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Seungcheol recalls Wonwoo telling him about this magazine wall Mingyu had set up in their shared living room, but seeing the walls laden with Mingyu’s handsome face, striking various poses, looking straight at him was an entirely other thing. Thinking about his own apartment, Seungcheol wonders if his brother would let him get away with that. He had been accepting more magazine photoshoots than usual so it was possible.
At first, even the thought had him rejecting any offers but after seeing the guys come into their own as they graced more and more magazine covers alone, Seungcheol surprised the staff by agreeing. He still lays awake, trying to calm his heart and mind down enough the night before a photoshoot he would be going into alone, but he does so knowing he’s done it before and can do it again.
Not that any of it matters. He won't be at home anymore to see it anyway.
And wouldn’t it be depressing when he came back? The airbrushed photos would only remind him of the years that passed, the added wrinkles that would sprout under his eyes, his cheeks that would hand looser, the fine lines that would tell the stories he has yet to live.
None of it fit for an idol. Minghao always lectured to stop acting like his body began the decomposition process after he turned 25, but when Seungcheol was a rookie in the industry, the seniors were his age now. When the managers and stylists hyungs and noonas keep cycling with the seasons, and suddenly, they’re years younger and Seungcheol is older than them all—it’s only a matter of time until someone younger stands in his place too.
The goal has always been to stand on stage until S.Coups no longer looks cool, but what if he comes back and he doesn’t even get the chance to choose because the stage no longer has room for him?
Life waits for no one. Maybe love doesn't either. Maybe they’ll all move on.
As he looks around some more and watches how Wonwoo and Mingyu navigate their space, Seungcheol feels a bit like a stranger here. He had been here once before when they moved in, but the guys don’t really meet up at their homes, usually going out to eat or loiter in bars.
Maybe it was from the years of living in dorms together and now that they had their own places, they no longer fit in that way. He’s been to Minghao’s, Jisoo’s, Jeonghan and Seungkwan’s places a few times. So many more he’s never visited. They used to live so closely that Jihoon knew how many liters of water Seungcheol drank a day but now, he’s not even sure where Jihoon’s apartment is. Maybe it was just part of growing up. The thought makes Seungcheol feel a tinge in his chest.
He has to remind himself that he never invites any of them over to his place either.
As Mingyu easily accepts all the nitpicking Seungcheol does to rile him up to bicker with him and Wonwoo smiles at him every so often cheerfully as he watches, Seungcheol feels again that it’s a little cruel how nice they’re being lately.
Minghao and Jun had invited him out to hotpot more than ever. Jisoo had invited him to drink wine—Seungcheol doesn’t even like wine, but he brought Mingyu and Minghao along so why would he ever say no?—and then Jisoo had even joined him and Jeonghan for lunch at their soft tofu spot. Dino had even called Seungcheol out of nowhere and he ended up agreeing to join their meal. Somehow, Seungkwan had convinced him, Hansol and Seokmin to climb a mountain and Seungcheol agreed only because it felt like such a new combination. They had to stop a lot, but it was fun. Soonyoung finally took their dogs on a cafe playdate in Namyangju, and Seungcheol had a good time sitting back and watching him try to handle Latte and Kkuma together.
It just feels cruel for everyone to suddenly want a piece of him when all he ever wanted was for the people he loved to call for no reason once in a while, to ask to get lunch just because they wanted to be near him a bit more, to let their eyes linger on him every so often. All of this love they’ve given to fill his cup so quickly just for it to be poured into gray asphalt in a couple of days when he would be left astray without them.
Except, of course, Jihoon.
Maybe what’s actually cruel is how Jihoon hasn’t done anything. Nothing new. Nothing changed. Seungcheol is used to reaching out to him first, unless it’s about work, but he can't now. Even after Seungcheol's last day of work, Jihoon left without turning back as usual. Is he being considerate or does it just not matter?
“You know,” Mingyu starts, and Seungcheol knows he’s about to sit in for a lecture as he waits for Mingyu to down his shot of soju. ”One thing I’ve learned in life is that every end is just a new beginning,” but Wonwoo interrupts him with a laugh and Seungcheol grabs at the chance.
