Archive of Our Own

There's a lot to be said about love and its endlessly destructive nature. Some may think that love is healing, that it’s kind and fulfilling. Jisung knew better. He knew just what love could do. Love could strip you of everything, lay you bare to the world and let your rotting corpse be taken by nature. It ruined you, left you breathless and empty. It was sin in its purest form. 

He had loved before. God himself knew he was full of it, simply brimming with it. For everything and everyone. For the sky and the stars, for the stray cat that wandered through his garden every morning, for the boy with the brown eyes that sparkled. 

But love had hurt him, again and again. The sky was polluted and the stars hidden. The cat disappeared. The boy… Well, the boy was a black mark on his canvas, a scar on his skin. He was history, plain and simple. 

Jisung swore off love, and lived his life apathetically. It was a necessary change, one he took pride in managing, but it ate at his core. It left everything lifeless and dull. Until it didn’t. 

His name was Bang Chan, and he changed Jisung’s life. 

Bang Chan was a force of nature at the best of times. So unapologetically himself that it became hard to maintain any semblance of mystery or allure. He knew what he wanted and he worked to get it. With his music, with his smile. With the gentle way he had approached Jisung, genuine interest in his eyes and a soft remark. 

“You sound good.” He had said, gesturing to the guitar nestled in Jisungs grasp. “I don’t have much but,” He dropped a crisp note into Jisungs guitar case, rocking on his heels, “I wanted to ask if I could compensate you some other way?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t have sex with strangers.” Jisung had said bluntly, glaring in a way that showed his disgust. Bang Chan, to his credit, took it in stride and laughed.

“No, no, that came out wrong.” He waved his hands in defence, quickly pulling out a crumpled receipt and a pen. “I’m part of a band, and we’re looking for a new guitarist. I was hoping you would be interested.” He jotted down his name and a number. “Feel free to call me if you want. That’s the number of my buddy, since I don’t answer the phone much, but ask for me and I’ll get there.”

Numbly, Jisung had taken the receipt and watched the man walk away, a strange sort of feeling filling his bones. 

Despite his unorthodox approach, Chan had lingered on Jisungs mind for longer than he intended. Music was his dirty little secret, locked away in a box and stored out of sight. But the way Chan had smiled, and handed him his number, words light on his tongue, made Jisung feel as if he didn’t have to hide it. It was a dangerously hopeful feeling.

You see, Jisung was not one for the luxuries in life. He did not get the nice things, he did not win, he was not allowed happiness. He was an outsider, an alien, trapped in a human body. 

He stared at the receipt. He picked up the landline and called the number.

“Seo residence, how can I help?” A voice answered, noticeably not Chans.

“Um.” Jisung hesitated. Considered hanging up. “I’m looking for Chan?” 

“Oh chill.” The voice brightened and became muffled as the speaker covered the receiver. Jisung could hear him yelling. “He’ll be down in a moment.”

Jisung waited, his uncertainty building with each passing second. The cord he had been winding around his finger grew slick with sweat and he could tell his breaths were becoming short. Just before he could convince himself to hang up, Chan answered. 

“Hey, It’s Chan.” His voice was just as amiable as Jisung remembered. “Who’s calling?”

“Oh, its, um Jisung.” He cringed down the receiver, “Uh the guy you spoke to the other day. In the street. With the guitar.” He finished lamely. The silence on the line went on for so long that Jisung thought Chan had hung up. 

“Oh great!” He said eventually, the sounds of a muffled scuffle making his words shake. “Did you think about my offer?”

“No.” Jisung answered truthfully. “If I think about it, I won't do it. But I think I want to. Try, I mean.”

Chan hummed, quietly telling someone in the room to shut up. “That’s okay. It was somewhat of a long shot anyway. But if you want to try, we’re happy to have you.” 

Jisung held his breath, straining to hear what Chan was thinking and failing. 

“You should come by, see how your sound meshes. The band and I mainly practice in my buddy Changbins garage, so come by… let's say Tuesday?”

Jisung nodded as Chan rattled off an address, belatedly realising Chan couldn’t see him. “I’ll see you then, I guess.”

“Yeah mate, I have a good feeling about this!” Chan said before clicking off with a brief goodbye. Jisung hung the phone back on the wall and sighed through his nose. He let himself revel in the silence of his living room for one singular moment. It was broken by the front door banging open. 

“Jisung!” His father called, and he flinched. His father, a formidable man with harsh frown lines, stalked into the room, loosening his tie. 

“Hello.” Jisung murmured, gaze firmly fixed to his feet. “How was work?”

“Look me in the eye when you talk to me.” His father demanded, throwing his coat over the back of the couch. 

“Sorry.” Jisung forced his eyes upwards. 

“Your mother will be back later. I expect you to be studying until she returns.”

“Yes dad.”

Jisungs father nodded once and went into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. Jisung, not one to waste a golden opportunity, ran upstairs to his room, closing the door quietly. He eyed the space under his bed where he knew his guitar was carefully hidden, suppressing the urge to bring it out and strum a few cords.

--

“I- um.” Jisung shook his head violently and raised a hand to knock at the door. Almost instantly, it opened, revealing a dishevelled Chan. 

“Hey man.” He said, running a hand through his unruly curls. “Sorry, we weren’t expecting you till later.” 

Jisung froze, the hand on his guitar spasming. “Oh. I can- um, come back?” He said, turning to leave. 

A hand shot out to stop him. “No!” Jisung turned to look at Chan, “No man, please come in.”

Jisung nodded and carefully stepped through the door that Chan widened for him.

“Garage is this way. Mrs Seo won’t let us open the door because it gets too loud.”

Jisung followed, taking in the house. It seemed so lived in. So warm. It was unusual. Eventually, they came to a non-descript door, slightly ajar.

“Changbin is just through here.” Chan pushed through, without knocking. “Oi!”

A man, smaller than them both, turned from where he was tuning a bass. “Hey.” He said simply returning to his task. 

Chan skipped forward, draping himself over Changbins back and grinning. “Give him a proper greeting, you ill mannered goose.” 

Changbin, to his credit, only rolled his eyes a little before turning around and smiling properly at Jisung. 

“Hey. I’m Changbin.”

“Jisung.”

“Cool.” He nodded and gestured to Jisungs guitar case, hung over his shoulder, “Channie said you play. You any good?”

Jisung shrugged, “I’m alright, I guess.”

“Nah man, he’s legendary.” Chan interrupted, “You shoulda heard him in the street that day. It was like, magical.”

The tell-tale signs of a blush worked their way up Jisungs cheeks, but before he could respond, Changbin chuckled. “Yeah, Channie’s been gushing about you all weekend. Prove him right, yeah?”

Jisung just nodded, his words getting stuck in his throat. 

“We're just waiting on Minho, right?” Chan said to Changbin, having finally slid off his back and adjusting a drum set in the corner. 

Changbin hummed, “Yeah, but he’s bringing the idiot brigade with him, so it’s going to take a while.”

At Jisungs confused look, Changbin stepped in to explain. “Minho is our friend, he was filling in for guitar but he’s dogshit so anything is a step up from him.”

“I told you we should have asked Seungmin.”

“We did. He told us to fuck off.”

“Oh yeah.” 

Jisung watched the two of them banter for a moment, feeling increasingly out of his depth. There was something so familiar between the two, like they had known each other for years, and there wasn’t a single inch they didn’t understand. Jisung, instead of continuing to watch the two banter and laugh, decided to cast his eyes around the garage. It was old, and worn but well loved, with a sagging couch in the corner and several instruments dotted around. He noticed a cork board on one wall, with various sheets of paper haphazardly tacked on. On closer inspection, they looked like song lyrics, several different scrawls marring the pages. 

“So Jisung.” Jisung whipped around to look at Chan. “Before everyone gets here, why don’t you play us something?”

“Oh um.” Jisung placed his guitar on the ground, fiddling with the zip on the case. “Yeah, okay. Any requests?”

“Just whatever you want.” Chan waved a hand. 

Jisung inhaled deeply and slung his guitar around his neck. It was a hideous sight amongst the others that lay in the garage, old and damaged, but oh so loved. Jisung had gotten it second hand from his elderly neighbour for the expensive sum of two hours yard work and a car wash. It was his most prized possession. 

He strummed lightly, making sure it was all in tune before turning away from the prying gazes of Chan and Changbin. He warred with himself over what to play before eventually settling on a classic. 

The opening notes of Landslide, by Fleetwood Mac, drifted through the air. It was a song he had learned after one too many listens on his mothers forgotten cassette (listened to on his well worn cassette player, also a second hand gift from his elderly neighbour). 

He knew dimly that it was not the best choice to showcase his skills, but the song had a special place in his heart, a reminder of when music first became his passion. 

He closed his eyes as he began to play, too scared to see the reactions of the others, scared that they secretly hated it, that they regretted asking him to join them, that they were laughing at him.

He needed not fear, however, because when he ended the song and bravely opened his eyes again, Chan and Changbin were smiling. 

“Hey, that was great!” Chan cheered, and looped his arm around Changbin. 

“Yeah, man, that was class.”

“No one says class, mate.”

“Yes they do!”

“Who the fuck says class?”

“Literally everyone-”

“Hey fuckers, whats cooking?”

“Now, no one says that .” Changbin pointed at a newcomer, who had just burst through the garage door with less finesse than a drunk weasel. 

Jisung almost dropped his guitar as he whipped around and saw who was quite possibly the most beautiful man he had ever laid eyes on. And that was saying something when his previous company was none other than attractive-and-buff-but-surprisingly-nice-yet-still-hot-holy-shit Chan and Changbin themselves. 

The newcomer, who stared back at Jisung with an appraising gaze, smirked and pushed the door wider, letting a stream of overgrown children stumble through. 

“Chan.” The newcomer purred, “Please introduce me to your new friend.”

“You mean introduce us .” A blonde boy asked, pushing the newcomer aside to launch himself at Changbin. 

“I said what I said.”

“Play nice, please.” Another boy walked through with much more grace than the previous two, his straight hair halfway in his eyes as he squinted at the room. 

“Alright, alright.” Chan came up behind Jisung and raised an arm to wrap it around his shoulder before seemingly thinking better of it and dropping it to his side. “Everyone, this is Jisung.”

“Jisung , this is everyone.”

“And what an eloquent answer that was, Chan.” The newcomer, who had been fixed by the door the entire time, finally stepped forward and extended a hand to Jisung. “I’m Minho, the one attached to Changbin is Felix, and that ray of sunshine over there is Seungmin.” He punctuated his interactions with various loose-limbed gestures around, pointing out everyone. 

Jisung smiled tightly and took his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“I understand that you’re here to replace me?” Minho said, an easy cat-like grin on his face.

