quiet, wrought soft with disbelief. “Jiseok?” 

“The one and only.” 

Understanding now, Jooyeon whispers in Jiseok’s ear, “You’ve got this.” As Jiseok pulls the phone down, making it loud enough for Jooyeon too to hear. Somehow, it matters that Jooyeon hear. That Jooyeon be there to see Jiseok first “meet” Gunil. Like Gunil is as much Jooyeon’s as he is Jiseok’s. The same way Gunil is as much Jiseok’s as he is Jungsu’s. All in loving proximity. 

Sometimes it scares him, the depths in which Jiseok thoughtlessly commits his every moment and self to Jooyeon. Without even a second thought. These kinds of things, he usually doesn’t dive so headfirst in. 

Love kind of ruins all sense of his judgment, evidently. 

There’s frenzied rustling, a small thud, and Jiseok giggles soundlessly. When Gunil speaks again, voice higher pitched, faster paced. Worried or excited, it can’t yet decide. “Holy shit, oh my god, really?” Then, “Is something wrong? Are you guys okay? Jesus fuck, it’s really you.” 

Muffling more laughter behind the heel of his hand, Jiseok hums in affirmation. “We’re all right. Everything’s fine. It’s really me. Um. I’m just not so little anymore.” 

“Eighteen, right?” Gunil says immediately, “January fourteenth…Happy belated birthday.” Jiseok presses the side of his face flat against Jooyeon’s, Jooyeon’s long strands of silky hair caressing Jiseok’s skin calmingly. It unmoors him. Gunil’s got his birthday memorized. 

Voice weak, Jiseok says, “Thanks. Yeah.” He doesn’t know how else to respond. He’s lost any train of thought, disarmed. 

Subduing himself, tamping his overwhelming frantic energy, Gunil clears his throat. “If nothing’s wrong…why are you calling me, Jiseok? I… how are you calling me? Does—Has–” He cuts himself off, holding his tongue, though Jiseok can easily assume the millions of things he’s keeping from asking. All things not quite related to Jiseok, but the other one Gunil had to leave behind. 

Even Jooyeon is curious, shifting his gaze to Jiseok, tucking a strand of Jiseok’s hair behind his ear to reveal his face wholly. To seek out every intention Jiseok may keep hidden. Jiseok glances his way, holding Jooyeon’s stare as he says, “I wanna meet you, Gunil.” 

“…Does he know?” 

Jiseok swallows. “No.” 

“Jiseok…” 

“Please,” Jiseok finds himself blurting, not even really sure where it comes from, dropping his forehead to Jooyeon’s, bringing the phone between them, “I need you.” 

An intake of breath. 

“Okay.” 

Under the guise of meeting Jooyeon again, Jiseok goes through with it only a week later, it makes sense. It’s typical that Jiseok sees Jooyeon every other day, even when not in school. Jiseok sits in the wooden backed uncomfortable chair of a nearby cafe, one he doesn’t quite frequent with his friends. Now isn’t the time to meet up with any of them. 

Today, he’s meeting someone else. Someone of a different sort entirely. 

He sips at his drink too much, too fast. All sugary cool sweetness sliding down his throat and filling his gut and bladder, doing nothing to aid the restlessness buzzing beneath his skin, through his veins and into his heart. He feels like he’s going to combust, at every appendage. He has to burst from his seat, pace into the bathroom, kick at a toilet, splash his face with ice cold water. 

Feeling a little less like his lungs are being capsized, he steps out. He recognizes Gunil immediately, standing amidst the cafe aimlessly. Not so different at all from the pictures. 

Hands laced before him nervously, not sure what else to do but wait in place, eyes darting around, scoping the space. They stop on Jiseok, widening. He too, recognizes Jiseok in the instant, mouth dropping open, arms falling limp at his side. 

Jiseok hurries over to him, not sure what to do when he reaches him, fingers twitching and fluttering at his thighs, teeth piercing the insides of his cheeks. He stands before Gunil, just slightly shorter, and they just stare, not quite grasping that the other is real and right there. 

“Can…” Gunil’s voice shutters in and out, his eyes hazy, nerves making him a shell of a human. He clears his throat, adam's apple bobbing. “Would it be too much if I asked to hug you?” he requests carefully, and normally, Jiseok would rather have to turn him down. Not too fond of touching people outside of Jungsu and Jooyeon. 

Even if it’s uncomfortable though, strange and all sorts of odd, Jiseok can’t help but shake his head, hold out his arms. It isn’t without hesitance, that Gunil embraces him. Stiffly and awkwardly, but out of necessity , laying his hands flat over Jiseok’s back, hooking his chin over Jiseok’s tense shoulder. “Hi, Jiseok,” he murmurs, “It’s nice to finally meet you.” 

Jiseok’s eyes flutter shut, his fingers finding their place at Gunil’s sides, somehow impossibly stilling. He doesn’t quite relax, but he deflates, uniquely not too small in Gunil’s tentative hold. “Hi. It’s nice to meet you too.” 

And they just stand there. Awkward and somber and everything that should feel so jarring and misshapen, but it feels right. It feels so, so right. 

Jiseok doesn’t really expect it when Gunil orders something dark and bitter, sipping it through his straw like water. Jungsu hates bitter things, only ever bears them at Jiseok’s request. He makes this funny face, scrunched nose and squinted eyes. So it surprises Jiseok, when Gunil doesn’t automatically prefer anything sweet. 

He drinks his own sugary drink, topped with whip cream and a caramel syrup, a little self-conscious. “He doesn’t know about this,” Jiseok clarifies upon ordering and sitting, “I don’t even think he knows I know about you much at all.” 

Gunil blinks, trying his best to process everything with a schooled face of complacent neutrality. He’s kind of bad at it though, hopelessly expressive in ways Jiseok didn’t know a person could be. Almost entirely in the eyes, but also in the ears, nose, and mouth. Every one of his senses an outlet for his feeling. His brows are so high in his bangs, Jiseok is afraid they might slip right off his forehead. 

He doesn’t say anything, and Jiseok looks down at the table, continuing unsteadily. “I have known about you though. For as long as I can remember. It’s…I mean, beyond the mystery cards and money…” He peers up at Gunil, unsure of how much is his to reveal. “He isn’t discreet about it. About you.” 

Gripping his cardboard cup a little too harshly, Gunil stares at him like a deer caught in headlights. His lips part, the words begging to be freed, the ones he probably wants to keep tight under wraps for both their sakes. “I won’t say anything about it,” Jiseok finally says, to save the older from something damning, “I think I’ve invaded enough of his privacy as it is, in finding you.” 

Gunil’s mouth rounds out. “Oh.” 

Halfway to rambling, Jiseok runs his hand through his hair, overexplaining. “I found your number in his phone a long, long time ago. I kept it. I knew I’d need it one day. I didn’t really know when. But I guess it’s now. And it’s now because–’cause…I found something.” He sucks his teeth, mind catching onto the way Gunil taps his fingers against the table. 

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Gunil finally interjects, carefully subdued. He pushes aside his drink, giving Jiseok the full of his attention. “Just say whatever you want to. Do whatever it is you wanted to meet me for.” 

Jiseok lets out a long stream of air, holding his face in his hands. “Sorry.” 

Gunil smiles, small. “It’s okay.” 

“Whatever I say, it may be a little strange. I’m a little strange. All of this, is kind of really fucking weird. I mean. Ugh.” 

Gunil cocks his head slightly, his gaze never leaving Jiseok. It’s almost as consoling as it is overwhelming. “It’s okay,” he repeats, ever accommodating. “Say anything. I won’t judge. I swear.” He even holds up his pinky, this man well breaching the end of his twenties, and Jiseok bites back a smile, taking it in his own, nodding. 

Jiseok crosses his arms over the table, exhaling. “I found…I found your letter to him. The one, um, where you’re saying goodbye, I’m guessing.” He carefully appraises Gunil’s reaction, pouting slight when Gunil gasps slightly, face immediately dropping. 

Expression flickering through a million conflicts, Gunil rasps, “He kept it?” 

Hiding his hand beneath his other palm intently, Jiseok nods. “He kept a lot of things, Gunil. He…” He runs his teeth over his canine, backing up from that boundary of Jungsu’s he keeps dangerously approaching. “I guess I should be straightforward, before I say too much.” 

Biting his bottom lip, keeping himself silent, Gunil leans back, listens. “I wanted to meet you for two reasons, Gunil,” Jiseok states, sitting up, holding out two fingers, busying his hands so maybe he won’t slip and drown in his thoughts running rampant in his overcrowded mind. 

“One: because…” He shrugs, thinking this a lot more simple, but also somehow infinitely more complex and unexplainable. “I know you helped me, have been helping me. I know you helped Jungsu adopt me, and I know you’ve been supporting us since, when you literally don’t have to at all. I don’t know you…” He swallows, ducks his head and scratches at a heated red cheek. 

In a mumble, he admits, “I know we don’t really know each other, but sometimes it feels like you’re kind of like…the same kind of figure as Jungsu is. Just…obviously very much different. Farther away. Like a lost brother…or something.” He’s embarrassed, but when he looks up, he’s met with the widest toothiest grin he’s ever seen, besides Jooyeon’s. 

“That makes me happy,” Gunil professes easily, somehow only flustering Jiseok further. “I kind of accepted that I’d never really be a part of your life, but I wanted to be. You were a cute little kid, and you were smart, and…I don’t know. I cared for you. You didn’t know me, but I wanted to be there for you.” He shrugs too, and Jiseok thinks a lot of what they feel can’t really be discerned. 