“Kim Mingyu,” he says simply.
Wonwoo points at Seungcheol who keeps his eyes trained on Mingyu. “Look at his face when you’re talking to him,” Wonwoo says to Mingyu before laughing again.
When Mingyu finally looks at him, a sheepish smile makes it onto Mingyu’s face before he apologizes.
For some reason, that day at Yaksu Station is painted vividly in his memories. It wasn’t a particularly special day and he was always in that dreary station weekly anyway. But that day, it was just him and Jihoon waiting inside, sheltering from the weather as they waited for one more trainee to come so they could go to their traditional dance class. The fall of rain helped mask the silence between them during the bus trip, but now that they were there, the quiet air between them felt more piercing as they examined the floor, the ceiling and the people bustling about.
It was only a couple weeks since Jihoon became a trainee, and while Seungcheol wanted to be his friend, it seemed like Jihoon might not want that. Or maybe he was just quiet. He didn’t know Jihoon enough to tell.
Their trainers would describe Seungcheol as loud but that was because they only ever saw him in the practice room, and since there were so few trainees now, he was friends with everyone there. He didn’t know how to act with Jihoon yet, but ever since that first day, he had wanted to. And ever since he saw him smile at Mingi, who beamed like he had won the lottery in return, Seungcheol wondered what it was like to see it up close. Maybe even directed at him.
But that was shooting for the stars. He had to learn how to talk to the guy first. He was the older one here. He had to take charge. What would Mingi do?
Seungcheol spotted a man in camouflage walking through the crowd and blurted his first thought. “I’m gonna be part of the Marine Corps when I enlist. They’re cool.”
“My dad served in the Marine Corps,” Jihoon replied. It’s the first thing he really said to Seungcheol that day. He was a little too stunned to pay too much attention to how a butterfly awakens in the pit of his stomach.
“Oh, th—that’s cool,” Seungcheol stuttered, feeling like a total loser. And then because he couldn’t seem to shut his mouth because he really wanted Jihoon to like him, he added, “Your dad must be pretty cool.”
“Yeah,” Jihoon said, turning to Seungcheol, smiling. “He is pretty cool.”
It wasn’t until a couple months later when Jihoon confided to him in their dorms, under the dark of night, that his mother hadn’t believed in him, but it was his father who did and had driven him to Seoul for his audition. It was his faith that kept Jihoon pushing through those hard, lonely weeks.
No, Seungcheol didn’t know any of that yet. But at that moment, he had learned something about Jihoon.
It wasn’t the soft smile that delighted Mingi. No.
It was Jihoon’s eyes.
Seungcheol bows quickly to the table staff, the stench of barbeque reminding him he hasn’t eaten in hours as he walks by them, and fishes his rumbling phone out of his pocket to see Brother Mingyu is calling him and picks up immediately.
“Hey, I know you said you’d be late but are you really planning on missing your own birthday dinner?”
“I’m already here,” Seungcheol says, placing a hand on Mingyu’s shoulder, looking over it to see the meat still isn’t cooked. Damn.
Mingyu turns his head slightly before he sets down the tongs and phones balanced against his neck to stand up and greet Seungcheol with a big smile and a quick hug. The table erupts in a chorus of greetings and Seungcheol gives them a big wave, moving closer to Mingyu. Everyone seems a bit tipsy. Joshua’s sitting awfully close beside Hansol and his face is pink so he knows it’s one of those nights where everyone will be hammered by the end, but he’s going to have to hold back today.
“I’m hungry,” Seungcheol whines, gesturing to the tongs.
Mingyu nudges him. “You’re late. You’re lucky I even saved your favourite cuts, but I’ll cook them extra delicious for you.”
Seungcheol gives him a winning smile. Always his favourite.
Jeonghan breaks from his conversation with Jun to turn and look at Seungcheol when he claps a hand on Jeonghan’s shoulder. Seungcheol takes the empty seat beside him, saved just for him. It was always nice when he did that.