Jisung startled, panic flooding his veins. “No, no.” He waved his arms, “Not replace, I would never replace anyone, I didn’t-”

“Relax.” Minho placed a delicate hand on his arm, quelling its movements. “I was never a permanent fixture. God knows they could never do better than me, though.”

“Minho, you are the worst guitar player this world has ever seen.” Seungmin deadpanned from his position on the couch. His words and tone were at odds with how soft he looked, halfway into the couch and drowning in a too large hoodie. 

“Well, I wasn’t the step father, I was the father that stepped up or however the saying goes.” Minho waved a hand dismissively, “You were too chicken to do it so someone had to.”

Seungmin just scoffed and Jisung withheld a grimace. Everyone was so well attuned to one another, comfortability thrown around carelessly. If he had felt like an outsider before, it was nothing to what he felt at that moment.

Chan, however, in his never-ending amazingness, seemed to notice Jisung getting uncomfortable and patted his shoulder lightly. “You played really well, Jisung.” He said sincerely. “We would be honoured to have you join our band.”

“Just like that?” He said, the grip on his guitar tightening. 

Chan nodded. “Just like that.” He removed his hand from Jisungs shoulder but didn’t drop his gaze. “We didn’t really care about if you meshed well with our sound, or whatever I told you. I knew when I saw you playing in the street that we needed you. I just didn’t want to come off too strong.” He laughed, but Jisung saw the uncertainty in his gaze. It was so at odds with what he had grown to expect from Chan in the brief time he had known him that he couldn’t help but soften.

“Oh.” He took in a deep breath, ignoring all the looks from the others and nodded. “Yeah, I’ll join your band.”

Chan smiled like a weight had been lifted from him, “Great!” 

Changbin, who had been watching from the other end of the room with Felix wrapped around him, smiled too and gave Jisung an encouraging thumbs up. “It’s going to be great. You’re gonna love it.”

And Jisung didn’t doubt him for a second. He had never awarded himself something so indulgent since he had started busking in the streets. It felt liberating in a way, that other people were interested in his music, in him . 

“Alright then.” Minho beamed, a far cry from all the sly grins and smirks he had been sporting since Jisung met him, “Jisung, tell me, do you jam?”

The evening was spent just like that. Jamming out, with the clash of instruments and voices, mixing together in a horrific blend of genres and sounds. Jisung loved every second of it. They screamed and crooned, strummed and clashed. Chan was an absolute beast on the drums, his vocals a soft opposition to his heavy hands. Changbin sang with a fervor, a deep hunger that matched the low tones of his bass. He dropped into spitfire raps in one moment and whispered vocals the next, complemented by Chans sweet tones and equally harsh raps. Occasionally, Minho, Felix and Seungmin joined in. Singing and dancing around like groupies at their favourite concert, sliding into the mix naturally. 

And Jisung? Well, he let it all out. He fingered chords like he was born to do it, his once shy voice ramping up until he was practically screeching the lyrics, laughter tripping him up more than once. 

It was a mess. A beautiful mess that Jisung craved. 

By the time the sun had set, they had cycled through various random songs, some Jisung knew, some he didn’t. He liked their sound, it was heavy, with rock infused deep in its veins, but with the spark of something newer, something fresh. It sounded like him. 

He only noticed the sun had set when they stopped for a water break and he clocked that there was no longer any light peeking out from the gap underneath the garage door. 

“Shit.” He said, already dropping his guitar into its case. “What time is it?”

“Uhh,” Chan glanced at the ancient clock hanging on the wall, “Just after 10.”

Jisung swore, and slung his case over his shoulder. “Fuck, I have to go.”

“But wait-” Jisung didn’t get to hear Chan’s next words, already out the door. 

His journey home was a mad dash, fueled only by his sheer panic. He had no time to stash his guitar away before the front door swung open and his father regarded him with a furious look. It only worsened when he saw the case hanging from his shoulder. 

Jisung froze halfway up the steps to the front door, his breath stuttering. “Da-”

“Enough. Get inside.”

The even tone of his voice was more terrifying than any yelled insults could be, and Jisung slunk past his dad, heart hammering. 

The door shut behind him, the click of the lock an omen. 

“I can explain-”

“I don’t want to hear it.” His father regarded him with something akin to disgust, his lip curled. “You have disobeyed me for the last time.”

Jisung paused, “What do you mean?”

“Did you seriously think we wouldn’t find out? Your school called today. Apparently you were absent today, just like you have been for the last few weeks. A serious illness, they said.” His father narrowed his eyes, “You look perfectly healthy to me.” 

There was a brief silence, where Jisung could hear the tick of the clock, smell the remnants of dinner and see just how much he had fucked up. 

“It’s not like that.”

“Enough!” His fathers facade cracked and crumbled, tearing apart with a violence. “Enough. Jisung, we have done everything right by you, your whole life. This is how you repay us? By skipping school and doing what, making music? I didn’t think I was raising a failure, much less one of your magnitude.” Jisung watched as his father worked himself into a rage, fists clenched. “Where did we go wrong?”

Jisung opened his mouth to reply. What he would say, he didn’t know, but it seemed whatever he could've come up with would be all for nought when his father powered on. 

“I knew from the day you were born that you wouldn’t be enough. I should’ve forced you into sport, been less soft with you. Your mother babied you too much and now look at you. A poor excuse for a man.” The words settled into Jisungs bones, weaving their way into the very marrow of his being and burning. As his father continued, something broke in Jisung, little by little, pieces that stabbed his heart and left him bleeding. His father was no longer talking to Jisung, not really. Instead, he was releasing years of pent up hatred for the one person he was supposed to love unconditionally. 

“You were too sensitive, too feminine. Even as a boy. You cried over everything, played with your mothers makeup. You picked up fucking music! I thought if I pushed you harder, made you into a man you wouldn’t turn out to be what I feared. But I guess I was wrong. My son, a fucking fa-”

“Stop.” 

Jisungs voice surprised himself more than his father, who had frozen in the middle of his tirade. It was rare that he would dare to speak out against his father, but some words can never be unspoken. The implication hung in the air, heavy and oppressive. His father had been harsh and oftentimes cruel, but he had never before entered this territory. That Jisung was a failure simply for being.

“Get out of my house.”

“What?” His breath caught, and he thought that time stood still. His father, however, did not share the sentiment. He advanced forward, rage oozing from his pores, making the air unbreathable. 

He reached forward, and Jisiung couldn’t help it. He flinched. Without an ounce of hesitation, his father tore the guitar case from his shoulder and launched it against the wall. The thin material of the case did nothing to protect the delicate wood as it splintered. 

As if cracking it was not enough, his father drove a foot into the helpless pile of wood and stings which shattered under its weight. Jisung screamed, throwing himself at his father, who shook him off like he was nothing more than a small annoyance. His foot met the guitar over and over again, his angry yelling almost covering up the sound of Jisungs heart caving in on itself. 

“Get out of my house!” His father screamed, “Get out, get out, get out!”

Jisung took a step back. Then another. And suddenly he was tearing up the stairs, throwing things haphazardly into a bag, tasting his tears, choking on them. 

He didn’t look at his father as he ran out the door, the lock clicking behind him. Not an omen this time, but a promise. A promise that if he were to return, he would not be welcomed.

--

Jisung had nowhere to go. It hit him, at a bus stop just outside of town, that he was well and truly alone. He had few friends, and the ones he did have could hardly be considered close enough to house him. No family that would defy his father and no money to find a hotel. 

It was as humbling as it was harrowing that Jisung was so alone. It was a prison of his own making, but a prison nonetheless. Realising that he had no one to blame but himself was less satisfying when he was out in the cold, in nothing but a thin jumper and with a half full duffle over his shoulder. 

He toyed with the idea of going home. Of appealing to his mother, who had a soft spot for her only son, of apologising and swearing to never pick up an instrument again. But he shot the idea down. His mother would not go against his father for him, and he would not give up music. 

He found a payphone, by the side of the dimly lit road and fumbled around for pocket change. He picked up the receiver, and paused. He didn’t know any numbers but his own and he surely couldn’t call that. He sighed through his nose, ready to hang up the phone on its hook when he decided to take a chance. There was one number he might recall, from months of calling it.

Before he could sike himself out, he pressed his fingers into the digits, hoping that it was right. Hoping it wasn’t. 

He waited with bated breath, little puffs of white filling the air as he did. 

“Hwang residence, may I ask who is calling?”

And that voice. That voice brought back memories of summers long ago, with clammy hands and skinned knees. Of whispered confessions and secrets kept in the dark. Jisung swallowed, the receiver suddenly weighing more than he could lift. 

“Hello? Listen if this is another prank call I swear-”

“Hello.” Jisung managed, voice nothing more than a whisper. The voice on the other end paused, and Jisung heard the uncertain exhale of breath. 

“Who is this?” The voice demanded, like it didn’t already know.

“Hyunjin.” Jisung said, “It’s me.” 

“You-” The voice, Hyunjin, choked, and Jisung almost smiled at the familiarity of it. 

“Jisung?”

“Yeah.” 

“What are- Why are-” Hyunjin broke off with a huff. It sounded frustrated, a little angry perhaps, but oh so soft too. “Why are you calling?”

“I didn’t know if this was still your number. I kinda hoped it wasn’t but…” Jisung laughed bitterly. 

“Jisung.” Hyunjin called out to him, with that same tenderness he has all those years ago and something opened in Jisung. He choked on a sob and held the phone a little tighter. “What’s going on?”

“They um- my parents, they kicked me out. I don’t- I don’t have anywhere to go and I know is was stupid to call you, but, but you’re the only person I thought I could and-”

“Jisung. You’re rambling.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” And that was strange to hear, from someone he had hurt and been hurt by. Strange in its acceptance, strange in its comfort. “Where are you?”

“I’m not sure.”

Hyunjin laughed and Jisungs heart squeezed. He used to cause that laugh, it was strangely pleasant to know he hadn’t lost his touch. 

“Give me landmarks or something.”

Jisung looked around, he saw an old closed shop, the sign in the window cheerily telling him they were closed on Sundays. “I’m by a store, uh, Micki’s laundromat. And uh, Ye old coffee shop.”

Hyunjin hummed and Jisung heard the jingle of keys. “I know them, they’re on the edge of town right?”

“I think so? I got the bus but I got too scared to actually leave town so I got off and now I’m lost.”

Hyunjin laughed again, “Same as always, huh. Alright, I’m coming to get you, stay there.”

He hung up with little fanfare, huddling closer to the phone for a semblance of warmth as he sat in wait. 

Half an hour passed and Jisung thought that maybe Hyunjin had played him, left him waiting and alone, as some sort of belated vengeance. Before his thoughts could spiral too far, headlights blinded him, harshly cutting off as a tall figure climbed out a car. 