With that, Jiseok’s confidence is unreasonably bolstered, and he flattens his palms over the table’s surface, tamping down his nerves all the way to hell. “That’s the second reason I wanted to reach out to you. I want you to stick around in my life, Gunil. And not just for me.”

Gunil frowns at him, confused, and maybe a little bit afraid of what he predicts Jiseok is going to say. But there is no stopping Jiseok now. He’s gotten this far, he’ll go as far as he can go. A little greedy, having too many tastes of something sweet and long gone, tired of watching the flowers in the vase over and over again be replaced. 

“I think you and Jungsu should try again.” 

Gunil’s jaw goes slack. He stares at Jiseok, utterly stunned. “What? Ji—” 

“I know it’s unreasonable. I know it’s a little too hopeless romantic and less practical. But…” Jiseok forces himself to calm down. To sit back and be delicate with his delivery. So much so his voice becomes feeble, airy. “Do you still love him, Gunil?” 

Something drains out of Gunil in a shattering second, and Gunil stares at Jiseok a bit distorted. He breaks eye contact, looks to the side out the cafe’s tall windows. Watching all the people pass by. “I don’t think I should. We hardly know each other anymore.” He can’t hide it any longer, the sadness stuck where it’s settled permanently behind his eyes, dripping into his mouth, down to his heart. 

Jiseok reaches forward, catching Gunil’s hand in his own. Gunil startles, blinking fast. “I didn’t ask if you should,” he says, “I asked if you do .” He squeezes Gunil’s hand tight, in the way only a child does, when you’re crossing the street, not looking both ways, relying on the older to do so. Blind with stupidity, youth, hope. It’s all the same. 

Letting out a shuddering breath, Gunil’s eyes fall. “I do.”

A fire igniting in his chest, flames licking at that terrifying thing that consumes Jiseok when he’s put his mind to something, Jiseok grins. “Okay,” he says, voice level. He sits back, plucks the ring off his finger, and sets it between them. Gunil’s eyes somehow go wider than ever before. 

“I tore you two apart,” he declares, guiltless, but true, “And I’m going to bring you back together.” 

Rolling the ring on his finger at the dinner table that night, Jungsu somehow yet to spot it despite Jiseok having been haphazardly wearing it throughout the week. Jiseok is practically taunting Jungsu with it, and Jungsu doesn’t even notice. Jiseok observes Jungsu raptly. 

Jungsu does eventually notice the avid staring, chewing on a piece of beef a bit apprehensive. “Is there something on my face?” he asks, frowning pensively. He reaches up, pats his cheeks and lips, finding nothing apparent. 

Scraping chopsticks through his rice, Jiseok keeps his face almost unsettlingly blank. “No,” he answers bluntly, “I was just wondering. Why do you never talk about Gunil?” Immediately taking a bite of food before he can choke on the weight of his words. 

On the other hand, Jungsu very does choke, slapping a hand over his mouth and coughing. He takes a gulp of water, cheeks rapidly shifting through several shades of pink then grey. “Sorry?” he squeaks, wiping his mouth with a nearby tissue. He tries to recollect himself, but he’s already ruined any picture of composure, hands flitting over his plate, sentences coming out clumped and stacked together. 

“Gunil?” he parrots, sounding awfully faint. “Why would I talk about Gunil? I dated him so long ago. I’ve dated so many people since. You didn’t even meet him. Why would I talk about some high school ex?” He cuts himself off, wincing. Crumpling the poor napkin in a tight fist. 

Jiseok stares. “I was a valedictorian candidate and am going to be graduating with all honors, straight A’s, and fours and fives on all my AP tests,” he says. 

Jungsu blinks, he blinks quite a bit. “Yeah?” 

“I’m not stupid , is what I’m saying Jungsu,” Jiseok sighs, exasperated. Contrite, Jungsu rolls his bottom lip between his teeth, looking down at his lap, shifting his chopsticks between his fingers agitatedly. Jiseok sighs again, rising to his feet, Jungsu eyeing him silently as he ducks in and out of the hallway, returning with the vase of flowers. 

He sets it on the two person table, petals falling onto the space between their plates. It’s wilting, a little more so than usual. Gunil’s delivery is late. Jiseok has several guesses as to why, and they’re all to do with him. Jungsu frowns, caressing the browning petals mournfully. “Every month,” Jiseok snips. 

Jungsu nods, mumbling softly, “Every month.” His eyes go a little hazy, petting the flowers, and if Jiseok were to let himself hope, a little dreamy. 

Trying to reel in his exasperation, his dying desperation to know . “He knows where we live. He probably knows my birthday. He knows so much more about both of us than I know anything about him. Isn’t that unfair?” 

Still somewhat puzzled, having no way of knowing Jiseok had even cared about Gunil’s name at all, Jungsu furrows his brows. “Jiseok, I don’t get it. You…” He looks down at his hands, picking at his nails. He’s struggling to come up with the words, to discern how to introduce this topic of conversation now, long overdue. 

Going easy on Jungsu, maybe a tad more forthcoming than necessary, Jiseok bites back a sigh, sits back down, his knees to his chest, shins digging into the edge of the table. “It’s not like I was never gonna know it, Su. Seungmin and Hyeongjun tell me more about him than you ever have.”

The air around him dulling, his face blue and sullen, Jungsu presses his lips together, and maybe Jiseok should’ve been entirely more gentle with his approach. “They used to be his friends too. We all were. Best friends.”

“Really? And why didn’t I know this?” Jiseok asks, voice going high at the end, a little bit petulant, indignant. Just because like anybody with a complicated past and present, he can’t reconcile things not disclosed to him. It never makes things easier, only more difficult, just like this is. 

Jungsu is earnest when he looks at Jiseok, searching his face for the source of Jiseok’s sudden obstinance. “It’s not like he’s your dad, Ji. How was I supposed to guess you’d want anything to do with him? Ji, he’s just my ex.” But he looks awfully pained saying it, biting the tip of his tongue, blinking away a red tinge to the lines of his eyes. 

Jiseok sits back, bracing himself against the chair, breathing out staggeredly. Affected somehow by the words that should mean nothing to him. “Jungsu,” he breathes, “You didn’t have to give up your entire past life to raise me, you know that, right? It wouldn’t have made you any less a kid or any less an adult when you took me in.”

His eyes widen, the realization not hitting him for the first time as he says it, “Christ, Jungie, you were my age. I can’t even imagine. ” And Jungsu can only gaze at him, eyes now big and watery, no amount of blinking able to save him from the inevitability of sacrifice. 

“We don’t–” Jiseok hisses, wiping at his eyes, frustrated that he hasn’t gone about this as tenderly as he could’ve, and now he’s hurt both their feelings, in a way neither of them could help. That’s family though. Not suffering but the past hurts, in ways you can’t help. “I’m sorry. We don’t have to get into that. Just…”

He wets his lips, choking down the lump in his throat. “Then what is he? To either of us, because how can I keep accepting all that he’s giving me without…without even seeing his face.”

There’s a brief lapse of silence, a few scattered heartbeats, before Jungsu stands, reminding Jiseok, that in the end, he’s still the one who’s raised Jiseok. Rounding the table, bundling Jiseok in his arms. He’s the one who’s big. “Gunil is just someone who cares too much.” He strokes Jiseok’s hair, kisses him on the nose, and Jiseok is just glad to be there, offering anything to Jungsu for all Jungsu has given him. 

Then, hesitant, wary and uncertain, this a territory Jungsu has never allowed himself to enter. “Do you want him to be something, Ji? Is that why…is that why it matters so much?” 

Jiseok nuzzles his head into Jungsu’s cheek, tears dripping over his sleeve. “It’s up to you too, Jungsu. I’m old enough now for you not to have to be so selfless. So…the question is…” He looks ahead of them, at the flowers curling over the glass rim of the vase, clouded from years of sugar dirt water. 

“Do you?” 

Their dishes soak in the sink. Jiseok will take care of them tomorrow. A small apology. The room is dark, Jungsu already tucked beneath his covers, staring into the nothingness of his room, unsleeping. Jiseok climbs in bed beside him, practiced in burrowing his way under, burying his face in Jungsu’s sleep shirt. 

With a whispered hum, Jungsu turns, the blankets rustling as he pulls Jiseok from him just long enough to adjust him against Jungsu’s chest, between Jungsu’s arms. “I’m not upset.” 

“You’ve got every right to be,” Jiseok immediately replies, voice hushed and soft, the only way it can be under fleece cover. “I brought it up in all the wrong ways. It’s sensitive, and I wasn’t.” He wraps his fingers around Jungsu’s arm, clenching them around worn fabric, breathing in dryer sheets and detergent, sunk porous into Jungsu’s palms. 

Jungsu breathes along Jiseok’s scalp, forgiving. “If you hadn’t brought it up ever, it would’ve only been worse when it happened.” Not quite approval, not quite reprimand. 

So with forgiveness in his grasp, Jiseok squeezes his eyes shut, breathes out through his nose, and risks wasting it. “Jungsu…I…” He swallows, chewing his cheek, hiding further in Jungsu’s embrace, feeling safe even if it’s the one place that couldn’t shield him from admission. 

“I met him. I–I met Gunil.”

Jungsu’s breath hitches, his body tensing. Jiseok can’t see it, but he imagines Jungsu’s eyes flying open, pearly white and glowy in the darkness. And in confidence, tired of secrets, Jiseok tells Jungsu everything. 

