Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Niki-yah, why not come with me?” 

The metronome of Jay’s deep, scratchy, honeyed voice pealed through his mind, ricocheting into the walls and skimming the edges of his synapses, flaring to life in sharp, electric bursts. Sugar spun coats of homesickness clung to his palate, sticky, chewed out pearls swallowed down his throat suffocatingly. He missed, god, he missed. He missed the fish-shaped cakes filled with sweet red bean paste his mother used to buy him at festivals, tone featherlight and modal as she scolded him for his sweet tooth; he missed the dull ache in his muscles after a day of practicing the dance to Twice’s new song, his sisters somehow always managing to persuade him into joining them, even if he always insisted he wanted to dance to SHINee’s Lucifer. 

He missed, and he missed, and whilst he was happy—happy that he’d finally done it, finally debuted, stood on that stifling, red-blearing scene and had his name called out in a bold, finalized tone—he still missed. Japan. The feel of home. His parents—their soft hands, raking through his chocolate strands with a gentleness only a parent could emulate—and his sisters; their playful, teasing remarks as they tugged on his ears, their laughter, loud and boisterous, bouncing around the walls of their shared room as their shoulders shook. 

The phone calls didn’t help. They were too few, too rushed, never long enough to soothe the ache in his chest. Between promotions, photoshoots, and rehearsals for their debut, there wasn’t time to align their schedules. 

Given or taken. Ironic, wasn’t it? How much they had to give, how much was taken away from them—just for a place. A measly spot in the vast, unforgiving panorama of the industry. 

Niki still struggled to choke down the guilt, the lingering apologies that never made it past his lips whenever he saw Taki. His fingertips still trembled at the memory of them hovering over the cold screen, slow and dithering, knowing that once he pressed down, there would be no undoing. A decision he could never take back. 

They grew apart, and Niki knew it was his fault, and his alone. 

And even when him and his family did manage to sync up, when Niki did manage to take a phone call, hiding in one of the closets of Inkigayo, making himself small besides the sharp, acrid smell of cleaning solution and the mops and brooms cluttered around him, phone pressed tightly to his ear—it wasn’t enough. The sound of his family’s voices through a cold, crackling line wasn’t the same as being there.

And then there was the pandemic.

Flights were grounded indefinitely, snapping the fragile thread that connected him to home. There was no return ticket to Japan, no chance to visit his family or even perform for fans in person. Music Bank stages, variety shows, virtual fan meetings—it all blurred together into a monotonous cycle of shouting into the void, into screens that reflected their faces back at them but never gave anything real in return.

Maybe that’s why he agreed. 

It would be the first New Year’s he didn’t spend with his family. He tried to convince himself that it was okay. 

It was okay, wasn’t it?

He had Jay after all. 

Jay, who stood beside him in the crowded, cacophonous waiting rooms, leaning over his shoulder to help him practice his Korean pronunciation when the pressure of getting every syllable perfect started to feel like a noose tightening around his throat. Jay, who had seen Niki—truly seen him—back when they were just trainees, awkward and unsure and scraping together the courage to keep going when failure felt inevitable.

And Jay had asked.

“Niki-yah, why not come with me?”

Niki had hesitated. His chest had tightened with the weight of all the things he wanted to say but couldn’t. How could he explain what he felt without sounding ungrateful? Without making it seem like this life he’d fought so hard for wasn’t worth it?

He dryly swallowed down the ants in his throat. “Are you sure?” was all he managed to get out, his voice small and uncertain.

Jay’s one sided dimple had popped out then, curving inwards into his cheek like it had been manually poked there. “Yeah,” he replied, like it was the easiest thing on earth, to bring an almost-stranger into his parents’ house. Jay folded a pair of black, straight-legged jeans with careful, nimble fingers, tossing it on top of an ever-growing pile of clothes, his opened suitcase laying on his bed. 

Niki stowed with his head next to the suitcase’s wheels, his limbs melting into the softness of Jay’s linen sheets. The others had pretty much all already escaped their tight, seven bunk bedded bedroom, having gone home to celebrate with their families. Sunghoon left first, an awkward, stilled farewell on his lips as he cradled a bag filled with the essentials to his chest. The others had burst out laughing at his timidness, and Sunghoon had scowled and thrown a pillow at them when Jay cooed and pinched his cheeks, his aim hitting Jake directly in the forehead, who fell to the floor in a dramatic heap of flailing limbs with a shriek. 