“Hyung,” Seungkwan calls from across the table, almost two dozen heads snapping to look at him. “You really need to cure your main character syndrome.”
Chan speaks before Seungcheol’s mind catches up. “Why? Coups hyung is a celebrity and the fans like it,” Chan reminds Seungkwan. “I think it’s fun.”
“I think you just always want to disagree with me.” Seungcheol doesn’t have to look up to know Seungkwan is probably rolling his eyes.
“Then stop always saying things that are disagreeable,” Chan retorts with a smile and as if on cue, a ripple of laughter wades through the group and when Seungcheol looks up a few seconds later, he feels helplessly fond at the way Seungkwan and Chan laugh even harder when they look at each other.
It’s moments like this that he knows he’s going to reach into his memory to replay. The predictability and the routine, but it’s the thought of the ever so slight changes that leaves his chest hollow. They will text, they will call, they may even see him, but some things you just have to be there for.
Seungcheol looks around the table, trying to burn each of their laughing faces in his mind before his eyes land on Jihoon, beside Jun. Seungcheol is used to seeing Jihoon like this—looking in his direction, but never quite at him. Sometimes his eyes would bore holes into the ground or linger at a spot beside his head or straight ahead, not lifting his head.
But he’s happy. Jihoon is laughing with the guys as he always does—his loud, high cackle rising above all the others, and the guys are all here and today is a happy day for Seungcheol because they’re celebrating him. So looking at Jihoon and the happiness rolling off him, Seungcheol lets his laughter infect him too.
Even when Mingyu tries feeding him a piece of meat that could burn his tongue off because he’s in such a rush to feed Seungcheol, he lets himself only feel happiness even as he scolds him.
It’s officially been Seungcheol’s birthday for an hour when Jeonghan’s in the middle of laughing with a tipsy Seokmin that he makes eye contact and Seungcheol knows from his stiff smile and drooping eyes that his energy is nearly depleted. He knows what Jeonghan wants, but Seungcheol looks away first as a chill settles into his bones.
He grabs his phone off the table and pulls up their team group chat again. After a few drinks, they ended up wanting to hear Jun say something heartfelt, and Jun had announced his idea to change the name to 13-1=0 to which Seungkwan had just said, “We have two managers in that chat too, but moving on,” before showering Jun in praise.
The numbers glimmer back at Seungcheol as he sits in his seat. Even as he feels his own eyes lose strength, he fights it. He doesn’t want the night to end just yet. Maybe it’s cruel of him, but he won’t give Jeonghan permission to leave. Not yet.
Instead, Seungcheol stands. Wonwoo stands with him, but he gestures with his hand and Wonwoo goes back down in his seat.
“Just going out for some fresh air. I’ll be back,” he says.
He focuses on his breathing, on the feeling of his chest moving. He counts backwards from 100. He leans his forehead against his cool steering wheel.
But his mind whirs.
It’s how the company already erased his security information so he had to call a manager to vouch for him. It’s how when the fans said they would wait for him, he smiled but he wondered if they were putting on the same show he does for them. It’s how once it struck 12, Joshua had said, ”It’s a little cruel, isn’t it? To make you enlist on your birthday.”
It’s all of it and it’s how this is the last memory he’ll have of his boys for months and months and yet, Jihoon hasn’t looked at him all night. Not really.
It’s different with Jihoon. Most things usually are.
When it comes to everyone else, Seungcheol knows he’s going to miss them when he’s gone. The void that he feels slowly form when they’re given their yearly vacation will only become a permanent fixture in his chest until he’s able to return to them.
But with Jihoon, he’s used to missing him even though he’s never really been gone. Seungcheol sits across from him during their meetings, Seungcheol watches him in the mirror during dance practice, Seungcheol smiles at him from across the room when he’s scolding Soonyoung with a smile on his own face, Seungcheol sits in his studio as Jihoon asks him to listen to his latest demo. He’s been with Jihoon for so long and he knows he will always be in his life, and Jihoon doesn’t want to cast Seungcheol out of his, but.