Jiseok sets the box between them, observing at every half-moment the way Jungsu reacts, in the minute shifts of his buzzing body, in the twitching features of his face, twisted taut with imaginary nerves, tamped over the years. Coaxed to hide beneath strong cover. “We don’t have to—” 

Jungsu shakes his head, holds out his hand, stopping Jiseok from saying anything more. “I’ve gotta. For you, and importantly—” He inhales deeply, rubbing his palms over his thighs, eyes fluttering shut and open, faint “—for me.” Ripping off the bandaid, he leans forward, flips the box open. 

His teeth dig into his bottom lip, hard enough to draw beading blood, not surprised upon seeing the picture on top, but exposed now under Jiseok’s stare. “And you’ve seen all of this?” he asks, maybe just to ease some of the nervousness, picking up the polaroid, admiring it between his fingers fondly. Jiseok watches closely. 

Guilty, Jiseok nods, rocking back and forth, sitting cross legged and eyeing the contents he’s already memorized. Jungsu sighs, the tips of his ears darkening. There’s really no hiding for him now. He slumps, rubbing his thumb over the picture’s face. He hesitates, before asking fragile, “What’s he look like now?” Slowly but steadily opening up to this strangeness he had forbidden himself from ever entertaining. 

Smiling small, Jiseok tilts forward, looking at the picture. “Almost the exact same,” he answers, willing to give Jungsu whatever he asks, already having taken what he needs, “More crows feet maybe. Shaggier hair. Oh, also like, way more muscles, dude. I don’t know if that’s your thing but he’s like buff .” 

Jungsu groans, hiding his face in his hands. “Oh, god, Ji. This isn’t permission to start doing things like guess my type .” But when his hands fall away, he’s smiling, simple and sweet, and that’s all Jiseok can presently want. There’s the slightest tint of pink in his cheeks, and now more than ever does he feel like nothing more than Jiseok’s much older brother. 

“You asked,” Jiseok chirps. He hovers his fingers over the box, silently requesting permission to remove the cover of envelopes, nothing more than a buffer to everything else beneath. Swallowing hard, holding the polaroid in his lap for some sort of grounding comfort. Soundlessly, he nods. 

Gradually, one by one, Jiseok reveals the contents hidden under, things Jungsu hasn’t seen in quite a while unlike the polaroid. Jungsu holds his breath, curling over his knees, watching warily. As if Jiseok’s touch will brush one thing, and it’ll send them and the whole world flying into the galaxy. Merciful, Jiseok pulls the box closer to him, so Jungsu isn’t overwhelmed by it all. Instead, he takes out the photos, and lays them on the floor at Jungsu’s feet. 

“Oh, wow,” Jungsu breathes, eyes starry wide. He spreads them out just barely, not touching anything for more than a few brief seconds, completely taken aback. “I didn’t know there were this many. I…” He blinks, processing the sheer amount before him. “I took a fucking lot. Wow.” He’s blushing really now, and Jiseok doesn’t know whether it’s his younger self’s embarrassment, or his current self’s secondhand judgment. 

Aiming to make the whole of the mood lighter, Jiseok snorts, teasing, “You were really gone, Su.” 

Instantly, Jungsu shifts his features into a glare. “Show me your camera roll right now, Ji. I don’t wanna hear crap from you.” Grinning triumphantly at Jiseok’s mouth clicked shut, hiding his phone beneath his thighs, a hypocrite in this instance. Even his lockscreen, which shines bright at the movement, shows the silliest face he cherishes dearly, right beneath the midnight shaped numbers. 

Inhaling, his nerves visibly fading, Jungsu sifts through the collection of photos, face lost in a faraway memory haze. “These aren’t even the ones with me in it,” he mumbles, sort of awed by himself, by the sunburst depth of feelings he used to harbor. Jiseok almost wonders how he’d carried it all, for so long, but then again, Jiseok thinks he’s only just beginning to drown in something similar. 

“Are there ones with you in it?” Jiseok asks, “Because I would kill to see your awkward staircase prom pictures, Su. Like, actually commit homicide.” Jungsu pouts, and Jungsu giggles. “You did go to prom together didn’t you? He probably wanted to.” 

Jungsu rolls his eyes, relaxing, revealing inadvertently, a him he’s never shown Jiseok before. “Of course he did. He wanted to do every cheesy couple milestone there was. He…” He bites his tongue, hesitating. Jiseok pushes the box aside, scooting close enough to cover Jungsu’s knee with his hand. 

“One second,” Jungsu murmurs, standing. He pads into his room, and Jiseok hears frantic, frenzied shuffling and rummaging before Jungsu comes back, lips jutted. A large book under his arms. Some real kind of book. “Here. This can be yours if you want it. He…uh…he started it, and I finished it.” 

He watches apprehensively as Jiseok frowns, opens the book, jaw going slack. The first page is a single picture, a picture Jiseok has never seen before, but it’s him. Sitting between Jungsu and Gunil, both so much younger than Jiseok could ever try to remember, himself an infant in Gunil’s anxious arms. So scared to drop Jiseok on his head. Jiseok looks up at Jungsu, eyes popping out of his head. 

Chuckling lightly, Jungsu takes it upon himself to flip to the next pages, showing a sequence of photos from the very same place and time. “He met you once. When we were little, and he was just my neighborhood friend and my baby cousin was visiting. Only once, but he loved you enough to…” He trails off shrugging, not needing to explain the rest of the life Jiseok knows well, his very own. 

“Holy shit,” Jiseok utters, and Jungsu doesn’t even admonish him for cursing. Almost hungrily, he begins to look through the next pages. The next several don’t contain Jiseok at all, instead Jungsu, looking tired and worn, with this determined light in his eyes as he hunches over papers, or steps into court, or, taking up a page of its own: a picture of Jungsu and Jiseok, from afar, on the sidewalk of the park Jiseok had almost thought he’d made up in his head. 

He’s squatted down, Jiseok’s hands clasped in his. They’re eye to eye, and Jiseok knows exactly what it is he’s telling the younger Jiseok. Barely ten and so frail and small, knobby knees bandaged and elbows bruised. A permanent pout in the sad curve of his lips. Jiseok, the present one, covers his mouth with his hand, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes so suddenly he can’t stop them. 

You’re coming home with me, Jiseokie. For good . 

“Him giving me that picture,” Jungsu whispers, the field of emotion in his voice too much to take on any other volume, “Was the last time I saw him in person. But…it’s the most important picture in my life, Ji. I hope you know that.” 

Jiseok can’t look away, sits there, stares, and cries. “You can’t do this to me,” he complains congested, “You’re the one who’s supposed to be—to be compromised .” The next pages are predictable. All his firsts, the ones he shared with Jungsu. His birthday, going to middle school, graduating. A complete baby book. 

Playing with the hem of his pants, Jungsu smiles crookedly, meekly. “I didn’t realize how much…how much in trying to erase him, I was keeping so much more from you. About me, about yourself .” He shakes his head, letting out a shuddering breath. “I guess…I really thought losing that was for the best.” 

Wiping his eyes, accepting that for the rest of this he’s just going to be a sniffling mess, Jiseok closes the book. “I’m not…I’m not mad, Su, but why ?” He clutches the book to his chest, not sure he’ll ever let it rest. 

Jungsu appears genuinely lost, searching for an answer, blinking at the floor. “I…” He rubs at his eye, looking at the pictures yet to be explored. The pieces of a past he tried fruitlessly to pummel. “I was just so scared, I think. All I could think about was taking care of you. I couldn’t focus on anything else. Not after all I’d fought for.” 

He splays out the photos with his palms, scanning each one with increasing heartache. “I don’t know if it was only supposed to be temporary, and eventually, I was supposed to let it back out. But then…it just became…it was easier not to think about it. To let my life just be you.” 

“Jungsu…” Jiseok rasps, chin wobbling. 

“I don’t regret it,” Jungsu makes sure Jiseok knows, his stare piercing through Jiseok’s frown. “Maybe this was a stupid way to go about it, but I wouldn’t change it. I mean…” He smiles at Jiseok, watery and stupid hopeful. “I did alright, didn’t I?” 

Jiseok drops the book, drops everything, because the photos and trinkets, souvenirs of a past he was never privy to, don’t matter nearly as much as Jungsu. Sitting right there, everything he’s made himself to be so Jiseok can do exactly as he does now. Launching himself forward, hugging his life held in someone else’s flesh and blood. 

No matter what comes next, he wraps his arms around Jungsu. No matter what happened before those papers were signed, Jungsu catches him with practiced ease. No matter how it came to be, Jungsu was Jiseok’s family. Wholly and absolutely. 

“You did fucking amazing, Su,” he declares into Jungsu’s fallen shoulder, “You’ve been so great for me. Everything that I need.” 

Curling Jiseok into him, Jungsu sobs. That’s all he could ever ask for. 

Now armed with tissues, no longer across from each other but attached at the hip, they continue with the box, a great weight lifted from their chests. It’s less painful, breathing through the grief, guaranteed each other at the end of every loss, every hazy memory. 

“Tell me about him,” Jiseok says, Jungsu looking through each and every photo with a lot more appreciation than Jiseok could have ever, panickedly inserting himself into Jungsu’s past has he had all those nights ago, more than he already has. “Whatever you like remembering.” 

Absent-minded, the corners of Jungsu’s mouth tug and lift. “I had the biggest crush on him when I first met him. I thought he was so adorable. He was an obnoxious teacher’s pet, and he was in every extracurricular imaginable, and he stayed behind to help custodians and then skipped on home to let me cheat on his homework.”

Jungsu shakes his head, fond of even his own younger self, so separated from his present age. “I liked him so much, I convinced myself I hated him. He didn’t mind though. He never did.” He breathes out through his nose. It goes to show that that part of Gunil had evidently never changed. 