“Jisung.” Hyunjin called and the world collapsed. 

He was so much taller than Jisung remembered, with long black hair that hung down to his shoulders. He had clearly been getting ready for bed, still dressed in plaid pyjama pants and a thick jumper. He came closer, noticing that Jisung had not moved, and in the dim light of the streetlamp he looked ethereal. Clear skin and dark eyes, he was everything Jisung remembered and everything he didn’t. 

“Come on.” Hyunjin opened the passenger door for him, gesturing loosely. 

When Jisung got in, Hyunjin wordlessly put on the heating and started up the car. He didn’t ask any questions and Jisung was thankful. If he did, Jisung didn’t doubt that he would break down, just like the rust bucket of a car threatened to. 

Instead of turning into the familiar street that Jisung knew, Hyunjin turned, taking them further from the town. 

“Where are we going?” He dared to ask, the first thing he had said since the phone call that already felt like a lifetime ago. 

“To my house.”

“But-” Jisung cut himself off, scared to look a gift horse in the mouth. Hyunjin, however, was scarily in tune with what Jisung was thinking, and took the next turn before answering. 

“I moved out of my parents house last year. I was just there to pick up some things my grandmother left me. I was planning on driving back tonight anyway.” 

“Oh I didn't know.” And what a stupid thing to say, Jisung kicked himself. Of course he wouldn’t know, they hadn’t spoken in years. “Did you graduate early or?”

“Something like that.” Hyunjin said, “My parents also sort of kicked me out last year, and I had just enough credits to graduate over the summer before my final year.”

At Jisungs searching look, Hyunjin sighed. They joined the motorway, driving further and further from their little town. “It’s a story for another day, I think. I was able to go home today because they weren’t there. I kinda broke in.”

Lip trapped between his teeth, Jisung fought the urge to pry. It wasn’t his business, but he craved the knowledge that Hyunjin understood him, perhaps more than he had ever thought before. 

“So what do you do now then?”

“Eh, I work odd jobs here and there. Mostly I work in a diner by my house. Trying to make rent while I figure out what I want, you know?”

Jisung didn’t know, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he hummed in acknowledgment and turned to look out the window. The night had taken a toll on him, and exhaustion rolled off him in waves. Hyunjin noticed -  he was good like that-  and fell silent, turning the radio down to an almost whisper. 

Dimly, Jisung thought of Chan. He wondered if he would look for him, if he would be upset that Jisung just disappeared. Probably not, he reasoned. They had only known each other for a day afterall. They would easily find another guitarist and Jisung would be forgotten as fast as he was found. 

After another short hour of driving, in which Jisung dozed uneasily, Hyunjin pulled up to a nondescript apartment building and killed the engine. 

“We’re here.” He said, already out of the car. Jisung scrambled to follow, watching as Hyunjin pulled a box out from the car and carrying it towards the building. 

The area was quiet, with it being so late, but it was easy to tell it was the back end of town. Buildings decayed around them, paint peeling and brick crumbling. It didn’t suit Hyunjin, his polished look and confident posture at odds with the dying street. 

He pushed open the front door and began to climb the stairs, feet thudding quietly. 

“The elevator is broken.” He explained as they cleared another flight, “Not too far now.”

Eventually, they came to a white door, a shiny brass 3B hanging on the front. Hyunjin unlocked it, kicking it open with his foot, uncaring of the noise he made. 

“What time do you call this, Hwang?” A voice greeted them as they made their way into the tiny entrance hall. 

“Shut up, Yang.” Hyunjin called, toeing off his shoes and nodding for Jisung to do the same, “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“I was waiting for you, asshole.” A man suddenly appeared in front of them, bundled up in cozy pyjamas and sporting a harsh scowl that softened when he saw Jisung. “Oh hello.” The man turned to Hyunjin with a coy grin. “Didn’t know you were bringing someone home.”

“Its not like that.” Hyunjin sighed and pushed past the man. “Yang Jeongin, this is Han Jisung. Jisung, this is my roommate Jeongin.”

Jisung nodded politely, fists clenching around his duffle. “Hi.”

“Hey.” Jeongin appraised him calmly, face carefully blank. “So you’re the Jisung?”

“The Jisung?”

“Yang, shut the fuck up!” Hyunjin called from the kitchen, having put down the box. “Yes he is the Jisung, but now is not the time.”

Jeongin shrugged and headed into the kitchen, Jisung hot on his heels. 

The kitchen was tiny, open plan and connected to an even smaller living room. If it could even be called that. It was closer to a glorified corridor, with a small loveseat shoved into the corner and empty except for a few frameless photos tacked onto the walls. 

Jisung watched as Hyunjin pottered about, disappearing into a room and reappearing with a pile of blankets. “You can take the couch.” He said to Jisung, passing the pile, “It’s not much but it's all I can offer you for now.”

Jisung nodded, mumbling his thanks and clutching the blankets close to his body. Hyunjin watched him for a tense moment before nodding himself. “I’m off to bed. Early shift tomorrow. Help yourself to anything you find in the kitchen and bathroom is the second door to the right.” 

With his piece said, Hyunjin disappeared back into the bedroom. With a mocking salute, Jeongin took his leave as well, following behind Hyunjin and closing the door. Jisung felt something funny stir in his stomach when he entered the same room with all the familiarity of someone that slept there. 

Jisung shook his head, spreading the blankets on the couch and hunkering down, ready for what was looking to be the worst night's sleep of his life. The room was still and silent, light from the curtainless window leaking in and settling on his eyes. 

He tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable position on the lumpy couch. He was unsuccessful and resolved himself to a night of broken springs poking into his back. 

His eyelids shuttered, sleep calling to him despite the ever racing fear that had taken permanent root in his lungs. It was hard to reconcile what he knew with what he felt and the night stretched long before him. With everything on his mind, Jisung eventually fell into a fitful, dreamless sleep. 

--

Jisung awoke the next morning with a yellow post-it note stuck to his forehead and drool running down his cheek. Light streamed in through the kitchen window, hitting him in the eyes in just the wrong way. 

He scrubbed a hand down his face and groaned, lifting an arm to shield his delicate eyes. The motion disturbed the post-it, which fluttered down to rest on his chest. Jisung picked it up, kicking the blanket from his legs. 

Gone to work. Back late. Coffee in the pot. Hyunjins familiar scrawl greeted him, and Jisung marvelled at the fact that even after years, he still looped his letters the same way. 

The promise of coffee was too much to ignore, so with a quick crack to his sore joints, Jisung hauled himself off the couch, padding into the kitchen. 

Coffee was indeed still sat in the pot, cold to the touch. Jisung shrugged and fumbled through the cabinets before he found a mug, pouring himself a glass and simply drinking it cold. 

The old clock that hung on the wall ticked steadily and Jisung blinked at the late hour. Faced with a day with nothing to do, Jisung took his time finishing his coffee. A small part of him ached to explore the tiny apartment, but he was already pushing his luck by simply being there and he didn’t want to ruin whatever tumultuous whatevership he had with Hyunjin before it even began. 

Absorbed in his thoughts, Jisung almost missed the phone ringing. The bright red phone trilled once, then twice before falling silent. The beep of the answering machine chimed in and Hyunjins voice filled the air. 

“Hey Jisung, not sure if you’re still asleep but I’m just calling to check in. Jeongin will be back before me so please play nice and ignore everything he has to say. Oh and there’s some leftover takeout in the fridge if you get hungry. Uh, goodbye, I guess.”

The room fell silent once more and Jisung pursed his lips. He peered into the fridge, took out the takeout, sniffed it and promptly put it straight in the bin with a scowl.

So much for breakfast , he thought and closed the fridge with his foot. He glanced around, knowing that if he sat around doing nothing his thoughts would spiral, but feeling at a loss for what else he could do. He didn’t know the area, he had brought nothing to occupy himself with and he had no company to bother. 

After much deliberation, he decided to take a shower and go on a walk. At least that way he wouldn’t lose his mind staring at the wall until Hyunjin came home. 

--

Hyunjin sipped at his tea, some obnoxious herbal blend that filled the air with the smell of chamomile and honey. He watched Jisung with curiosity, his eyes filled with questions he would likely never ask. 

“What?” Jisung snapped, zipping his duffle shut. 

“Nothing.” Hyunjin said quickly, turning his attention to his steaming mug. 

“It’s obviously not nothing. Just ask.”

“Okay then,” Hyunjin shifted on the couch until he was staring Jisung dead on. “Why did you get kicked out? Why did you decide to call me of all people? Why did you ice me out all those years ago? Why did you think it was okay to just waltz back into my life like you never left it?”

Jisung blinked. The questions slammed into him, one offending smack after another while he desperately tried to catch his breath. Unfortunately for him, Hyunjin wasn’t done. 

“Why do you flinch so much? Why do you make me feel guilty even though I’m the one helping you? Why do you keep staring at the phone like you expect someone to call, even though as far as I know, no one knows you’re here?”

“Okay, I get it.” Jisung sighed and ran a hand down his face, “Give me a goddamn second.”

“No. You don’t get a second. Do you think I got a second when you kissed me and then ran away? Do you think I got a second when you were my best friend in the whole world one day and then a stranger the next.” Hyunjins voice was steadily rising, and his tea was spilling over the side of his mug. Jisung watched it with a detached sort of interest. 

“Do you think I got a goddamn second when you called me in the dead of night, somehow catching me at the right time at my parents house, and asking for a place to stay?”

The words landed like soft blows. Pulled punches that hit him in spots that were already sore. They weren’t intended to hurt, not when Hyunjin stood but still kept his distance, not when he yelled but tears built in his eyes. But intention meant nothing to their value. They were words long overdue, and Jisung didn’t think he knew the answer to them. Still, he took a deep breath and fiddled with the hem of his T-shirt. 

“I know. I know and I’m sorry. I-It's not a lot, I can’t offer you a lot of answers, but, I really am sorry. For the way I treated you then, for the way I treat you now. I’m sorry that when my world fell apart, the only person I thought to call was you.”

Hyunjin stiffened. It wasn’t a lot, but Jisung noticed the way he softened, just a little, but enough. It brought him a strange sort of courage. 

“There are a lot of things you deserve to know that I might never be brave enough to say. Certainly not now. But one day, maybe, I’ll be able to answer them all. For now…” Jisung trailed off and chanced a look at Hyunjin. He had settled back into the couch, his tea forgotten and eyes so impossibly hurt. 