The next were Heeseung and Sunoo, the former’s parents insisting they could drive Sunoo to Gwangmyeong, since his parents weren’t able to and the subway line had been blocked off for the time being. Then, one by one, they made themselves scarce. Jake slipped away, a lazy “see you later” rolling off his lips as he stepped out of their dorm, Jungwon ruffling both of their hairs (“Yah! I’m older than you!” Jay had squeaked out) like a mother would to their baby chicks before wrestling with his duffel bag down the stairs of their building. 

And now it was just the two of them. 

“My mom would like to meet you,” Jay said again, getting up from the cold, wooden floor to grab a white, plastic bag in which Jay kept the gifts he’d insisted he had to buy for his family the last time they had gone out. He carefully settled it inside the suitcase, off to the side, tucked into the corner safely. “And it’s not a matter of space, if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

Niki slung his leg to the right, twisting his lower body and slipping off of the bed agonizingly slow. He stopped at the right second before he hit the floor. “What is it that rich people have in their house again? A pool table? Hyung, can we play pool when we arrive?” He puffed out a quick breath, sending a stray strand of blonde hair flying off his face, starfishing against the bed as he wondered. “What about a jacuzzi? Or an indoor pool?” He gasped. “Hyung…. Please, please tell me you have an indoor pool. With, like, slides and stuff. That’d shoot you up two spots on my ‘Favourite Hyung’ list.” 

Jay raised an eyebrow, not sparing him a glance as he meticulously organized his suitcase. “Who’s at the top of your list?”

“Sunghoon-hyung, but don’t tell him that.” 

Jay snorted. “Is that why you said—“ He pitched his voice higher in a, in Niki’s opinion, poor imitation of Niki, his cheeks puffed out with an otherwise blank expression. “Sunghoonie hyung is mine!” 

Niki’s cheeks burned. “Hyung!” He groaned. “You know I lost a bet to Jake-hyung that time!” 

The corner of Jay’s lips tugged into a smirk. “Then, where on the list am I?” 

“Fourth place.” 

“What?” Jay blurted, spinning around to glare at Niki, dark eyes narrowed in offense. “Invitation retracted. Have fun being lonely in the dorm, Niki-ah.” He waved a hand as if to tell Niki to get out, his back curving over the suitcase as he dumped a sleek, navy bag inside it, hygienic items shoved in it to the brim, the head of Jay’s electric toothbrush peeking out from the zipper’s opening. He muttered something about ungrateful, spoiled kids underneath his breath.

Niki grinned, loose and boyish as he flipped around onto his belly, kicking his feet in the air inadvertently. He propped his chin into the palm of his hand, before remembering the makeup noonas had advised him to stop touching his face so much, and instead braced his elbows against the mattress. “Nooo, Jay-hyung…” he protested. “I really wanna get in that jacuzzi.” 

“I don’t have a jacuzzi,” Jay deadpanned. “And I’m not rich. Stop that.” 

“But you have a pool table?” 

“…Yes.” 

Niki’s grin grew wider, full lips stretched over his teeth in satisfaction. “So you’re rich.” 

Jay sniffled, rubbing his nose red. “That’s debatable.” 

“So debate me, bitch?” 

Jay gasped. “Yah, Niki-yah!” He scolded, striding over with big, looming steps to attack Niki (read: ruffle his hair aggressively). “Language, you little punk.”

“Agh— Hyung!” Niki giggled out (a fact he will never admit to everyone, or else he’ll have to kill them with his bare hands), the sound drawn out and strained as he swatted at Jay’s hands, head jerking in the other direction in an attempt to evade the ambush against his newly bleached strands of hair. 

Niki caught Jay’s wrist in his grip, swiftly bringing it up to his mouth in a rustle of limbs and opening his mouth to sink his teeth into the skin. Jay yelped and withdrew his arm before he could bite it. 

“Yah! Are you an animal?! Aish…”

Niki used his newfound freedom to run his fingers through the chaos on his head, the grumble underneath his breath bleeding into a whine. “Hyung! I literally just got this bleached. Do you want me to go bald before our next comeback?!” 

A smirk stretched across Jay’s expression. “Why? Afraid you won’t be able to pull it off?” 

Niki gasped in offense. How. dare. he? He launched himself at Jay, all flailing limbs and uncoordinated chaos, his legs kicking wildly as he attempted to wrap himself around the older boy like some kind of rabid koala. Jay barely had time to take a step back before Niki’s full weight crashed into him, sending them both stumbling onto the bed in a heap of tangled arms and legs.

“Yah! Get off me!” Jay barked, his voice muffled as Niki’s elbow jabbed into his stomach.