“I was like that a little,” Jiseok admits, “I couldn’t stand Jooyeon.” Jungsu only grins wider, glancing at Jiseok sideways as if to say, see, you get it . Neither of them knew how to handle too much, despite having the perfect space in their hearts to fit all of it. Cat people, learning to handle loving puppies. 

“Eventually I couldn’t stand him to the point where I was furious he wasn’t asking me out,” Jungsu divulges in a laughing hum, “He didn’t want to pressure me, so I had to do it myself. The way he treated me didn’t change when we dated, because he was always a little too good to me.” He hides his smile behind his hand, softer in a mushy way Jiseok’s yet to have seen. “I fucking loved it.” 

Shoving Jungsu’s shoulder, Jiseok gags. “Aw, Su, how are you alive?” he plays, “Without all that attention.” Jiseok shoves him back, tackling him to the ground. 

“Clearly,” Jungsu bites out, not serious, looking over the couch where the flowers still sit spotlighted beneath the kitchen lamp. “I haven’t been entirely without it.” He lets Jiseok go, and they both sit up straight, ready to go through the rest of the box. Readier than ever. 

The sticky notes make Jungsu smile sticky sweet. “He’s a sap,” Jungsu explains, though it goes without saying, “He likes to be.” The bottle caps are from dates, picnics. Bottled lemonade and coke made for sour summer kisses. Shelled necklace because Gunil likes the beach, likes sharing things to like even more. 

The petals don’t need explanation. The pick though. Jungsu picks it up like he’d know how it stabs Jiseok’s heart. “He’d sing to me.” 

“I’d guessed.” 

“He was a musician.” 

“I know.” 

Jungsu smiles, finding it all somehow a little amusing. “He wrote so many bad poems about me. So many, they eventually became good. Great.” He turns to face Jiseok a little. “If I give you this, you can’t lose it.” 

Almost desperate, Jiseok flails to grab it, keep it safe in both hands. “I won’t. I’ll never fucking use it, I’ll frame it. Why?” 

“He’s written a song for you too. A lullaby. Plus, why would I need a pick?” Ignoring the fact that he’s been steadily learning how to play the guitar, almost too steadily. Slowly. 

Jiseok would’ve appreciated that a lot at one point. A lullaby. He smiles at the thought of it, tucking the pick into the small coin pocket of his jeans. He’s not going to use it ever. He loses all his picks but he can’t lose this one. At least not until he earns another of the same sentiment. 

That leaves the letter, the ring in Jiseok’s other pocket, digging persistently into his thigh, an unrelenting reminder. Jiseok waits, watches apprehensively as Jungsu pauses, before peeling the folded paper from the box bottom. Holding it just as Jiseok had, like it would disintegrate. 

Jungsu doesn’t open it, digging his teeth into his bottom lip pensively. “I miss him,” he professes, though at this point, the box is its own whole confession. “He was my best friend, not just some…romance. I shouldn’t have ever left him behind.” 

For a moment, Jiseok doesn’t really know how to respond to that, unable to comprehend the layers of Jungsu’s decision, of what came of it. He rises on his knees, pressing the letter to Jungsu’s palms, placing the ring atop it. “Maybe not, but it’s okay, you still have time. He’s…” Jiseok looks over his shoulder, at the flowers, thinking of Gunil in the cafe. 

I do. 

“He’s waiting for you, Su. You can do whatever you want now. Don’t think of me at all.” He pulls back his hand, Jungsu gasping at the reveal of the ring. He drops the letter to his lap, twisting the ring onto his finger, and just as Jiseok had expected, it fits snug. Perfect. Jungsu’s very own glass slipper, only for him. 

Bringing it up to his lips, parted skin kissing the pearl tenderly, Jungsu gazes at Jiseok. “You’ve read it, haven’t you? The letter.” 

Sheepish, Jiseok glances down. “It’s what led to this,” he says in lieu of a direct answer. He shuffles forward, halfway to standing. Taking Jungsu’s face in his hands. “I think I’ll leave you to read it alone. Thank you, for this, for everything. I really love you, Jungsu.” 

Jungsu blinks up at him, pouting, eyes already reddening with the tears to come. “I love you too, Ji. I don’t need to say it for you to know. And I could never be mad with you…” He looks away. “Thank you too, for reminding me of—of everything.” There’s no further need to elaborate. Jungsu thanks Jiseok with all of him, every day. Jiseok doesn’t need anything more than that. 

He leans down, pecks the tip of Jungsu’s nose. “Goodnight, Su. Sleep well when you do.” He pulls back, stands, checking his pocket for the pick. “You can tell me in the morning what you want.” 

Occupied, unfolding the crinkling letter paper, Jungsu nods absentminded. 

Jiseok already knows what that’ll be. 

“So what do you do? Are you a musician?” Jiseok asks, endlessly curious. Leaves fall down around them, landing on their feet, against their fabricked shoulders, in their hair. Some green, some yellowed and brown. Not dead enough to crumble under their soles. Only crumple. 

Gunil peers at Jiseok from his peripherals, raising a brow, hands in his sweater pockets. “I am. I flip between being a teacher, or doing my own backup gigs, and some composing here and there.” He cocks his head, blinking owlishly. “How’d you guess?” 

Averting his gaze, Jiseok chews his lip. “Photos I’ve found. Jungsu’s own career, I suppose. Just seemed like a reasonable deduction.” He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, trying not to be nervous. This is the same park he’d first called Gunil in. He thinks this park will become somewhat a place of recollection. He’ll have to take Jooyeon here again. On a picnic, or something greater. 

Snorting, Gunil smiles crookedly, not quite believing him, but letting his lie be. He raises his head, surveys the landscape. “And you do music too.” Not a question. A fact well known and true. “Seungmin sends me videos sometimes.” 

Jiseok’s mouth drops and he faces Gunil, betrayed. “He never told me. I could’ve gotten ahold of you so much sooner if I knew he wasn’t in on Jungsu’s crap.” Gunil throws his head back and laughs, this strange sound that is somehow slightly akin to Jiseok’s own, in ways that can’t be described. 

“He’s loyal to both of us, Jiseokie. He was respecting the boundaries. But…” His tongue darts over his lip, his eyes flicking to the sky. “I couldn’t not be updated at all. Maybe it’s creepy, or invasive, but I needed to know how you were doing. And once you’re invested, you don’t really stop.” 

Kicking at the ground, Jiseok holds his arm, rubs his bent elbow. “I dunno. It makes sense to me. You…” He catches himself, letting out a big ballooning breath, Gunil glancing at him imploringly. Jiseok looks away. “In another life, you probably would’ve been right there at his side…y’know—raising me.” He swallows the past, the things you can’t change, and it doesn’t go down without a fight. 

Gunil’s steps still, and he blinks at Jiseok owlishly, lips parted. If it were Jungsu, Jiseok would fear he’d start crying. Gunil simply gazes on, eyes going glassy, like he too is imagining it. He nods stiffly. “Yeah…you’re kinda right.” Jiseok really didn’t need to say it. No doubt Gunil has thought about it. Much more than thought about it, if the money and gifts were anything to go by. 

Wordlessy, a bit tentatively, Jiseok circles his fingers around Gunil’s wrist, thin compared to the rest of him, tugging Gunil onto the bench where the sun will still reach them. Giving in, Gunil complies effortlessly, settling beside Jiseok without question. Sitting there and staring, recovering. Jiseok follows suit, scans the scenery contemplative. 

“Even if…” He swallows thickly, rubbing his thumbs over his palms a tad nervously. “Even if things don’t really work out…y’know between.” He bites his tongue, hisses in his head to shut up and get to the point. “I still want you in my life. I don’t want you to go back behind envelopes and holiday cards. I…I want to keep meeting you and talking to you like this.” 

Assuring, Gunil places a hand over Jiseok’s knee, letting him know he doesn’t have to go on, Gunil gets where he’s heading. His eyes are full of fondness and heartfelt hope, shining and bright. “That’s all I could ask for, Jiseok. But why? Surely my cards couldn’t have been that nice.” He chuckles a little, beneath his breath, smile curling his eyes over his cheeks in glittering crescents. 

Sitting there, Jiseok doesn’t really have an answer. He’s been trying to find one since he’s met Gunil, but he’s been rather unsuccessful. He just wants it. Still, he has to have something, anything substantial. He looks to the sky for any sort of guidance. “I think knowing you were there kind of my whole life, but knowing you…made this image of you in my head. This empty space left behind and a role to fill that wasn’t…anyone else but you.” 

He ducks his head. “I don’t really know you. But I think like any lost boy, I was looking up to the imaginary version of you. Who was there when Jungsu or the others couldn’t be. You filled the gaps, a bit. Like a bandaid.” He scratches at his jeans, the tips of his ears burning red. 

“That’s a lot of pressure, I know,” he blurts, voice quickening, rising in pitch, “And like, I don’t expect you to be that person, because obviously I didn’t know you . I think more than anything, that’s why I should get to know you. Even if you were to disappoint me—not that I think you would—it’d stop feeling like something’s…missing.” He spins his head, eyes going wide. “Not that I ever thought Jungsu wasn’t en—” 

Gunil squeezes Jiseok’s knee, and it promptly shuts him up, teeth clicking together with haste. He gulps, wondering if he’s somehow said too much, when that was typically anyone else’s job. “Hey, it’s okay. I get it. Trust me, I get it.” He peers into Jiseok’s worried eyes, earnest and honest. He does. He really does get it. 