“I don’t have many friends. Any, really. None that would come pick me up in the middle of the night and give me a couch to stay on. I want to say that I called you because of some honourable, mature reason, but really it was because it was the only number I could remember. Even if I wasn’t sure you would pick up, I had to try. And maybe, maybe I thought that if you did, and you helped me, then maybe everything would be okay.” Jisung sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve and casting his gaze to his lap.

“You scared me, you know. Terrified me, even. Back then, you were everything. I woke up and I thought of you, I went to sleep and I thought of you. There wasn’t a moment when you weren’t on my mind. And that really freaked me out. Friends don’t feel that way about each other. But you were my best friend, and I thought if it was you, it would be okay. So, well, I fell in love. You were- are so easy to love. I thought that I would be allowed to keep you, if I kept it a secret.”

Hyunjin placed a hand on his arm, startling Jisung. 

“Hey,” He said, face blank, “You weren’t the only one.” 

“I wasn’t?”

“You know what we were like.” Hyunjin smiled. It was a small, delicate thing. But it was there. “I knew, deep down, that friends weren’t what we were. But I was afraid too. People like us don’t get to have that.”

Jisung nodded slowly, the warmth of Hyunjins hand seeping into his skin. “Yeah. People like us.”

Hyunjin withdrew his hand, but his warmth lingered. 

“I wanted to keep going forever. Silly teenage dreams, I guess,” Jisung laughed, a little bitter, “But my parents caught on to, I don't know, something . There was a lot of screaming, a lot of uh, colourful words. I was scared that they would do something, scared that people would think of me differently. Scared that they would think of you differently. So, I, um, I cut you out. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And then well, you transferred schools. I thought I had lost the chance to ever really tell you how I felt.”

Hyunjin sat in silence for a moment, absorbing the words. He scratched idly at his arm, brows furrowed. “But what about when you kissed me? It was right before you started to ignore me.” 

“Oh.” Jisung choked, cheeks flushing. “I already knew what I was going to do. I guess I just couldn’t bear the thought of losing you without seeing what it felt like at least once.”

“Was it everything you imagined?” And Jisung took too long to catch the teasing lilt to Hyunjins voice. He laughed. 

“Everything and more.” He said. 

“Good.” Hyunjins voice was soft, barely a whisper. There wasn’t exactly forgiveness in it, but there was acceptance and for now, that was enough. 

“I hated you for a long time,” Hyunjin began, unsure, “I was angry. I thought you had used me, in a way.” He glanced at Jisung, “But we were just kids, really. Scared kids.”

“We still are.” Jisung said.

“Well yeah,” Hyunjin conceded with a thoughtful tilt to his head, “I feel so much older than I am.”

“Me too.” Jisung said, and it was true. Barely 18 years old, but he felt ancient. “I guess we really matured.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Hey!”

They giggled, and the tight coil that had lived inside Jisungs chest unravelled, making way for something better. 

“Do you still hate me?”

“No. I haven’t for a while.” Hyunjin picked at his fingernails, expression wistful and far away. “I had bigger things to deal with, and when I dealt with them, I found something that made life a little brighter.” He looked at the closed bedroom door, fondness etched into his very being. “It was silly to hold onto old resentment.”

Jisung looked at the door too and felt like he finally understood. “He seems good for you.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” Hyunjin sighed. 

“For what it’s worth, I’m happy for you. Whatever you have going on, you seem happy. Happier than you ever were in that house. Or with me.” He added. 

“I am.” And it didn’t strike Jisung down the way he thought it would. Instead, all he felt was overwhelming contentedness. It was a new feeling, having someone to feel happy for, but he didn’t hate it. Not one bit. 

“Do you think we could start over?” He asked. “Meet again under better circumstances?”

“I don’t think so.” Hyunjin said, “We met, we loved and we lost. What matters is that we’re here now. We don’t need to start over to be friends again.”

“Friends?”

“If you want.” For the first time since the conversation began, Hyunjin looked uncertain. It didn’t suit him at all. 

“Yeah.” Jisung smiled. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Well in that case.” Hyunjin held out a hand, which Jisung took. “Let me tell you, oh friend of mine, about my awful job and my lovely boyfriend.” 

Jisung laughed, “Please do, oh friend of mine.”

They whiled away the night like that, chatting and sharing the years they had missed until Jeongin eventually got fed up of hiding in the bedroom and joined them, slipping into the conversation seamlessly. 

As time ticked on, Jisung looked at them fondly. Jisung has lost one home, but gained another. One he wouldn’t trade for all the riches in the world. 

--

Reconciling with Hyunjin had a knock on effect that Jisung had not been expecting. Somehow, the man had taken their newfound friendship status as a way of making him do useless things like get a job and contribute to expenses. 

Which is how Jisung found himself in the back of a record store holding a stack of old vinyl records. 

“So you’re going to want to sort them alphabetically, and stick them in the crates up front. They’re all labeled so it should be fine.” His manager, a scrawny teenager that looked perpetually high and was probably younger than him, droned on. “Do that for all the crates back here and then hop on the register.”

“But I don’t know how to work the-” His manager had already disappeared to somewhere unknown and Jisung trailed off with a heavy sigh. He thought the record store would be a good place to start, after all he knew almost everything there was to know about music. Apparently he knew nothing about retail. 

He shook his head and began to sort through the records. The place was dark, but pleasant enough, with old instruments hung around and posters of old legends lining the walls. It had the distinct smell of pizza grease and dust and all the customers seemed to be the same brand of edgy and weird. 

Jisung didn’t mind it though. It felt like each new customer was a version of himself he had never been allowed to be, all there for the same shared passion of music. 

The bell dinged above the door, and Jisung stood up, dusting his hands. His manager was nowhere to be seen, so he gently kicked the crate he was unloading under a nearby table and shuffled over to the register, taking a moment to stare at it and hope it would tell him what to do. 

As he was inspecting the cash draw to see if he could get it to open, the customer came up to the register, dropping a few records onto the counter. 

“One moment-” Jisung looked up and immediately froze. 

“Jisung?” Lee Minho himself stared at Jisung, mouth agape in surprise. 

“Minho?”

Minho broke out into a smile and leaned against the counter. “Fancy seeing you here. After you ran off the other day we all wondered what happened to you.” 

Jisung laughed nervously, busying himself by tapping the purchases into the register. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“No big deal.” Minho shrugged, “Strict parents?”

“Something like that.” Jisung muttered and held out a palm. “$20.”

Minho passed him a crisp banknote and bagged up the records before Jisung could. “So..” He hummed and rocked on his heels. “When are you next coming round? Chan’s worried about you.”

“Oh, uh. I don’t know.” Jisung rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced. “I don’t exactly have a guitar anymore. Or like. A way to get there. Chan’s better off finding another guitarist.”

Minho squinted, resting a palm on the counter. “Don’t be dim. Chan wants you . Not some half rate guitarist with an ego.”

“What, like you?”

“Ha ha, very funny. But seriously, they have more than enough guitars to lend you. So what’s the problem?”

The problem was that Jisung now lived two towns over on his old friend's couch. The problem was that he had exactly nothing to his name, and a job to keep if he wanted to even begin to think of getting a place of his own. The problem was that playing guitar for a band he had met once was a teenage dream he could no longer afford to keep. 

He didn’t say that, however, and instead matched Minho's stare with a slow blink. “Why are you even here?” He deflected, “Bit far from home, aren’t you?”

“My grandmother lives out here. I was just visiting for the weekend.” Minho cocked his head, “You didn’t answer my question. What’s the problem?”

“Can you just take no for an answer? I can’t do it. End of story.”

“Bullshit.” Minho leaned over the counter. It took all of Jisungs willpower not to lean back as he invaded his space. The smell of cooked food and musky cologne assaulted his nose. 

“I saw you that day. You are just like those idiots that recruited you. Music is the key to your soul, or whatever poetry you want to use to describe it. I can tell that you consume it, thrive off it, just like they do. You don’t seem the type to just give it up.”

“Well I am.” Jisung huffed and finally stepped out from behind the counter. “Now if you don’t mind, I have a job to do.” 

Jisung expected Minho to leave. To turn around in a huff and never return. He was not so lucky. Minho watched him for a moment, something unreadable in his eyes. 

“I’ll figure you out one of these days, Han Jisung.” Minho said, before spinning on his heel and leaving the store. 

It seemed that Minho was determined to keep his promise. Everyday for a week, Minho invaded the record store, loitering and shooting Jisung unsubtle glances. He was becoming a nuisance, getting in the way and distracting Jisung with his presence. So much so that Jisungs stoner manager had to pull him aside and ask if he was being stalked. 

“No.” He sighed, “He’s a friend. Sort of.”

His manager had shrugged, apparently already out of sympathy and loped off to do whatever he did when he was supposed to be working. 

Jisung returned from the back to see Minho picking idly through a stack of cassette tapes. 

“Minho.” He called, “You need to leave.”

“But why?” Minho grinned his feline grin, “I thought we were bonding.”

“You have done nothing but linger and stare at me uncomfortably. You’re scaring away customers.”

“Not sure I’m what’s scaring them away, but sure.”

“Minho, I'm serious.” Jisung ran a hand down his face, “Tell Chan that I’m done so that he can hurry up and find a new guitarist.”

“Oh, I haven’t told Chan.” And that was news to Jisung. “He’s sulking because he thinks he did something to upset you, so the band hasn’t got together since you disappeared. I didn’t want to get his hopes up in the slim chance my amazing charms don’t convince you to come back.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah oh .” Minho smirked, before his face melted into sincerity. A hint of protectiveness simmered under the surface, making Jisung gulp. “Listen, I don’t know what the hell is going on with you, but Chan took a chance on you. He likes to act all big and mighty, but he gets hurt easily. Even if you didn’t mean it, you hurt him and I’ll be damned if I let you continue to.”

“You don’t get it.”

“No I don't. So why don’t you explain it to me?” Minho had taken a step closer, crowding Jisung up against the counter. Jisung swallowed heavily, his eyes darting around his face. 

“Michael.” He called in the vague direction of the manager's office, “I’m taking my lunch now.” 

Without waiting for a response, Jisung grabbed Minhos hand and dragged him out the record store. They ended up in a park, not two minutes around the corner, and as quiet as it could be on a Tuesday afternoon. 

Jisung sat heavily on a bench, sighing through his nose as his hands twisted restlessly in his lap. “Firstly, let me get one thing straight.” He turned slightly towards Minho, who had been watching him carefully the entire time. “I didn’t run away, or anything like that.”

“I never said you did-”

“I’m not done.” Jisung levelled Minho with a half-hearted glare. “I need you to understand that I’m not here, skipping out on what was quite possibly the best opportunity of my life for the hell of it. I have few choices, and this is one of them.”

Minho kept silent, staring at Jisung with a gaze so intense, Jisung wouldn’t be surprised if he could see through into his bones. 