It isn’t the same. It was always different with Jihoon, and then things changed and the different changed alongside it and morphed into something that claws at Seungcheol when he lets himself linger over it too long.
A sharp knock startles him. He looks around in the dark before his eyes land on hands cupped around his sharp eyes, trying to peer past the tinted windows into the car.
Jihoon.
He lets out a breath, his fingers trembling slightly as he pushes to unlock the vehicle.
Jihoon isn’t even settled into the passenger seat before he launches into an interrogation. “I couldn’t find you. Why are you here?”
For some reason, his words bring back a flash of a memory long forgotten, when Seungcheol was five and lost in a crowded mall, sitting at Kimbap Heaven, hoping if he stayed there then his dad would find him.
“It’s cold,” Seungcheol says quietly, as though it means anything. The car isn’t running and the heater isn’t on. He wonders if Jihoon believes him.
“Hyung—” Jihoon stops himself.
And then Seungcheol makes a mistake, but he also grants his own wish. Because he looks to the side and there it is. The eyes steadily trained on him now. The look that feels like Jihoon peers through his exterior, right down into the person Seungcheol is inside. It's an assessment, but it's not sterile. It's too much.
Fighting a shiver, Seungcheol looks away. Of all times, why was Jihoon looking now?
“What’s been going on?” Jihoon asks.
It’s like his throat has swollen up and he can’t get the words out. He’s not going to cry on his birthday. He won’t.
All it takes is one glance?
After a few moments of Seungcheol’s harsh breathing filling the air, it’s Jihoon who breaks the silence.
“I thought therapy was going to help.”
And it is. The Seungcheol from years ago would’ve sat in that restaurant and forced himself to get through it.
“You’ll go home soon, you’ll wake up tomorrow, you’ll be there for months and you’ll do well. Then you’ll come back and eventually, we do what we’ve always done,” Jihoon says easily.
Seungcheol bites his lip. “And what’s that?”
“I plan to be in this group for a long, long time. It doesn’t have to be complicated. Aren’t we doing this together?”
His fingers tap the steering wheel as he lets the words sit in his mind, rolls them around and tries to get them to stick.
“So,” Seungcheol says after a moment, wanting to talk about anything else. “Are you doing it?” He peeks sideways at Jihoon who is looking straight at him. Seungcheol looks away.
Jihoon pauses, thinking, and then takes the bait. “What’s that?”
“Your dream. Your producer album. Bumjoo mentioned you were seriously getting started.” Bumjoo had casually mentioned about helping arrange a cellist for the album, but Seungcheol wishes Jihoon had been the one to tell him.
Jihoon lets out a groan. “No secrets, huh?”
“Of course not, I’m Choi Seungcheol,” Seungcheol says, putting on a show and puffing up his chest. He doesn’t know if he means that about Bumjoo or Jihoon.
“It’s you,” Jihoon agrees, nevertheless. “I don’t know. I’m writing, but I’ve never written like this before.”
“You can always send me what you’re working on, I’ll give feedback. But it’s you, you’ll get it done.” Seungcheol might be known for his competitive spirit, but it’s always Jihoon’s drive that fuels the engine. “Keep one song for me,” Seungcheol says.
Jihoon sighs. “Hyung, the whole point—”
Seungcheol shakes his head, his lips forming a pout on instinct. “The point is to make an album to write the songs and then find people who suit them. I know, I know. But keep a spot for me on the album.” Seungcheol insists, his voice near whining.
While he always wants to hear what Jihoon writes so he can call dibs on it, he rarely steps foot in the studio to ask Jihoon to make him anything. But this is different.
There might be a distance that he feared to cross, but Seungcheol wants Jihoon to keep him. He was the one who told him together.
“Okay,” Jihoon agrees. “I’ll wait until you’re back.”
And with his words, a wave of relief washes over Seungcheol at last. The pattering of his heart feels less like a drumbeat and all of a sudden, Seungcheol feels cramped in the car and needs to get out. He reaches for the handle and only after the door opens and a gust of wind bursts through, Seungcheol feels he can finally breathe.