When Jiseok is at a satisfactory level of calm, Gunil pats his leg, straightening. “Of course, I’ll stay in your life, Jiseok. Hell, I’m glad you were the one who asked, because I’m not sure if I could’ve.” He moves his hand up, strokes Jiseok’s hair. “I’d really like to get to know you too, beyond a phone screen and Seungmin status reports. You’ve always been in my life, even if I wasn’t quite a part of yours. I…I’ve got no one like you.” 

Jiseok pushes Gunil’s arm aside, throws his arms around Gunil’s torso, burying his face in Gunil’s shoulder. It’s a surprise to both of them. Jiseok who doesn’t like skinship, so willingly and eagerly throwing himself into the embrace of a practical stranger. Except it would rip Jiseok’s very heart, to even consider Gunil something as estranged as that. 

Easily, Gunil hugs him back, presses his face into the side of Jiseok’s head, humming into Jiseok’s hair. He does it with a sort of practice, something he’s rehearsed, alone. Jiseok imagines he’s been waiting for this, or something resembling it. Waiting more than half his life, for either Jiseok or Jungsu to call him. He would’ve waited forever, never looking anywhere else, for the family he’d lost before it’d even been in his grasp. 

Jiseok doesn’t think about it any more than that. Because Gunil isn’t waiting any longer, and Jiseok isn’t letting him slip between his fingers anymore. 

With an unsteady breath, he lifts his chin, just enough to tell, “He knows now. He…he knows.” Gunil tensing in his grip, not quite apprehensive, just uncertain. 

“He misses you.” Gunil chokes out a sort of noise, not quite a sob, not anything less. “He wants to see you too…He really needs someone to teach him the guitar, Nil. I can’t keep doing it.” 

And Gunil laughs, all teary-eyed. 

It’s the only way Jiseok keeps calm, Jooyeon’s slender, tender fingers dragging over his scalp, the teeth of a comb trailing behind his precise touch. “Why are you the one so worried?” Jooyeon hums, leaning forward, parting Jiseok’s bangs from his face to see it clearer. 

Jiseok throws his hands in the air with a dramatic, exasperated exhale. “Hell if I know.” He drops his arms over his chest, leaning against Jooyeon’s lap like a casket. “I guess I just really want this to work out. I want this to be the perfect happy fairytale that gets me my happy ending. That’s like impossible though, and selfish.” 

“You’re like the opposite of a child of divorce,” Jooyeon mumbles, not unkind. He sets aside the comb, Jiseok’s hair well and thoroughly untangled at this rate. “I don’t think it’s selfish. You only want them to be happy too, don’t you? And from what you’ve told me, this working out would only benefit them.” He doesn’t see any flaw in Jiseok’s hopes, practical to a startling fault when it comes to Jiseok. 

Jiseok rubs his face, groaning. “You’re right, you’re right,” he admits defeat. Jooyeon smiles cheerily and triumphantly, folding himself just enough to fit his lips over Jiseok’s head, assuring in his affection. “I mean either way, it’s not like Gunil is leaving me behind now. I think I’m stuck on him.” 

Jooyeon pinches Jiseok’s cheeks, giggling softly. “‘Course you are. Everyone falls in love with you, Ji. You get stuck on everybody . Especially me, if you couldn’t tell.” He kisses Jiseok again, closer to the lips, on the curving corner of Jiseok’s mouth. 

Forcing himself from between Jooyeon’s fingers, ready to deny any red in his cheeks, Jiseok shoves Jooyeon back onto his bed. “Alright, lover boy. You should probably go now. Gunil will be here any minute, and I don’t need him meeting you just yet.” 

Jooyeon tilts his head back, sighing. “Did you have to go and get another faux-father-figure for me to have to please?” he whines, playful, already standing from Jiseok’s bed and gathering his things in his bag.

Snorting, Jiseok follows Jooyeon to the door. “With him, I’m more worried you two will get along than fight. He’ll adopt anyone who puppy-eyes him.” Before Jooyeon leaves, Jiseok grabs him by the collar, pulling him down to prize him with the quickest of kisses over the lips. “Now go.” 

Flushed pink, a new pep in his step, Jooyeon salutes Jiseok on his way out, grinning goofily as he begins his walk to his house, not too far from the apartment complex. Jiseok sighs, fondly watching him go. He shuts the door, ready to open it within the next short, few minutes. 

Turning back, he calls out, “Jungsu! From a scale of one to ten how badly are you freaking out right now?” Already heading to Jungsu’s room which has been suspiciously silent since Jooyeon arrived. Jungsu is never silent when Jooyeon arrives. He loves bothering them. 

He opens the door, finding Jungsu face down on his bed, arms and legs splayed about him like a starfish. He grumbles incomprehensibly into his bedspread, shaking his head. Jiseok clicks his tongue, pulling Jungsu up. “You look fine,” he mutters, fixing Jungsu’s mussed hair, not without noting the sheen of gloss over Jungsu’s lips or the faint blush over his cheeks and eyes, pencil liner ever so slightly brown. 

“I hate you,” Jungsu gripes, dropping his face between his knees, “I hate you so much.” Jiseok only snorts, not able to even for a second be convinced by Jungsu’s weak and wavering tone, all nerves and theatrics. 

“What are you so nervous about?” Jiseok asks, genuine, not rhetorical. Unlike him, Jungsu really is facing something entirely uncertain today. 

Pulling himself out of the bed and before a mirror, wiping at his mouth and liner, Jungsu lets out a stream of air between his teeth. “So much. Everything. What if he hates me? What if I hate him? What if he’s got a really cool boyfriend with, like, a motorcycle? What if he’s so attractive I can’t even talk to him? What if—” 

Jiseok pulls a grimace, pinching Jungsu’s arm. “Please, stop,” he pleads, “Neither of you are gonna hate each other, he’s been on like two dates in eight years, and the last one is entirely on you and I don’t wanna know.” He grabs Jungsu’s chin, forces the older to look at him. “What are you really nervous about?” 

Jungsu chews on his cheek, the skin hollowing. He taps his fingers against his vanity, pensive. “I’m scared I’m gonna look at him and fall in love all over again, and I’ll only hate myself for ever being so stupid to leave him without any of the goodbyes he gave me.” 

Taken aback, Jiseok exhales, a long puff of air as he takes that in. “Wow,” he murmurs. Jungsu squeezes his eyes shut, nods and plops on the edge of his bed, head in his hands. 

Jiseok faces him, smooths down Jungsu’s hair. “Even if that all happens, Su, it’ll be alright, y’know? You can survive without him, you’ve more than proven that. This is just…this is just a chance. A cherry on top. But you’re gonna be alright, the past is the past, and I don’t hate you at all for anything you did.” Jungsu looks at him, lip wobbling. It’s not really sadness or worry that clouds his eyes. 

It’s all pure pride. 

“Just you talking like that makes me feel better,” Jungsu whispers, smiling, reaching up and patting Jiseok’s cheeks, “You really make me think I must’ve done something right.” 

“A lot of things, Su,” Jiseok corrects, “You’ve done a lot of things right.” 

Jungsu opens his mouth, but before he can say anything else, there’s a knock on the door, and all his briefly collected calm leaves him in a rapid rush, a punch to the gut. He shoves Jiseok towards his door. “Go,” he hisses, “You let him in. I—I—” He spins around, grabs a brush, holding it awkwardly in the air. “I’m busy.” 

Sighing, Jiseok tamps the urge to roll his eyes. Wiping his own clammy palms against his pants as he shuts Jungsu’s door behind him, making to open the main one. He surveys the apartment, deems the mess palatable, and opens the door to let Gunil in. 

He smiles, breathing out through his nose, fondly entirely irritated. There Gunil stands, hair overbrushed, the frizz sticking up, sweater tucked too tight beneath his waistband, eyes a sort of frantic panicked. And clutched anxiously in his two hands, is a bouquet. 

“You’re a sap,” Jiseok greets. 

“You knew this,” Gunil replies, hesitantly stepping over the threshold when Jiseok gives him the room to do so, examining the entrance with rapt attention, like anything and everything in this house was worth his interest. Then he just stands there, no place to go, stuck rooted to the ground. 

Jiseok takes mercy on him. “C’mon,” he beckons, “I’ll take these.” He leads Gunil into the kitchen, where he directs Gunil to empty out the vase where his flowers always go. Gunil is slow about it, eyes sticking to every surface, lingering on every souvenir. 

Filling the vase with water and some sugar, Jiseok tells Gunil, “We try our best to take care of them, but we’re really bad at it. I can keep a plant alive at least, but Jungsu can’t. So it’s good you send these all the damn time.” He spreads the flower petals from the base of the vase, arranging them in an appealing bunch. Gunil watches in awe, in absolute utter disbelief that they bothered taking care of his flowers. 

Faintly, he replies, “I have some plants.” Jiseok looks at him unimpressed. Maybe he never should’ve encouraged this, if he was only going to dumb them both down to absolute incoherent messes. 

He sets the vase aside, faces Gunil, holding out his hand. “Arm. Gimmie.” And without question, Gunil listens, brows knitting as he offers Jiseok his arm. Jiseok pulls back his sleeve, and pinches his wrist as hard as he can, Gunil biting back a yelp of surprise. 

“Please,” he begs, “Act somewhat humanoid. I swear, Jungsu is just some dude. He is not going to kill you if you act a little normal .” Gunil smiles a little, regarding Jiseok in that way. Jiseok turns away. “You guys need to stop looking at me like that,” he mutters, “I’m not that great.” 