Jisung took a deep breath, no longer able to look at Minho. Instead, he looked at the trees that lined the park, a gentle breeze shaking their bare branches.

“My parents, they uh, kicked me out a couple of weeks ago. An old friend let me crash on his couch after I told him I had nowhere to go. I can’t keep abusing his hospitality though. Not when he has his own life to deal with. So I’m here, making a living the best way I can. I don’t have any money to my name, let alone a way to get back to town or buy a new guitar. And…” He chanced a glance at Minho. It was the wrong decision. The older man was staring at him with such anguish that Jisung thought he was the one sharing his life story. Other than Hyunjin, he couldn’t imagine a single time someone had felt so strongly about his situation. Jisung swallowed heavily, the words getting stuck in his throat.

“And.” Suddenly a hand was gripping his own so tightly the knuckles went white. Surprised, he looked down, to see that Minhos hand, slightly smaller than Jisungs own, was encompassing his in a silent show of support. It somehow made the words glide out easier. 

“I so desperately want to be apart of Chans band.” He said, in lieu of what he was originally going to say. “I want it so badly i can taste it.” He laughed bitterly. “But its an unrealistic dream. I have lots of surviving to do before i can dream again.” 

“Jisung…” Minho didn’t let go of his palm. “I’m sorry. Truly I am.”

“Not your fault.” Jisung mumbled, watching the tendons in Minhos hand flex. “It is what it is, I guess. People like me don’t get what we want.”

“People like you?”

Jisung paused, unsure if he should continue. “Nevermind.”

Minho didn’t press, even though he clearly wanted to. “So, you’re too busy surviving to dream.” He clarifies, and if Jisung listened close enough, he almost sounded angry .

“Like I said, you wouldn’t get it.”

“You’re damn right I don’t get it.” Minhos grip was bordering on painful, but Jisung still didn’t move his hand away. “You’re giving up everything because you have to survive ? Well, what about living?”

“Survive. Work this job and sleep on a dingy couch and curse yourself out in the mirror for al li care. But you have to live too. Live by playing in Chans band, live by seeing us. Live by doing what you love!”

Jisung scoffed, finally detaching himself from Minhos death grip. He watched the trees. He was like them in a way, stripped bare, down to their barest bones. It let all the cold in. 

“How am I supposed to? Run myself ragged working and then walk for hours to get to Changbins garage? Save up penny by penny to afford an apartment and then skip out on rent for a guitar?” His voice began to raise, anger bleeding into his words. Why wouldn’t Minho get it?

“I’ll drive you.” Minho said suddenly, jolting Jisung out of his building tirade. “I’ll pick you up and drive you to CHangbins every practice and drop you home.”

“You- what?”

“I’ll drive you.” Minho repeated, insistent. “You work, and you save and you survive. I will pick you up, Chan will lend you a guitar and you live .” 

“That-” Jisung spluttered for a moment, the change shaking him. “That makes no sense.”

“Why not?” Minho turned to face him fully, his leg brushing against Jisungs. He suppressed a shiver. “I have a car, I don’t mind and it gives you a chance to do what you were made for.”

“Why though? You hardly know me. Why be so nice?”

“Chan and Changbin are some of my oldest friends. I really truly think they have something special. If anyone can make a silly teenage dream into a reality, it’s them. Music makes them happy, and you bring them music. You make them happy.” Minho sucked in a deep breath, looking somewhere beyond Jisung. “Chans had a big fat stupid boy crush on you since he saw you performing in the street. And it was annoying to listen to, sure, but I’ve never seen him so hopeful. Hopeful that you could take their music to another level. I just want them to be happy, and you can do that. So who cares about acting as a chauffeur for a little bit?”

Jisung stared in wonder. He had Minho pegged all wrong. Gone was the sarcastic and snide feline and all that was left was this heart wrenchingly kind boy. Jisung thought he looked a little like an angel. 

“Don’t tell them I said any of that.” Minho added and Jisung huffed out a laugh, the tension melting away slowly. Minho mumbled something after, his voice swept away in a sudden breeze that left Jisung hiddling into his thin sweatshirt. 

“What was that?” He asked, leaning closer. 

“I said ,” And petulant Minho was back, “You’re kind of interesting too, Han Jisung.” 

At Jisungs searching look, Minho sighed long sufferingly and elaborated. “That day, it was as if the music consumed you. It was certainly something to watch. Sue me if I want to see more of what you can do too.”

Silence descended upon them, then. It wasn’t the tense, expectant silence that had followed Jisung ever since Minho had first stepped into his workplace, nor was it the stifling silence of a home he had long since left. It was comfortable, and still, like two close friends simply enjoying their time together. 

“Okay.” Jisung said finally, after much deliberation in his overheating brain. “Okay, you can drive me to and from Changbins. Even if I still think it’s a stupid idea.”

Minho had the dignity to not cheer aloud, but he did send a beaming grin in Jisungs direction. It was disarming in its honesty and set off a flurry of butterflies inside his stomach. 

“Good.” Minho said quietly, “good.”

--

So Minho started to drive Jisung to Changbins twice a week. He picked him up from work in his little beat up Buick Reatta, watched them practice and jam with narrowed eyes and dropped him home after dark. Felix and Seungmin often joined, embarrassingly pleased at Jisungs return. (Although not as pleased as Chan, who had quite literally burst into tears upon Jisungs arrival. Changbins reaction was much less dramatic but no less pleased.)

Jisung fell into a routine that left him little time to think, but plenty of time to live. He woke up, went to work, went to practice and played until his vocal cords strained and his fingers bled. Then he went home to sleep for a few measly hours before repeating it all over again. It was tiring but oh was it exhilarating. 

Jisung never had as much fun as when he was playing. That was, until Hyunjin cornered him one day after Minho had dropped him home, hours later than normal due to a hastily written song that Chan just had to show him . 

“Well, well, well.” Hyunjin said, starting the shit out of Jisung as he entered the door. Hyunjin was sitting on the couch in the dark, petting a pillow like a cat and frowning like a cartoon villain in a B-rated movie. 

“Out with your lovers, I assume?” He said, although there was a teasing lilt to his voice. 

“It’s not like that!” Jisung spluttered, flicking on a light much to Hyunjins dismay. 

“Then what is it like?” Hyunjin asked, “Because you’re out every night till late, stumbling in on a high and grinning like a fool. I never see you anymore.”

“Baby, you know you’re my only one.”

“Then why is our bed cold!” Hyunjin wailed, standing. “Why must I raise our children alone, while you flaunt around with every mistress under the sun.”

Rolling his eyes, Jisung immersed himself into the skit and fell to his knees, groping at Hyunjins pyjama clad leg. “Baby, please!” He cried, “My sun and my stars, I’m doing this for us! For the kids! I’m working hard to give you the life you deserve!”

“I deserve my lover to be home with me every night!” Hyunjin pretended to dab away tears, “I know you’re not working on these long nights!”

“Baby-”

“Will you two please shut the fuck up.” Jeongin burst from the bedroom, rubbing his eyes and frowning. “It’s late and unlike you, I have to work tomorrow.”

“Excuse me, I work.” Hyunjin sniffed. 

“Look what you did, Baby! You woke up the kids! I knew our marriage was falling apart!”

Hyunjin giggled but stopped Jisung with a gentle tug to his shirt. “Not sure I like the idea that my boyfriend is also my kid in this scenario.”

“I second that!” Jeongin called from the kitchen, where he had moved to pour himself a glass of water. 

“Fair enough.” Jisung flopped onto the couch next to Hyunjin. 

“But seriously, where have you been? You’ve been AWOL for weeks.”

Jisung flushed, coughing in embarrassment. Hyunjin caught it immediately, crowding into his space and grinning gleefully. 

“Oh my goodness, its a boy isn’t it!”

“No!” Jisung protested, but it fell on deaf ears. 

“Innie! Get in here! Sungie has a new boyfriend!” 

Jeongin peered over the counter separating the kitchen from the living room, sipping his glass with an eyebrow raised. Jisung waved his hands, trying to tackle Hyunjin but the lanky bastard fought it with ease.

“Tell me, tell me!” He chanted.

“There's no boy!” Jisung cried, “Well, there is. Maybe. But he’s not my boyfriend!”

Hyunjin squealed in a way that made both Jeongin and Jisung wince as he grabbed Jisung by the shoulders. “Oh my gosh!” 

Jisung let himself be manhandled into a cuddle, leaning into Hyunjins warmth. Jeongin joined on his other side, sitting close enough that his body heat radiated onto the pair, but far enough that Jisung had to tug on his sweater insistently. 

“I sort of joined a band?” He said, closing his eyes as Hyunjin began to play with his hair. “But then my parents kicked me out so I, like, disappeared on them.” Jeongin shushed Hyunjin when he hummed disapprovingly.

“Let him speak.” He murmured and Jisung smiled at him gratefully. 

“Anyway, there was this guy, Minho. He’s not in the band, but I guess he’s friends with them, and he came in one day while I was working. Caught me totally off guard.” He laughed softly, “He bothered me everyday until he convinced me to talk to the band again, see if they would keep me on.” 

He smiled to himself, letting his head fall back onto Hyunjins shoulder. “They did.”

“Oh baby.” Hyunjin hugged him tighter, “I’m so proud of you.”

“I’m proud of me too.” 

“Is that why you’re back so late all the time then? You’re with them?” Jeongin asked, trying and failing to look uninterested. 

“Yeah.” Jisung let him have his faux disinterest. Just this once, as a treat. “We practice pretty much everyday. It’s amazing.” He sighed wistfully, the smile never leaving. 

“What are you practicing for?” Hyunjin asked.

“I’m not sure.” Jisung admitted, “I think we’re just learning our sound, you know. Having fun.” 

“That’s alright.” Jeonging said, lifting his legs until they settled onto Jisungs lap. “You seem so much happier than when you first got here.”

Hyunjin and Jisung both sent Jeongin a surprised look, who flushed under the attention. 

“I mean,” He coughed, “I don’t know you that well. Only what Hyunjin told me. Which, no offence, wasn’t that good. But when I saw you that night, knowing that we’re cut from the same cloth, it sucked to see you so down. And you seem happier now. Brighter, like you’ve found something worth living for.” 

The room fell into silence. The kind of silence that was bound to erupt. And erupt it did. Hyunjin faked sobs, pushing Jisung aside to latch onto his boyfriend, blabbering as he pressed wet kisses all over his face. 

“Innie, you’re so cute!” He cried, as Jeongin fought for his life, “Who knew you could be so mature.”

“Get off me!” Jeongin complained, but he wasn’t trying all too hard to push Hyunjin off, so Jisung assumed he didn’t mind as much as he acted. “I have always been the mature one in this relationship.”