It’s quiet outside. The air is crisp and fresh. He sees Jihoon walking towards him and nods at the concern on his face. He smiles and only then does Jihoon slow his pace. Seungcheol leans against his car and Jihoon watches him, studying. It makes him nervous to be watched by him so openly like this. He had wanted him to look, well now he was. The urge to go back inside nearly overtakes him, but he forces himself to act normal under Jihoon's gaze.
It’s just Jihoon, after all.
And because it’s him, Seungcheol decides to be a little mean. “Won’t you hug me for once?”
“Huh?” Jihoon spurts out.
“You all have a filming tomorrow. You won’t see me,” Seungcheol reminds him. “And it’s officially my birthday,” he adds when the silence lingers. His voice sounds awfully pathetic, but he lets himself do this. At least for today.
Jihoon stays quiet and Seungcheol barks out a laugh. “Wow, even then? Am I radioactive?”
He sees a tight smile form on Jihoon’s face before he turns his head slightly. But Seungcheol saw it. It’s the one he gets when he’s trying not to let it overwhelm his face.
Ah, Seungcheol thinks. He’s got him now.
“You know, you’ve never given me a birthday present,” Seungcheol reminds him. There was one time Seungcheol did buy him something and Jihoon never returned the favour that he could bring up, but he decides to play nice.
It’s enough to coax a laugh out of Jihoon. “Hey, stop speaking nonsense. Since when do we do presents? What are you making me into, a cheapskate?” When they were trainees, they couldn’t afford presents when they could barely afford lunch, and then they became adults and nothing changed. Maybe it should have. Maybe a lot of things should have changed. But they never counted what they exchanged. It would be impossible to tally up all that they’ve given and owed each other.
Maybe that’s why Jihoon doesn’t bring up what Seungcheol just made him promise to give him. If he won’t, then Seungcheol won’t either.
But Seungcheol craves this and so he stands still, waiting for him to come.
“It’s just me,” Seungcheol reminds him.
Avoiding Seungcheol’s eyes as usual, Jihoon slowly shuffles closer with his eyes looking straight ahead. It’s not always but sometimes, Jihoon looks impossibly small and Seungcheol is overwhelmed by how this small but sturdy frame is so capable. So huge in his life.
When Jihoon reaches out to wrap his arms around him, Seungcheol steps closer still, aligning their bodies more closely as his fingers wrap into Jihoon’s clothes. He takes his chance and makes himself smaller, trying to fit into Jihoon’s frame.
It’s not comfortable at all, but he’s happy. So it’s comfortable. He wishes they were always like this again. How nice it would be if he could bottle this feeling for later.
“Happy birthday Seungcheol hyung,” Jihoon says, and Seungcheol can hear the smile in his voice. His heart flutters. He grips him tighter.
It’s a moment before Jihoon lets go slowly, backing out of Seungcheol’s grasp. He looks anywhere else, but it’s not an awkward silence between them for once. Usually, it’s like waiting for a train that will never come, the sense of an empty space that needs to be filled but neither make the move to. But right now, that feeling is absent and all that remains is contentment.
While everyone else was filling his cup, Jihoon finally topped it off. And Seungcheol is beginning to think that maybe it won’t actually get poured out tomorrow or the day after. Maybe, he can just keep it with him.
Maybe that’s enough for now. There’s always later.
“I’m going to miss the kids,” Seungcheol says, looking up at the moon. It feels warmer than before.
After a moment, Jihoon responds. “They’ll miss you too.”
Jihoon rejects the offer to walk back inside, opting to stay outside for a little longer. When Seungcheol walks back to their table, he knows even before he gets closer that Jeonghan is boring holes into his face. Seungcheol smiles and nods.
“I’ll see you,” Jeonghan promises when they hug.
Seungcheol doesn’t let it linger, not trusting himself tonight and quickly lets go to clap Jeonghan on the back. “Thanks for coming,” is all he manages.
He decides he’ll allow ten more minutes to sit with the guys, and then it’s time for Seungcheol to go home tonight too, so he can wake up for what’s ahead.