Gunil ruffles his hair, proving as time goes on, to be just as touchy as Jungsu. There’s really no escape now; this must’ve been one big mistake. “You’re not that great. You’re awesome.” To which Jiseok covers his ears, slumping over the counter in surrender, Gunil laughing at his affection-induced misery. 

Pushing off the counter, he notices Jungsu before Gunil does, standing in the kitchen’s archway, wringing his fingers, watching them closely. Jiseok blinks, opening his mouth, no words coming out, and Gunil frowns, turning around, going still. 

Taking this as his cue to just sit back and observe, Jiseok backs away, sits in one of their dining chairs, chewing on his thumbnail like popcorn. And for a while, probably much longer than they realize, the two just stare. Then Gunil jumps into start, moving forward on autopilot, offering his hand. “Uh, thank you for inviting me. You have such a nice pl—” 

Jungsu’s eye twitches, and he grabs Gunil’s hand harshly. “You are not going to fucking shake my hand, Koo Gunil.” With enthusiastic force, he pulls Gunil in by the arm, into an immediate hug. One in which they both melt in, going lax in each other’s arms in such an instant Jiseok didn’t think possible. Especially given the circumstance. But circumstance be damned, when you’re Gunil and Jungsu. 

Jiseok sees it. The blossoming and the blooming. It’s been five seconds, and he’s already privy to what Jungsu’s friends were always telling him. 

Jiseok wishes he’d placed some sort of bet. Hey, you guys are actually going to be so fine when you meet again it’s going to sicken me. Twenty? He covers his mouth with his hand, finding himself eagerly smiling. They’ve rubbed off on him. Now he’s a sap too. 

He holds out his hand before him, splaying all five fingers. Placing them down one by one. Pinky, ring, middle, index, thumb. The two pull away, and there they are, the wet salt streaks lining Jungsu’s cheeks. “I can’t believe it,” he says, voice faint, “You’re really here you’re really…” He taps his palms against Gunil’s biceps, appearing dizzy. “Wow, how are you?” 

Gunil grins, tilting his head a little to the left, his hair brushing his cheeks, and Jiseok didn’t ever think with all Jungsu’s failed dates and fruitless romantic endeavors, that he was ever going to witness the man who’d raised him look at anyone like that, but here he was, a victim to Jungsu’s melting, molten gaze as Gunil answers. 

“Better than ever, now that I’m here.” 

Jiseok pulls up an extra chair to the small circular dining table, the one that Seungmin or Hyeongjun usually sits at when they visit. They’re going to have to invest in another chair or two. Maybe a whole new table, at this point. One that will fit all of them, and then some. Even Jooyeon, when Gunil meets him. 

They sit in a triangular formation, no one really opposing the other, though they hardly glance at Jiseok for more than a few encouraging seconds at a time, catching up on all the time they’ve missed staring at each other. He sees the way Jungsu maps out Gunil’s features in his mind, eyes scraping every bit of Gunil’s face for information. 

On the other hand, Gunil is skittish to do the same, worried he’ll overdo it, and Jiseok can guess he probably would, and not in a bad way. Just…a way that would probably render the both of them unable to hold any sort of conversation. Which was vital. 

Jiseok wonders if he’s supposed to intercept, give them a bone to chew on, or if he’s just supposed to sit back and watch this spiraling turn of hopeful events. Jungsu eventually makes the decision for him, crossing his arms over the table, making the space between him and Gunil on such a small table all the more scarce. 

“Thank you for the flowers,” he says softly, his mere voice making the apples of Gunil’s cheeks rosy, “They’re really pretty. Ji and I try to look them up. Forget-me-nots, right?” 

Clearly flustered, trying his best not to malfunction, Gunil gives a jerky nod. He couldn’t have expected that. He couldn’t have even expected them to try and preserve the flowers. Yet here they were, knowing the flowers and all, and of course their meanings. “Those aren’t the flowers you gave this time,” Jiseok remarks, prompting Jungsu to wide eye the new vase of flowers on the counter behind them. 

Drumming his fingers into his thigh, adam’s apple bobbing, Gunil smiles wanly. “Uh, oh, yeah. They’re daffodils. I thought maybe…I should switch it up a little.” He shrugs, the cheery yellow and custard colored petals gazing down at them from where they sit, impervious to the tension yet to unravel. 

Jungsu smiles, Gunil melting at the sight, hopeless. Jiseok pities the both of them. “They’re pretty too,” Jungsu hums, easing into an easygoing calm that comes at Gunil’s expense. It’s like they can’t be nervous in each other’s presence. It has to be one or the other, no matter what a constant assurance. 

Jungsu rests his chin in his palm, examines Gunil thoroughly, the decade between him and Jiseok showing heavy on his face, in the lines of his eyes and around his mouth, all smile lines. “I’m sorry,” he utters, unprecedented and gentle. 

Gaping, Gunil finally spins his head, looks at Jungsu back. “What? For what?” He frowns earnestly, brows knitted together as he regards Jungsu in bafflement. “Were you supposed to say more about the flowers because I really don’t expect that of—” 

With a fond eye roll, Jungsu reaches up, lays his hand over Gunil’s forearm, shutting him up instantly. “No. I’m sorry for forcing you out of my life, Nil.” Gunil’s breath visibly hitches, and he gazes upon Jungsu owlishly, blinking slowly. “You don’t have to assure me about any of it, I’ve already gone through the process, and I know I didn’t have to even if it worked out. But I did, and I’m sorry.” 

Opening his mouth, closing it, scooting into the table a little further, closing and closing that space, Gunil realizes he can’t object. He purses his mouth, looks down at his twitching, fidgeting fingers. “You really regret it?” he wonders faintly aloud, gaze faraway. 

“So much,” Jungsu replies, voice cracking and crackling into the sputtering embers of a fire. “I always try to forget it, but I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so much.” 

Gunil deflates with one great exhale, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Relieved. “Me too,” he breathes, “I’ve missed you too. More than I think you can ever even know—not that you need to think about it. No pressure, I just…” He looks Jiseok’s way, and even Jiseok has to shrink back from the overwhelming gratitude dripping from Gunil’s expression. “I don’t think I should’ve been betting on you guys reaching out as much as I was.” 

“Maybe not,” Jiseok decides to input, keeping his tone level and careful, “But I did . So you can stop thinking you’re so pathetic for it.” Gunil grins at him sheepishly, nodding his silent appreciation, as if he needs to give anymore ever. It’s spilling out of him onto the floor, making Jiseok’s steps slippery and uncertain. 

“And I’m glad he did,” Jungsu admits, “I don’t think I could’ve done it myself.” Now they’re both looking at him all fondly and lovingly, and Jiseok can do nothing but take the brunt of it, folding his head between his shoulders, blushing horribly red. 

Gunil thankfully looks away. “I respected your decision from the minute you made it, Jungsu. I never thought it was a choice you needed to be forgiven for. I understand why you did it.” Always so infuriatingly and illogically reasonable in the face of repentance. 

Jungsu tilts his head back and groans, swiveling in his chair to face Gunil more directly, clinging to Gunil’s arm fully now. “I’m allowed to regret it, Nil.” He squeezes Gunil. “You weren’t the only one waiting. You weren’t the only one that needed someone.” 

He stands up, half-keeled over, wrapping his arms around Gunil’s shoulders, pressing his cheek to Gunil’s head, Gunil pliant to take it all without fight, Jiseok uncertainly rocking in his seat, wondering if he should leave. He deigns to just look away as Gunil’s fingers come up to loosely grasp Jungsu’s sleeve. 

This, this of all things, was truly Jungsu’s, and none of Jiseok’s. “I needed you, Gunil. I tried not to need anyone, but…I only hurt myself, pushing you away. You…” 

His words make Jiseok choke up, bite down on his tongue to keep the stinging in his eyes from spilling over. “You would’ve been great to Jiseok. Our life is amazing, Nillie, but with you…” He cuts himself off, burying his face into Gunil’s hair. You would think they’ve never parted, with the way Jungsu holds him, but Jiseok supposes that’s a byproduct of never being able to forget about him. 

Or, Jiseok thinks about that picture, him as a baby between two tween boys. That’s just what happens when someone who’s always been a part of your life, simply dips out, and dips right back in. Meant to be there all along, either way. 

“I think it would’ve been perfect,” Jungsu murmurs.

“There’s no such thing,” Gunil says, nuzzling his nose into Jungsu’s arm. 

Jiseok shakes his head, rising to his feet. “We could’ve gotten close to it.” They both look at him, watching him attentively. “Should I leave? I just…I think I’ve done enough,” he mumbles uncertainly. 

Unraveling himself from Gunil’s neck, Jungsu huffs, “Come here, Jiseokie.” Jiseok blinks at him, wide-eyed and confused. With a glance from Jungsu, Gunil reaches up, and pulls Jiseok closer to them by the wrist. Jiseok stumbles before them, and Jungsu pulls him into an uneven embrace between the two of them, running his fingers through Jiseok’s hair. 

“My life became your life the moment I decided to fight for custody,” Jungsu hums, “You’ll never do enough, or too much. You’re not intruding. I’m sharing this with you willingly, Ji. I wouldn’t want anyone else to see me as such a mess.” 

Jiseok is reminded viciously, that they’re not son and father, not brothers, not cousins even if that’s what blood says. They’re simply this. They’re simply family, across all boundaries. Jiseok drops his head, hides a smile. “Anyone else but Gunil?” 

Promptly, Jungsu shoves him away, and pulls back from Gunil, hiding his face in his hands, groaning. “C’mon. You ruined such a fragile and vulnerable moment.” 