“I can see that.” Jisung smiled, watching the two. Jeongin smiled while Hyunjin protested, suddenly switching to land light blows against Jisungs arm. 

“Ow, ow!” He laughed, “I take it back.”

“You better.” Hyunjin huffed, arms crossed as he fell back into the couch. 

“You’re right though.” Jisung said quietly, looking anywhere but the other two. “I am happier.”

He sighed and stretched his hands above his head, “It’s weird. I should be miserable, right? I got kicked out. I’m sleeping on a couch and I have no money, no degree and a shitty job.”

He glanced at Hyunjin. His face was soft. In the dim lighting, Jisung could imagine him, four years younger, looking at him the same way. 

“But I’m so, so happy .”

--

Chan lied. Chan was a big fat filthy liar, and Jisung was going to kill him. 

It was supposed to be a normal garage band jam session, like every other day. Jisung was supposed to show up with Minho by his side, strap on his borrowed guitar and jam in the peace of Changbins garage before getting dropped home to sleep. 

Instead, Chan had begged and pleaded for them to change practice to the weekend, citing a very important phone call with his family back in Australia. Jisung had shrugged, agreed and thought nothing of it. 

What a big fat liar Chan was. 

Come the weekend, Minho had picked Jisung up as usual, with an unfamiliar grin on his face. He had shot down any and all attempts at questioning and driven them in silence. Until he drove past the Seo household and deeper into the entertainment part of the city. 

It wasn’t until they parked outside of a poorly lit club, heavy bass leaking out, that Jisung actually realised what was happening. 

“I am not going clubbing.” He said with a firm finality that went entirely ignored. 

He was listened to in one regard at least. He wasn’t going clubbing. Instead, he was apparently performing at the club with the rest of the band. 

Minho had gracefully shoved him through the doors, led him to a back room that was more of a glorified storage closet and promptly abandoned him. 

Chan and Changbin were at least already there, a small mercy, doing vocal warm-ups. 

“Christopher.” Jisung growled, stomping towards the older man and prodding him harshly in the chest. “What the fuck is this?” 

Chan winced slightly, looking sheepish but not regretful. “Surprise?” 

“Surprise?” Jisungs jaw dropped open. “Are you kidding me? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“We were scared you’d say no.” Changbin chimed in, his bass in hand. 

“I still can.” Jisung said, crossing his arms. “What then.”

“You won’t.” Changbin said confidently, but Chan was looking a little more skeptical. 

“Please don’t.” The older man said, pressing a hand to Jisungs bicep. “It was shitty of us not to tell you. We’re a team, we should make these decisions together. I’m sorry.”

Jisung sniffed, but he was holding back a smile. A team ? Sounded too good to be true. It sounded like he belonged. 

“I guess it’s fine.” He said, like it was forced out of him. “How did this even happen?”

“My dads friend owns the club.” Changbin explained, “The act they had booked cancelled at the last minute so we jumped in to take the spot.”

Jisung whistled. “Fate.”

“Or really good connections.” Changbin laughed. “Your guitar is already tuned by the way. We go on in 10.”

It was then that the panic began to settle in. Ten minutes? Ten minutes to warm up, to learn the setlist, to prepare himself and remember how to breathe. Seemed like an impossible task.

“Fuck.” He muttered, expression tightening. “Fuck.”

“Hey man. Jisung.” Chan called out to him, but Jisung was beginning to spiral, the whole world going blurry as his thoughts fought inside him. “Sungie.” Chan wrapped an arm around his shoulders and Jisung startled. “Hey.” His voice was so soft it should've sounded insulting, but Jisung was so insanely comforted that he didn’t say anything. 

“It’s going to be okay.” Chan said, “Just think of it as a jam session in the garage, yeah? Felix, Seungmin and Minho are front and centre in the crowd, so just look at them if you get scared. Or me and Changbin.” He added, gesturing between them loosely. “We’re all in this together. As a team.”

A team. Jisung could do that. He hated the thought of letting Chan and Changbin down more than he hated going on stage. He nodded. 

“Alright.” He exhaled slowly. “Don’t be surprised if I puke on stage though.”

Changbin barked out a surprised laugh, Chan shaking on his shoulder. “Yeah, maybe don’t do that.” 

“No promises.” Jisung grinned. He still felt like he was going to vibrate out of his skin, but the easy banter was familiar. Comforting. He could do it, he could do it with his boys by his side. 

“What name did you sign us up under?” He asked, the thought suddenly occurring to him. “We never decided on one.”

Changbin and Chan froze comically. “Oh shit.” Chan said, running a hand through his hair. 

“What?”

“We didn’t, uh, sign up with a name.” 

“So. wait.” Jisung shook his head, “So what are they going to announce when we come out? Chan, Changbin and Jisung, the trio of idiots?”

A man suddenly peeked into the room, greasy hair falling into his eyes as a cigarette dangled from his lips. “Uh five minutes guys.” He said, before disappearing again. 

“So we have five minutes to pick out a name for the band.” Jisung shook his head. “Great.”

“We can just pick anything, not like we can’t change it in the future.” Chan reasoned, tapping his finger to his chin.

“Unless this is our big break and there’s a producer in the crowd that recognises our talent and we get super famous and have to live with that name for the rest of our careers.” Changbin said, face so serious that Jisung almost believed that that would happen. 

Chan clearly thought about it too, if the way he hesitated said anything. As he opened his mouth to reply, Jisung opted to look down at his outfit, which was starting to look a whole lot lamer when he realised he would be wearing it on stage. 

“Oh man!” He complained, pulling his shirt out. “I spilled sriracha on me.” He rubbed his fingers into the stain, spreading it. “I really wish you guys would’ve told me earlier.” He mumbled, watching the stain bleed into the white fabric. 

“Oh shit thats it!” Changbin snapped his fingers, looking up with a triumphant face. “Sriracha!”

Chan and Jisung levelled him with unimpressed stares. 

“Seriously?”

“Lame.”

Changbin deflated, but they had no time to debate it further when the same man from before came to collect them. 

He frowned at them as he walked them to the edge of the stage. “What name do you want us to call out for you?” He asked, disinterest plain in his tone.

“Uh.”

“Um.”

“Sriracha.”

“Three Racha?” Jisung and Chan shot Changbin betrayed looks as the man mumbled to himself. “Whatever, your band.” He shooed them onto the stage, taking a mic into hand as they filed on. Luckily for Jisung, there was a sheet of paper in front of his guitar, the set list printed in Changbins messy scrawl. 

Jisung looped his guitar around his neck as Chan and Changbin took their places. The view was much less daunting than he had expected. The stage lights made it almost impossible to see beyond the first row of people, which sported Minho, Felix and Seungmin. He could almost pretend it actually was just a band practice. 

Chan shot the side of the stage a thumbs up and the crackle of a mic picked up. 

“Alright ladies and gents!” The voice called, so much more animated than it had been when talking to them, “Spicy but sweet, 3Racha!”

Jisung frowned, shooting Changbin a look. “ 3Racha?” He mouthed, confused. Changbin just shrugged. So much for that. 

Chan had no such confusion as he crashed his drumsticks down, banging a beat into the club. Jisung took his hint clearly enough and started to strum, Changbin joining in. Soon enough, their first song began to take shape and Jisung lost himself in it. 

He played until his fingers bled, dancing around the stage as much as he could, thrashing his head and leaning in to share Changbins mic as they sang and sang and sang. 

Somewhere around halfway into their set, Jisung chanced a glance into the crowd. His eyes had adjusted enough that he could see more, and the sheer number of them sent his heart beating frantically. But when he looked closer, he could see that they were dancing. They were enjoying the music. That got his heart beating for a different reason. 

He sang into the mic, smile so wide he almost missed his cue, but no one seemed to mind. He stepped away to let Chan have his moment, and his eyes fell on the first row. Or more specifically, they fell onto Minho.

He looked like a dream. Smiling so wide, his eyes were nothing more than round crescents, sweat dripping from his skin as he danced and sang along. Minho caught his eye, giving him a thumbs up before returning to his own performance, twirling Felix around and bumping Seungmin. 

It seemed in the time between dumping Jisung with his band and heading onto stage, Minho had changed his outfit. Gone were his ragged sweats and hoodie. Instead, he wore jeans that hugged his thighs sinfully, and a shirt that rippled over his body, the neckline dipping tantalizingly low without actually revealing anything.

Jisung felt saliva filling his mouth, choking him, as Minho stepped into the light, just right, to reveal the glittery makeup that covered his lids. It was subtle, unlikely to be seen from so far away if it wasn’t for the way the lights made him positively sparkle. He was Jisungs homing beacon, his starlight, and Jisung suddenly felt short of breath that had nothing to do with the way he was prancing around the stage. 

“Alright!” Chan’s voice shocked him out of his reverie. Jisung coughed, hoping no one noticed the way he had ceased playing a beat too late. 

“This is our last song, so give it your all!” 

The crowd booed for a moment, displeased that they were ending so soon, before erupting into cheers when the opening chords began to play. There was no way for them to know the song, no way for them to be cheering for 3Racha themselves, but Jisung let himself pretend that they were. That instead of cheering for the hell of it, they were cheering for him, cheering because they were fans and not just club goers. 

His imagination was strong enough that he almost believed it when he finally left the stage, Chan and Changbin in tow. He felt high, higher than any drugs could cause and the flush that exploded across the others' faces told him they felt the same. 

Minho, Felix and Seungmin were waiting for them on the edge of the stage as they came out. Despite the sweat that hung onto all of them, Felix pushed forward, enveloping Jisung and Changbin in a hug. 

“You were amazing!” He gushed, stepping back. “Oh my god, it was so fun!” 

Jisung laughed, hearing everyone do the same as compliments flew from every direction. 

“You were great!”

“That guitar riff? Fuck it was cool.”

“The solo, the energy, the vibes. I’ve got chills.”

Jisung soaked them all up, preening under the praise. Beneath all the ruckus, Jisung noticed Minho, hanging at the back with a soft smile on his face. Noticing Jisungs attention, he slunk over, leaning in close. He smelled of sweat and cologne. Jisung thought it was the best thing he had ever smelt. 

“Hey.” Minho said quietly, right against Jisungs ear. 

“Hey.” He whispered back, suppressing a giggle. 

“You did great.” Minho said and Jisung wished he would pull him into a hug like Felix had. Wished he was brave enough to do it himself. 

“Thanks.” He smiled, “I had so much fun.”

Minho smiled, and it was closer to that feline grin Jisung was so familiar with. “See. I’m never wrong. I knew you lived for this kind of thing.”

“Yeah.” Jisung breathed. “Yeah, I do. I really really do.” 