“You started it!” Niki shot back, his grin devilish as he wriggled free of Jay’s grip and grabbed a pillow. “Don’t mess with my hair next time!”

Jay barely had time to block the incoming pillow before Niki swung it like a weapon, smacking it into his shoulder. “Is this how you treat your hyung?” Jay groaned, grabbing another pillow (Was that Sunghoon’s?) and retaliating with a swift, precise swing that sent Niki tumbling backward with a loud, exaggerated gasp.

“Hyung, you’re so violent!” Niki whined, rubbing his side dramatically. But before Jay could reply, Niki twisted and sank his teeth into Jay’s arm, not hard enough to hurt but definitely hard enough to make a point. The bite mark kind of looked like a clock without its arms. Tick. Tack. Tick. Tack. 

Jay let out a loud yelp, pulling his arm back like he’d been burned. “Yah! Did you actually just bite me? What are you, a feral cat?!” He examined the bite with wide eyes, unwittingly switching to English, his American accent coating his words in teeming, smooth strokes. “Oh my god. God help me or I will actually commit a murder—” 

Niki just laughed, his legs kicking out cheekily as Jay tried to grab him again. “That’s what you get for messing with me! I’m younger and faster—accept your fate, ahjussi!”

Jay’s eyes narrowed, his expression dark with mock determination. “Oh, you’re so dead now.”

He lunged, grabbing Niki by the ankle and pulling him back onto the bed before the younger boy could escape. Niki shrieked with laughter, twisting and kicking out, but Jay was relentless. He dug his fingers into Niki’s sides, tickling mercilessly until the boy was breathless and writhing, his laughter echoing off the walls.

“Stop! Hyung, stop! I’m gonna die!” Niki managed to gasp out, tears streaming down the curve of his full cheeks from laughing so hard.

Jay finally relented, collapsing onto the bed beside him with a dramatic sigh, his arm flopping over his eyes as if the weight of Niki’s antics had aged him ten years in a single moment. The room was warm now, the kind of warmth that came from too much laughter and too little oxygen, their breaths heavy and uneven as silence crept in to fill the spaces between them.

Niki lay there, sprawled out and panting, every muscle in his body humming with the aftershocks of movement and joy. His chest rose and fell in rhythm with the pounding of his pulse, each breath shallow and sharp, like he was trying to catch a fleeting memory before it slipped through his fingers. The sheets beneath him felt cool and grounding against his flushed skin, but his mind was untethered, floating somewhere in the quiet haze of contentment.

He felt young—properly, carelessly young—as if for a moment, all the sharp edges of the world had dulled, and he could just be. No cameras, no stages, no weight pressing down on his shoulders like a ghost. Just the faint ache in his sides from laughing too hard, the sound of Jay’s steadying breaths beside him, and the lazy flutter of the curtains as the city outside carried on without them.

Jay shifted beside him. “You’re exhausting,” he muttered, tossing a halfhearted glare in Niki’s direction.

Niki turned his head, the corner of his lips tugging up in a grin that was slower this time, almost sleepy. “Sucks to be an old man, huh?”

Jay closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was on the verge of losing his patience. “Shut the fuck up and pack your stuff,” he said, voice laced with exasperation. “The rest of the suitcase is yours. Just… don’t bite me again.”

Niki tilted his head back, letting the edges of a victorious smirk curve his lips. “No promises, hyung.”

And that was how Niki found himself standing in front of Jay’s house—no, scratch that. Mansion. 

Well, not really. 

It didn’t loom like castles in the dramas Niki’s sisters used to binge, with their grandiose gates that sighed open with mechanical precision, perfectly manicured hedges framing cobblestone pathways and chandeliers dripping crystal droplets of light. It wasn’t guarded by towering, wrought-iron fences or watched over by stone lions with gaping mouths frozen in mid-roar.

But to Niki, standing at the edge of its vastness, it felt like something that should’ve been called more than a house. A palace, maybe. Or was that too childish? 

The building stretched out before him in clean, deliberate angles, its façade a soft, sandy beige that caught the dying light of the winter afternoon like an ember cupped in careful hands. Glass gleamed everywhere—windows, so many windows, reflecting the sprawling sky and the streaks of peach and lavender melting across it. Shadows gathered in the crevices, draped themselves like velvet over the polished stone steps that led up to the front door.

The air smelled different here—crisp, like snow was just a promise away, tinged faintly with the earthy sweetness of the cedar trees lining the property. There was a silence too, but it wasn’t empty. It thrummed, low and steady, like the hum of a song Niki couldn’t quite place.