Gunil breaks into giggles, patting Jiseok’s arm before turning to Jungsu, gently tugging Jungsu’s hands from his face. “Do you still need me, Jungie?” he asks softly, Jungsu exhaling shallowly. “I know it’s been so long. I don’t know if there’s anyone else you’d rather have now. But…either way.” He kneads his fingers over Jungsu’s knuckles nervously, looking down shyly. 

“I want to be a part of this family, in any way, if you guys will have me.” 

Jiseok reaches out, squeezes Gunil’s shoulder, and they both look up at the other eagerly. Jungsu stares back, lips jutting out, wobbling, big steady tears running in rivers down his face and dribbling at his chin. Outside, the sun shines, and the daffodils lap at its rays. 

For Jiseok, it’s all torturously slow. He sees a picture in his mind, one not yet to be hung on the wall, of a put together puzzle piece family, and he wants to jump into it, be a part of it. No patience or ease. 

There are flower pots on their windowsill now, turned moist soil and sprouting buds. He checks them every day, pets their unfurled petals and sings to them, always loving the science projects where flowers grew quicker to a song. Eager and excited to join in on the melody. 

He imagines though, for Jungsu and Gunil, after eight long years, this is taking place at breakneck speeds. He glances over his shoulder at them on the couch, one of Jiseok’s guitars in Jungsu’s lap, Gunil leant up against his shoulder, arranging Jungsu’s fingers unnecessarily meticulous over the frets. 

Jungsu doesn’t tell him Jiseok has taught him at least this much. Just takes it, smile digging into his eyes and the rosy cheeks tickled by Gunil’s hair. 

Turning his attention back to the flowers, Jiseok checks the Sustee stick, bought particularly for Jungsu, who’s proven to be able to raise a whole human being, but not yet keep a plant alive. It indicates the plants are good on water, so Jiseok stands, adjusts the red clay pots to sit properly in and out of the sunlight. 

It’s been a year now, since Jiseok called Gunil, since he forcefully brought the man back into their lives by letter-stained fingerprints. To be fair, Jiseok has been in uni, unable to oversee their progress for the better part of the time. He’s got enough proof as it is anyways. Still, if they aren’t dating yet, no matter how close they are, he isn’t fully satisfied. 

It’s strange. To be greedy for their love. It wouldn’t make them anymore his older brothers than they were before, but still he craves it. Craves Gunil in their home, beyond the hoodies he leaves draped over their chairs, the recipes he gives Jiseok to use as bookmarks, a second toothbrush in Jiseok’s bathroom, the dried flowers growing in number on the same wall as Jiseok’s guitar rack. 

They could move into a house, with a third bedroom, a bigger kitchen, a backyard garden. 

But then that would take away Gunil’s excuse to stay over, and either sleep on Jiseok’s floor where they’ll stay up too late while Jiseok begrudgingly admits Jooyeon’s existence and is teased relentlessly for his red-tipped ears. That would take away Jungsu’s whined hospitality, that Gunil couldn’t possibly sleep on the floor again, there’s space in his bed. Right beside him. 

Then they three couldn’t navigate their small kitchen with fluid ease, Jiseok flitting between their arms before they press their shoulders together and feed each other scraps of food because they “have” to be that close in the tight space. 

Then there would be no use in these flower pots on the window sill, yet to grow under Jungsu’s thumb. 

Jiseok is growing impatient, not feeling like he deserves to, but unable to help it regardless. Especially when repeatedly he has to turn around and catch the two’s ceaselessly enduring stolen glances and lingering caresses. If there was one thing Jiseok was tired of before, and is still tired of now, it’s the unneeded secrecy. 

Stifling a sigh, he makes to leave the living room, let them pine away over his precious guitar in peace, when Jungsu calls out, “Wait, Ji! I got an errand to run and I need your help.” Jiseok turns, leaning on the wall of the hallway with a raised brow. 

“I can help,” Gunil of course immediately offers, standing and placing the guitar where it belongs with all the same care Jiseok would. 

Jungsu snickers, waiting until Gunil is nearer, to pull him in by the hem of his shirt, pulling him down to leave a hasty kiss on his cheek, the skin turning a burning red in its wake. “No you can’t, silly,” Jungsu reminds, “You’ve got dinner with Seungmin and Hyeongjunnie.” 

Gunil curses beneath his breath, Jungsu faintly scolding him. “Right, I almost forgot. Can I—” 

Jungsu rolls his eyes. “You’ve got clothes in my dresser. Get ready here, we don’t care. Here’s my key. I’ll use Jiseok’s.” He pushes off the couch, rounding it to gather his things and usher Jiseok out the door, all in a rather frenzied manner. Jiseok is immediately suspicious. 

He waits until they’re in the car to turn a glare on Jungsu. “What are you doing and why can’t Gunil know?” 

Probably anticipating being caught, Jungsu simply chews on his lip, tapping the steering wheel with one hand, reaching inside the center console with the other. He pulls out something in a closed fist and beckons for Jiseok’s hand. Tentative, Jiseok offers up his palm, and in it Jungsu drops something cold, metallic. 

A key. 

Jiseok blinks, processes, stares. “Finally?” he asks, hesitant to hope. 

The fading sun glows over Jungsu’s face, and the car’s humming fades into faint radio music. “I had it made a couple weeks ago,” Jungsu tells, “I was just waiting to…ask you, I guess.” 

Jiseok is paused a single moment, before bursting. “Of course! Su, I’ve been waiting .” He squints his eyes, leaning in close to Jungsu. “Wait. You’re not even dating yet. Are you really going to ask him to move in before even taking him on a date? Where’s the class, Su?” 

Jungsu glares back, putting the car in start and pulling out of the apartment parking lot. “Now we both know I’ve taken him on more unofficial dates than can be counted on both our fingers.” Jiseok sits back, miffed; Jungsu is more than right and Jiseok wishes he didn’t know it. He puts on his seat belt, waits for Jungsu to continue. 

“As for our relationship…” Jungsu is going to bite clear through his lip with the way he keeps gnawing on the vulnerable skin. “You’ll see.” And see, Jiseok does, Jungsu driving to the part of town Jiseok only sees when he’s visiting the small, independent music shop there, good for everything he needs and won’t find anywhere else. He thinks maybe they’re going there, but Jungsu walks right past it. 

Into an even smaller, emptier and fragrant shop with bright lights and incense at the entrance. Jiseok takes a look around, at the pegs hung on the wall of necklaces and beads and pendants, separate or put painstakingly together into something uniquely pretty, found nowhere else. 

Jungsu doesn’t glance twice at any of it, instead walking up right to the glass counters, peering through them at the displays below. Specifically, the ring displays. Jiseok gasps. “Holy shit.” He sidles up to Jungsu as Jungsu chooses to ignore his cursing, side eyeing him. “Jungsu, I know I’m super supportive and all but isn’t this a little—” 

Blushing furiously, Jungsu claps his hand over Jiseok’s mouth. “I’m not asking him to marry me , Ji,” he hisses, completely and hopelessly flustered. “It’s…” He pulls away his hand, looks down at it, at the pearl ring he hardly wears, because the specific promise of it, different from all of Gunil’s other promises, resounds unspoken. 

Softening, forcing himself to calm down and mellow, Jiseok utters a small, “Oh.” 

That’s it then. A promise. One returned. 

An old man comes bumbling out from the back of the shop, hair silvery and thin frame glasses crooked on his pockmarked nose. His dark eyes fall on them, a well worn smile taking up his lips. “Jungsu Kim?” he asks, approaching where they stand, bending down to rummage through drawers beneath the counter. 

Meek now, Jiseok at his side and the matter at hand acknowledged, Jungsu swallows, nodding with glazed eyes. “Yes, sir, that’s me. I’m here to pick up my order.” He says it like a question, gazing down at the man searching and searching below. “I paid beforehand. For the…a ring.” 

On cue, he pops up with a small velveteen box, and the sight makes even Jiseok’s heart race. “We got it right here,” the man announces, flipping it open, Jiseok eager to glimpse the contents, standing on the tips of his toes to get as close a look as possible. 

Just like Jungsu’s, it’s simple. A slightly thicker silver band, a small citrine flower sitting center atop it. It catches the light, reflecting flower shaped golden hues on the edge of the navy blue box. 

“Jungsu,” Jiseok whispers, awed, “It’s perfect.” 

Pleased, Jungsu takes it up in his hands, smiling to himself. “If you think so,” he murmurs, tapping his thumb against the gem facet petals, “Then it’s gotta be.” 

He holds the box close to his chest, right over his heart, as the man tells him all the cleaning and care instructions. Jiseok wanders the shop, looking around at all the custom pieces and antique finds. It’s all so pretty in this delicate, untouchable way. He’s almost afraid to breathe, but he also knows, things this old, they’re so much less fragile than ones of the modern day. Crafted with longevity in mind. 

With forevers in mind. 

He spots something. A necklace with an elaborate chain, the metal braided four times over. Pearls interspersed through the pale gold. There’s a single lopsided chain left loose, waiting for a charm to weave through. 

Jungsu taps his shoulder, startling him from a trance, that box still firm in his clutches. He’s only going to let it go now for one other man. Jiseok eyes it as Jungsu tells him, a nervous tremor in his voice, that they can go home now. Jiseok stops him. 

“Wait, can I do something first?” 

They return home in absolute silence, bundles of nerves pressed between skin and silver. Jungsu’s fingers shake when he takes Jiseok’s key, and Jiseok lays his hand over them, squeezing comfortingly. “You’ve got this, Su,” he whispers. Jungsu purses his lips, determined and bolsters, and nods Jiseok’s way. 