Minho was suddenly too close, his breath hitting Jisungs cheek. “Do you want to get out of here?”

Jisung looked over at his bandmates, at Felix and Seungmin, all of them in their own little world together. “Yeah.” He said, looking Minho in the eye. The answering grin he was awarded with made the decision all the more worth it. 

They ended up not going far, the late night air refreshing them more than they cared to admit. Jisung wandered along the street, his hand occasionally bumping against Minhos. They had no destination in mind, simply content to soak up the air and each others presence in silence.

“So.” Minho began, clearing his throat awkwardly. 

“So.” Jisung mocked, a silly little smile on his face. Minho wacked him in the arm, but he was smiling, so Jisung didn’t take it to heart. 

“Still sleeping on your friends couch?”

Jisung hummed, “Yeah, I’m looking for a place to stay but I have to save a little more before I can afford anything.” 

Minho nodded and they rounded the corner, “Your friend must be nice to let you stay this long.” 

Jisung smiled to himself. Hyunjin, in all his dishevelled post-work exhaustion, came to mind. “Yeah, he’s great.” The light of a nearby lamppost illuminated them for a brief moment, casting a honey glow into Minho's skin. He looked radiant. 

“You know, you could always stay with me if your friend ever gets tired.”

Jisung whipped around, his heart beating uncomfortably. 

“What?”

“I mean,” Minho shrugged nonchalantly, but his face betrayed his nerves, “It would still be a couch, and it would be longer for you to get to work, but it’s always an option.” 

Jisung swallowed and faced forward while the words sank in. Somewhere above them, covered by patchy clouds, a star blinked. 

“I’d, um, I’d like that.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.” 

They descended into silence, not awkward, but not comfortable either. Jisung found that he couldn’t care less. As they walked onto a new street, where the lamps flickered and the air cooled with the hour, Jisung took Minho's hand. For warmth, he told himself. They didn’t speak as Minho held on just as tight. For warmth. 

--

For the next few weeks, Jisung and Minho existed in the space between something and nothing. Minho still acted as chauffeur and danced and teased. Jisung still slunk back in during the early hours of the morning and worked until his mind felt numb. But sometimes, Jisung would crash on Minho's couch when he was too afraid to wake Hyunjin. Sometimes, Minho would tease Jisung with a weird lilt to his words, and a too wide grin, pressed into Jisungs cheek. Sometimes, they toyed with the line that had once so clearly separated them. 

“Jisung. Ji. Sungie.” Minho whispered, mouth pressed right up against Jisungs ear. He shivered and hummed to show he was listening. 

“This is boring.” Minho said, his side leaning too heavily into Jisung. “Can we go?”

Jisung watched the movie screen for a second longer, the female main lead was wailing over something or other again and their popcorn had long since been finished. 

“Yeah, let's go.”

Minho silently cheered as they slunk out the back of the movie theatre, the bright exterior burning their eyes. 

“Let’s get ice cream.” 

“Only if you pay.” Minho teased, but Jisung knew he would beat him to it anyway. He always did. 

They walked into the ice cream parlour, the lady behind the counter greeting them by name. It was strange, Jisung had never thought he would exist enough to be known, let alone recognized, but here he was, name called out by the old lady that ran the ice cream shop. 

It was most definitely a consequence of too many late night ice cream runs with Minho, their cravings for something sweet beating out their desire to sleep a full night. Jisung liked to think that it was because he was memorable, someone worth knowing. 

“I really thought that would be the one.” Minho complained, dropping into a booth with his cup of caramel swirl ice cream. 

“Eh.” Jisung slurped on his vanilla cone, “I still think we should’ve gone to watch Gone Days.” 

“But that one has basically the same plot.”

“Yeah but the male lead was hotter.” 

Minho laughed and Jisung smiled, leaning back. That was another new thing he was still getting used to, being so open about everything. Never before did he think he would be able to casually drop lines about men without being subjected to scorn, but Minho had never looked away, never winced. In fact, he met Jisung with equal enthusiasm. 

“True, but have you ever considered,” Minho paused for dramatic effect, “Wait nah, I got nothing.”

Jisung laughed, accidentally spilling some ice cream onto his shirt. “You idiot.” He giggled, kicking Minho's shins under the table.

Minho sighed dramatically, flopping against the back of the booth with all the grace of a drunken goose. “I can’t believe you’re talking about other men on our date. And calling me an idiot. Oh the betrayal.”

Jisung giggled along, but inside, his chest clenched painfully. Minho was always dropping comments like that, acting as if it meant something when they hung out. Jisung wasn’t sure if he wanted it to be true. 

“What can I say, I have to keep my eyes open for a better deal.” He said, but the strain in his voice was obvious to even him. 

Minho blinked and sat up, mirth melting from him like ice in spring. “Jisungie.”

Jisung licked a stripe of his quickly melting ice cream and stared at the table like it held the secrets of the universe. “Hm?”

“What’s wrong?” And damn Minho for being so perceptive. He could never just let Jisung have one moment of self-doubt without immediately calling it out. 

“Nothing.” 

“There is something.”

“It’s stupid.”

Minho placed a hand on Jisungs arm, forcing him to look up. The sincerity in Minho's eyes should’ve been illegal. How could a man who played and joked so much possess the easy ability to understand Jisung so well. 

“I won’t laugh.” He promised in a quiet voice. 

Jisung sighed. He hated how every time they got closer to something, he would panic and retreat, instead of just admitting his fears. He hated that Minho looked angelic under the fluorescent of the ice cream parlour. He hated that Minho made him want to be honest. 

“Is it?” He asked, voice small. 

“Is it what?” Minho asked, frowning. He never let go of Jisungs arm. 

“Is this a date?”

Realisation dawned in Minho's eyes and he bit his lip, looking, for the first time Jisung had ever seen, shy. 

“I mean, if you want it to be?” It was phrased like a question, like Minho was just as unsure of this whateverness they toed. And maybe, just maybe, Jisung had Minho pegged all wrong. Maybe he wasn’t the overly confident and suave man he had first assumed. Instead, Minho looked just as lost as Jisung felt, desperate to be known, scared to be left behind. 

“I don’t.” Jisung said, immediately regretting it when Minhos expression shuttered and he withdrew his hand. Minho didn’t argue, or get angry, he simply shut down a little, his smile coming too forcefully. 

“That’s oka-”

“I want our first date to be better.”

“What?” It felt good to make Minho flustered for once. It seemed that Jisung was almost always on the receiving end of it, and the change of pace made him smile. 

“I don’t want to hang out with you and call it a date.” Jisung said, feeling bold enough to grab Minho's hand. “I’m going to bring you flowers, and woo you.”

Minho's body shook, like he was withholding a laugh. “Woo me?”

“Yeah.” Jisung grinned, “I’ll pay for a cheap meal because I’m broke, but we’re going to act like it's a 5 star Michelin restaurant.”

“Michelin only gives out 3 stars.”

“Tomato, potato, whatever.” Jisung waved it off, his pulse jumping when Minho smiled. “We’re going to get ice cream after, because that’s our thing, and I’m going to walk you to your door.” He paused, “After you drive us home.” He added. 

Minho giggled cutely, his thumb tracing patterns on the back of Jisungs hand. “And what else?” 

“You want more?” Jisung gasped, “Okay, greedy. We’ll make plans to see each other again because we had so much fun, and when you go inside with your beautiful bouquet, I’m going to kiss you goodnight.” 

Jisung bit his lip, unsure if it was going too far outside of joking territory. But Minho flushed a pretty pink and smiled wider than Jisung thought possible. 

“Is that the part where I’m going to invite you inside?”

“Oh no.” Jisung couldn’t contain his glee, “I never put out on the first date.” He neglected to mention that he never put out, period. It wasn’t for lack of trying, but when one was heartbroken over a half baked teenage romance and possibly the only gay kid in his entire town, it reduced his chances exponentially. 

“Instead, you’re going to ask, ‘when can I see you again?’ and I will laugh and say ‘whenever you want, baby’ because I’m cool and flirty.” 

“That’s certainly one way to describe you.” Minho teased. 

“Hey!” He laughed. His hand was growing sweaty in Minho's grasp, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away.” 

“And then what?” Minho murmured, suddenly a lot closer than before. His torso was practically plastered to the table top, his breath hitting Jisung softly. 

“And then,” Jisung swallowed, his grin becoming shaky with nerves, “You’re going to take me on a date, however you like it. And at the end, you’re going to ask me to be your boyfriend.” 

“I’m going to ask you?”

Jisung nodded. Minho's eyes were like galaxies, so deep and dark, with stars twinkling in them. If Jisung looked hard enough, he could almost see planets orbiting in them. 

“I can live with that.” Minho said, and it no longer felt like a joke. For the first time, Jisung understood the game they were playing. He understood the line they toyed with and crossed it without looking back. 

“Good.” He said. “Good.”

--

And just like that, Jisung had a boyfriend. He had a life worth living, with music and work and a couch to sleep on. He had a boyfriend that smiled when he saw him and he had friends that wanted to hang out with him. It felt like a dream. It felt like a joke. 

Despite achieving everything he had ever wanted, the doubt that lived in his brain seemed intent on rearing its ugly head and reminding him that it wasn’t bound to last. 

What happened when Chan and Changbin got tired of him and kicked him out of the band? What happened when Hyunjin finally got sick of having a deadbeat living on his couch? What happened when Minho realised that Jisung was filled to the brim with issues and left him?

Jisung had spent so long, detached from anything, that the sudden change triggered his fight or flight. And he always chose flight. The urge to run away, to ruin what he had before it had the chance to ruin him was all-consuming. His fathers words rang in his head, reminding him of what a failure he ended up becoming. Was he too much? Too little? 

Love had hurt Jisung once, and he shivered when he thought it could again. 

So he did what he did best. He ruined things. Jisung threw himself into work at the record shop, picking up so many hours that they all blurred into one. He skipped band practice and ignored Minhos calls. He slept at bus stops to avoid coming home to Hyunjins disappointed stare and Jeongins anger. When he ran into Seungmin in the street he walked the other way and he threw away the letter Felix left for him. 

Isolated, alone and a failure. Everything he was destined to be. 

It didn’t take long for the calls to stop, for Chan and Changbin to stop asking when he was returning to practice and for Hyunjin to stop pestering him on his breaks about coming home. Seungmin and Felix had stopped long ago, not bothering to cross a bridge that had never really been built. 

Jisung thought maybe that it was his due diligence, for sins of a past life, to continue as a ghost. In the dark hours of the night, when he sat by himself at another bus stop for the third time that week, he was brave enough to admit that he hated what he had become. Hated that he was so afraid of becoming what his father had prophesied that he became it anyway. 

It was bitter tasting, to realise you were your own worst enemy. 

The cold sunk into his bones, making him shiver. It wasn’t smart to sleep at a bus stop at the best of times, but in the dead of winter, in only a thin threadbare jacket, it seemed like the worst idea he had ever had. He wanted so desperately to go home to Hyunjins lumpy couch, to feel his arms around him once more, but even he knew that leaving once was a mistake. Twice was a betrayal. 

He toyed with the idea of going anyway, apologising on his knees and begging Hyunjin to give him another chance he didn’t deserve. The fear of being sent out the door kept him rooted to the cold metal of the shitty bus stop seat. 

The holes in his jeans let in a cold blast of air against his skin, and almost absently, Jisung played with it, widening the hole. He deserved to feel cold. 

He thought about Minho. Truthfully, he always thought about Minho. About his smile, and his glittering eyes. About his cheeky taunts and soft hands. He thought about how, despite everything, Minho still honked outside his work everyday, still called Hyunjins house, even when no one answered. Minho seemed to never give up, even when to anyone else, weeks of radio silence would imply a break-up. 

Jisung wished he would take the hint. He wished he would never stop. 

Too occupied by his thoughts, Jisung almost missed a beat up Buick Reatta pulling up to the bus lane. He was not too preoccupied, however, to miss a certain someone rolling down their window and calling out to him. 

“Jisung!” Minho yelled, too loud in the quiet of the night. Jisung looked up, and fear spiked his heart. It had only been a few weeks but Minho looked just as beautiful as the last time Jisung had seen him, even in his pyjamas and exhausted face. 

“Get in.” Minho said, calm despite the obvious anger simmering beneath his words. Jisung wanted to protest, to walk the other way, to keep spiraling in his own self-destruction. But one look at Minho, and he crumbled. He had always been weak to Minho. 

He clambered into the car, silent. He didn’t dare look at Minho as he peeled away from the curb, his anger pressing his foot aggressively into the accelerator. It was uncomfortable, to say the least. The radio was off, and all that Jisung could hear was the hum of the car beneath him. 

Too quickly, Minho stopped outside an all too familiar apartment block. Jisung looked to Minho in surprise. 

“Why are we at your apartment?”

“Because I’m mad at you, but I don’t want you to freeze to death sleeping at a bus stop.” Minho said, and got out of the car. 

Jisung followed reluctantly, his feet dragging up the flights of stairs like he was walking to his death. 

Minho unlocked the door. Jisung expected him to go to his room, leaving Jisung to take the couch but instead he pushed the younger boy into the bedroom. 

“Sleep.” He said, already undressing. Jisung shielded his eyes, although it wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before, but something told him that he was in no position to act as if this was a normal sleepover. 

Minho crawled into bed, claiming the side he always slept on. Jisung stared. It was weird, knowing with an intimate familiarity that Minho still kept sides in the bed, despite them only having shared it a handful of times before Jisung got cold feet. He gingerly slipped under the covers, keeping distance that Minho easily matched. He turned off the lamp. 

“We’re talking in the morning.” Minho said simply, before flipping over and falling asleep. Jisung found it significantly harder to sleep. He blamed it on the rough scratch of his jeans against his legs instead of being honest with himself. 

In the morning, Jisung awoke to find the other side of the bed already cold. It shouldn’t have upset him as much as it did, but the human range of emotions was fickle, his more than most. 

He sighed, staring at Minho's popcorn ceiling and preparing himself for a conversation he never wanted to have. 

Minho was in the kitchen, sipping on coffee and still dressed in his pyjamas. He spared Jisung a half glance, pushing a mug towards him. Jisung accepted it gratefully, sipping it to avoid speaking first. 

“Are you alright?” Minho asked, and of all the things Jisung expected him to start with, that was on the bottom of the list. He opened his mouth to reply, Minho was still not looking at him, and all at once, Jisung felt his bottom lip tremble. 

“Yeah.” He said, and promptly contradicted himself by bursting into tears. They were ugly, snotty tears that made him hiccup and his head ache, but he couldn’t stop. 

Minho looked at him then, surprise making his eyes comically wide. He abandoned his mug and rushed to Jisungs side, hands fluttering like he didn’t know what to do with them. Jisung sobbed harder, his guilt settling in his stomach like a heavy weight. He didn’t deserve Minho’s concern, but Minho gave it freely. It made him shake with horror at what he had done. 

“I-” He hiccuped, “I’m s-sorry!” 

His wailing was certainly waking the neighbours, but he couldn’t stop. The past few weeks crashed into him like a wave, the loneliness and exhaustion only fuelling his desperation. 

“I’m sorry!” He repeated and Minho remembered what to do with his hands. He wrapped them around Jisung reassuringly and held him close. 

“Oh baby.” He murmured into Jisungs hair, “Oh my baby.”

Something broke in Jisung then. Whether it was Minho's words, or the way he held him so delicately, despite everything, it caused a little bit of Jisung to die. He cried in Minho's arms until he couldn’t cry anymore and simply sat there, hiccuping into his shoulder. 

When his tears finally dried up, Minho let go reluctantly, returning to his perch by the kitchen counter. He watched Jisung like he was a flight risk, weary eyes watery. He wasn’t even wrong to, but Jisung found that he didn’t want to run away anymore. He had run away enough for a lifetime. It was time to face the consequences of his actions. 

“You make it so hard to be angry with you.” Minho sighed. “But I am angry.” 

“You deserve to be.” Jisung said in a small voice, wiping his face. 

“None of that.” Minho said, leaning his hip against the counter. “I have things to say, and only when I’m finished can you start with your self-deprecating bullshit.”

Jisung nodded and Minho took a breath. 

“You’re an asshole and an idiot. You acted like you wanted me and then left me in the dust. You hurt everyone. You hurt me.” 

Jisung stayed silent. Minho spoke so calmly, so quietly, that he could almost forget that he was angry. 

“Chan and Changbin have been inconsolable. They thought you hated them. Hyunjin is beside himself, you know? He thought you had died because you never came home.” Jisung swallowed, guilt clogging his throat and choking him. 

“Even Seungmin and Felix are picking up the pieces of what you left. They like you, they are your friends.” Minho looked at Jisung. “You fucked up.”

“I know.” Jisung said, because he did. He knew protecting himself would come with some casualties. 

“Do you though?” Minho asked, voice cracking, “Do you know how worried we all were, how much we missed you? How much I missed you?” 

Jisung had no words. He couldn’t defend himself, didn’t even want to. He wanted Minho to yell at him, so that he could at least feel something other than the overwhelming emptiness. 

“I want to ask why, but I know why.” Minho spat, “It’s because you’re a coward.”

Jisung flinched. He hoped that Minho wouldn’t see it, but of course he did. Always too perceptive for his own good. It seemed like Minho was finding his stride, shedding his calm exterior to reveal the hurt and anger that Jisung had caused. 

“Oh that touched a nerve, did it?” Minho continued cruelly, “Do you get off on playing with people's feelings? Do you enjoy stringing people along, only to leave them?”

“That’s not it.” 

“Then what is it?” Minho said, “Because to me, it looks like you’re either a sadist or a fucking scared child.” 

Jisung opened his mouth to reply, but Minho bullied on. “And I want to hate you. I want to hate you for making me feel all these things. You think you’re the only one with shit to deal with? You’re not that special. Everyone has shit to deal with, but we don’t go around fucking up other peoples lived for fun.” Jisung sank in his seat, feeling small. It was all true, so why did it hurt so much?

“And the worst thing.” Minho continued, “Is that I- Fuck, I still want you. I can’t hate you.”

“How dare you make me need you so much and then leave me.” 

Jisung wondered if when Minho looked into his eyes, he saw his very soul. If he saw the grief and pain he carried with him, the weight of lives he hadn’t yet lived, the damage he had suffered and the damage he was yet to. 

“I ruin things. I’m afraid to ruin you.” He said, instead of everything he wanted to. 

“You wouldn’t.” And how could Minho sound so sure?

“But I would. I am incapable of anything else.” 

“Then ruin me. Ruin me beyond repair. Ruin me until I am the blood on your hands and the ashes under your fingernails.” 

“Why?”

“Because it’s you. Because I love you.” 

If there was a God, he must surely be all loving. All Jisung’s sins, his crimes and his shortcomings, are forgiven in the form of a boy with glittering eyes. Jisung was familiar with tears. He had cried more times in the last month than he had in his entire life put together and yet, in a moment where he stood, stripped bare and rubbed raw, his eyes felt dry. 

“I love you too.” And that was all there was to it. 

“If you love me, you won’t leave me again. Not like this.” 

Jisung sucked in a deep breath. It was daunting, knowing that he could have everything he ever wanted and keep it too. It seemed that Minho was determined to latch on to him with iron claws. There was hurt and anger and things to say, but Minho looked at him with love and Jisung felt a bravery he hadn’t felt before. 

“I won’t.” He said, “You make me want to be brave.”

“Being brave isn’t enough.” Minho said, blinking slowly as the anger left and the exhaustion set in. “You can’t just hold me here until it gets too much and then run away again. You have to stay.”

Stay. What a funny word. Jisung knew that when Minho asked him to stay he didn’t mean to just not leave. It meant carving out a home. It meant trying. It meant falling headfirst into whatever the future held. It meant feeling the fear and doing it anyway. 

It wasn’t enough to just be there, he had to want it. And boy, did he want it. 

There would be time for apologies later, time to repair the damage he had caused. In that moment, in Minho's tiny kitchen, with mugs of cold coffee, Jisung felt like he could breathe for the first time in his life. There would be time later, because he had time. He had time to mess up and fix it. Time to learn Minho all over again, to know him and keep knowing him. There was no end date, no limit. There was time. 

“I’m staying.” He said, and he meant it. “I’m staying until you get sick of me.”

“I’ll never get sick of you.” Minho said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. They weren’t okay. Not fully, but they would get there. 

“Are the others-” Jisung paused, swallowing against the dread that made him gag. “Are they mad at me?”

“They are.” Minho confirmed, softly, “But they’re mostly just worried about you.”

“Do you think they’ll forgive me?”

“Oh baby.” Minho caressed his cheek, “They already have.”

Love had hurt Jisung more times than he could count. He had thought himself to be done with it, once. No love left to spare from the lonely boy with scars on his heart. But he had been proven wrong. He couldn’t be more glad. 

A chance, given to him by a few overgrown children with instruments and a dream. A home, given to him by someone he thought he had left behind. And love, given to him by a boy. A boy with starlight in his smile and glitter in his eyes. 

Maybe just this once, Jisung would be allowed happiness. Maybe, just this once, Jisung could get everything he ever wanted. Not close, not almost, but actually.