He opens the door, and though they expected Gunil, they don’t expect his company. Jooyeon sitting on the floor beside him, hair flying about his face as he drums away on Gunil’s practice pad, grinning from ear to ear while Gunil tries to temper his fervor with an endeared smile. 

Jiseok’s heart does somersaults and backflips in his chest, more so than it already was. He looks at Jungsu, but Jungsu doesn’t seem to mind the unexpected guest. Focused solely on Gunil, cheeks a hazy pink, lips pointed in a small, too soft to be shared smile. Jiseok looks away, shutting the door behind them to announce their arrival. 

Gunil and Jooyeon still their antics, looking up at Jungsu and Jiseok with twin puppy-eyed expressions. “Hey guys,” Gunil greets, setting aside the practice pad, “Jooyeon wasn’t expecting you guys to be out. He called me and I had to tell him where the emergency key was.” Which isn’t totally unsurprising, Jooyeon waving nonplussed where he sits. 

Jungsu groans, eyes following Gunil as he stands. “I’ve managed to keep that hidden for years, Nil. Now he’s going to come in and steal Ji whenever he wants to.” All faux irritation forgotten when Gunil pulls him into a hug that spells out the words on the mat below. Welcome home . 

Jooyeon cheers, and Jiseok is almost overwhelmed by it all, abruptly close to tears. He ducks his head and hurries to Jooyeon’s side, switching from a near sniveling mess to mirthful when he tugs on Jooyeon’s sleeve, putting a finger to his lips and pointing surreptitiously in the other two’s direction. Jooyeon catches on that something is about to happen, and leans his head on Jiseok’s shoulder, watching curiously. 

“Where’d you go?” Gunil asks at the same time as Jungsu frantically asks, “How was dinner?” Devolving into nervous giggles when Gunil snorts, instantly noting something off about Jungsu, raising his brows. 

“Dinner was good,” he replies, tugging Jungsu into the light of the kitchen by the hands. Taking off his coat and fixing his windswept hair. “Did you and Ji eat?” Distractedly, dazed stare tracking Gunil’s undecorated fingers, Jungsu nods. Gunil frowns slightly. 

“Hey, everything alright?” 

In a huff of breath, Jungsu nods again. “Perfect. Everything’s perfect.” A little too rushed, a little too rapid. Gunil blinks, and Jungsu wets his lips reaching into his pockets, not yet pulling his hands out. “I just…Jiseok and I have something to ask you. Me first.” 

Gaze flicking to Jiseok, a bit worried, a bit wistful, Gunil hums, “Of course. Anything. Shoot.” 

Jungsu looks down at the ground, bashful and shy, not even bothering to try and abate his growing blush. Grounding himself, exhaling steadily, Jungsu meets Gunil’s eye, smiling shakily. “Y’know, I think this past year—at least during breaks and summer and when Jiseok’s here—has been the happiest of my life.” 

Gunil patiently crosses his arms, smiles at Jungsu fondly. “Yeah?” 

“You and Jiseok have helped me…with everything. With dealing with what I’d been too afraid to really deal with before. Sacrifice, and pride, and… everything .” He swallows, throat bobbing. “I gave up a lot, to give Jiseok everything. But you waited, and you stayed, and you never stopped being there, even when I wasn’t looking your way.” 

Clenching the sleeves of his hoodie, Gunil nods, blinking misty-eyed. “I’d do it again. All over. For twice as long or forever,” he lets be made known needlessly. Everyone’s got that line memorized by now. “You remembered me. That’s all I could ask for.” 

Jungsu breathes out through his nose, exasperated and adoring, taking Gunil in with dime dark pupils and the sweetest of affections. “I couldn’t forget you. You were always meant to be by my side, Gunil. In any and every which way. I always need you, and when I don’t, I want you.” 

Eyes widening, Gunil’s arms fall to his sides, Jungsu taking it as a sign to step closer, to take one hand and cup Gunil’s face in his palm, round cheek stem-fuzz soft-looking in the length of his fingers. 

It’s a spring night, the open windows welcoming into the apartment a goosebumping inducing chill, but neither Jiseok nor Jooyeon shiver in their thin short sleeves. Because Jungsu and Gunil’s love is something bright and burning. Embers and ash brought back to life. Something like the sun, but more like the sunrays, all warmth and consuming embrace. Touchable, not tangible. 

They’re like flowers, the two, blooming and blossoming in soft pretty blue hues. Only ever in each other’s direction, but with enough love to provide for endless stray dandelion seeds. 

Some say something like that is unsustainable. Always destined to wilt. 

But do flowers ever really die? They’re endless, if you think about it. They’re everywhere, dandelion seed fluff and spiderwebs. 

“I love you, Gunil,” Jungsu confesses in an earnest whisper, the timbre of it covering oceans and oceans of the unspoken in one pursuit. “I love you as my best friend, and I love you as my family, and I love you as something so much more and different.” 

Gunil, distracted by Jungsu’s gaze, by Jungsu’s words, doesn’t notice Jungsu’s other hand, rising between them, displaying something shiny and new. Jooyeon gasps, and the spell shatters, Gunil frowning dazed Jooyeon’s way, before seeing it, mouth falling open. 

Sending Jooyeon a scolding playful glare, Jungsu tilts Gunil’s chin back to him. “I’m not proposing. Not quite yet.” Gunil’s cheeks flame. “It’s…it’s a promise, if you’ll accept it, to match yours. This time, I want to be there for you forever. I want to be the one who waits. I want to be the one who supports everything you do, and love you without being asked to.” 

He offers the ring, smiling at Gunil expectantly, and for the first time ever, rendered speechless, Gunil wordlessly gives his hand. Jooyeon cheers when Jungsu places the ring on Gunil’s finger, Jiseok giggling happily into Jooyeon’s hair.

Crying shamelessly, unsputteringly, Gunil grins wobbly at Jungsu. “So you wanna be boyfriends again?” he asks, voice cracking helplessly. Jungsu laughs softly, pressing their foreheads together, brushing their noses against each other’s. 

Jungsu rubs his thumb over the knuckle where the promise ring now rests, lost in his head. “Well, Jiseok and I also want you to move in with us. We want you here as more than a guest. Besides that.” He smooths Gunil’s hair back from his head, behind his ear. So maybe he’ll hear the confession clearer. 

“More than anything.” 

Squeezing his eyes shut against his tears and wide, wide smile, Gunil nods. He doesn’t stop nodding; throwing his arms around Jungsu’s waist, picking him up and spinning him around in abject, utter joy. “Yes, yes, yes,” he chants, Jungsu yelping, laughing, as he’s placed unsteadily back on the floor. 

He takes Gunil’s face back between his hands, their rings resting cool and warm on each other’s skin, and kisses Gunil. Once on the nose. And twice on the lips. 

Jiseok and Jooyeon look away, making pretend disgusted faces at each other, not bothering to perturb the two’s moment with even good natured antics. Besides. Jiseok nudges Jooyeon off of him, brushing Jooyeon’s hair to the side, pulling something from his pocket. 

“What—” Jiseok shushes him, clasping the chain around Jooyeon’s neck, adjusting the necklace over Jooyeon’s collarbones, making sure the attached guitar pick sits where it’s supposed to, uneven where it sits on Jooyeon’s heart, leaning towards the left. Towards the heart. 

Jooyeon’s mouth rounds out, and he brushes his fingers over the pick reverently. He looks at Jiseok, at Gunil and Jungsu. “Is this…” 

Jiseok doesn’t say anything. Just nods. Jooyeon grins. 

Dandelion seeds along the wind. Soon, with the sun for parents, they’ll blossom too. The cycle destined to continue. 

Breakfast wafts through the air. Groggy, Jiseok tumbles out of bed. Wiping at bleary eyes, he shambles through the hall, silently peering into the kitchen where Jungsu and Gunil giggle and snicker over a bowl of batter and blueberry, flour brushed along Gunil’s upper lip and the apple of Jungsu’s cheek. Jiseok can’t help but smile, turning away. 

He does what he does every morning. Heading into the living room, the sunlight streaming through the big window tempting him to lay across the carpet and sleep more in the comforts of its warm basking embrace, but also serving to pinch his cheeks and pat his ears, waking him slowly. 

He peers along the sill. At the assorted pots haphazardly lined up over the landlord painted surface. Sprouts and leaves and succulents and strings of long hanging green pearls. And there, at the center of it all, directly under the sun’s smile, is a tiny flower. Its golden petals unfurled, gazing up at the world, at the sky through glass. 

It bloomed. The flower finally bloomed. 

Jiseok almost falls to his knees, rushing to find the nearest camera, something old and small that Jungsu keeps on hand. Hurriedly, but carefully, Jiseok squats before the flower, finding the perfect angle and lighting, and snaps a picture of the first flower Jungsu hadn’t only managed to keep from killing, but had helped bring to life. 

He stares at the resulting picture for a short while. He stands, making sure to be absolutely soundless as he sneaks into the kitchen, holding the camera up to his eye. He stands behind Jungsu and Gunil. Jungsu humming beneath his breath as Gunil slips his arm into his. Twining their ringed fingers against the messy countertop. This will go in a book. A real one. 

Jiseok takes a picture. Then he puts himself in it; bounding forward and throwing his arms around them both, burying his face in their joined arms. Jungsu wipes the drool from his mouth, and Gunil kisses the tip of his nose. Just like the first page of his baby book. Him between them, loved and adored. Family. 

This picture, this love, won’t be kept hidden in a box.