And the house stood in the middle of it all, proud yet unassuming, as though it was both part of the landscape and apart from it, a sanctuary quietly watching the world go by.

“Yah, are you just going to stand there?” Jay’s voice cut through the quiet, snapping Niki out of his reverie. 

Niki turned to find Jay standing a few paces ahead, the suitcase he’d insisted on carrying himself in one hand and the other tucked into his coat pocket. The coat suited him, Niki thought. It was a clean, fuzzy caramel brown, its buttons round and intricately carved as they hung at the side, unclasped. Only Jay could pull something like this off, Niki surmised, this sharply opulent, but still delicate and refined apparel that emphasized his broad shoulders. 

Niki remembered Jay had bought it recently, some weeks ago, when the group had managed to snag a few hours of free time, and decided to head out to the almost deserted mall to do some shopping. They’d been talking about New Year’s back then too, how each of them would spend it, where, how long. He remembered trying to distract himself from the topic as much as possible, and how he had successfully coerced Jay, who had been unusually quiet, heart-shaped lips pursed and brows furrowed, into letting Niki style him. 

He remembered the look in Jay’s eyes as his fingers lingered on the coat’s fabric—soft, but just scratchy enough to make someone hesitate. Like he was trying to convince himself he liked it, trying to wear it like it belonged to him. But Ni-ki didn’t get it. It did look good on him—probably better than anyone else could’ve pulled off something that fancy at their age. And yet… no one had told him to buy it. There was no pressure, no expectation. So why? Why force it if it didn’t feel right? If it made him squirm beneath the surface?

Even now, Niki noticed the negligible stiffness to Jay’s shoulders, his back ramrod straight and chin tilted up the slightest amount. Like he was deliberately slipping into a role. 

Jay’s face was calm, but there was something else there, something flickering in the way his eyes scanned the house. Like he wasn’t looking at a home but at something heavier, something layered with memories Niki couldn’t even begin to guess.

“Hyung,” Niki started. “This is literally a mansion.” 

Jay rolled his eyes, his suitcase wheels bumping rhythmically against the uneven stone path as he began walking once more. “You’re exaggerating.” 

Niki hurried after him, his puffy, black jacket chafing at the sleeves. “You said you weren’t rich.” He moved to grab at the suitcase, attempting to get a grip onto the handle. 

Jay swerved out of his way. “I’m not. My parents are rich. Big difference.” 

“Hyung,” Niki deadpanned, pointing to the corner of the backyard where a marble carved fountain, its water stream frozen in an arch in the gelid weather, spread out in all of its pure glory. Niki wanted to shove his fingers into the chiseled spirals in the center of the powdery soft limestone and trace them until he felt the boredom swallow him whole. “There’s a fountain. Who even has a fountain? What, is that where your ancestors threw coins for good luck? Did you ever throw one in? Did it work? I think I had a quarter somewhere around in my pockets… Hm… Aha! Wait, no… That’s a chocolate coin. Woah, nice, I forgot I had this.” 

Jay glanced back at Niki with an exasperated look, the corner of his lips twitching as if suppressing his amusement. “You’re impossible, you know that? And no, nobody throws coins into the fountain—it’s just decorative.” He paused, squinting at the fountain. “I think. Maybe my haelmoni did once? She’s superstitious like that.”

“Your haelmoni is the coolest person in your family, confirmed,” Niki declared, peeling off the golden foil of his chocolate coin and popping half of the candy into his mouth, speaking around it. It melted into his gums, sweet and thickly. The other half he shoved into Jay’s face, watching as the older went cross-eyed trying to focus on the chocolate despite the closeness. He accepted it easily. 

Jay started walking again, hauling the suitcase up the doorsteps carefully. “C’mon, snail. We’ve been standing out here for too long. My eomma’s probably wondering where we are.”

Niki followed, nerves suddenly crawling up his forearms. “Do you think she’ll like me? What if I say something weird in Korean and accidentally insult her? Hyung, do I bow, or do I—“ 

“Just be yourself, Niki-ah,” Jay interrupted, throwing a small smile over his shoulder. “My eomma likes people who aren’t afraid to be honest. Just don’t call her ahjumma, and you’ll survive.” 

Niki blinked as they arrived in front of the main door, its rich, dark mahogany polished to a mirror-like sheen. The doorbell etched into the side of the wall stared back at him, lithe emerald plants decorating the ground in rectangular, brown pots. 

“Noted,” he replied, running a hand through his hair and trying to tug it into a more presentable appearance. Maybe he should’ve raided Heeseung’s hair gel drawer… “What about your dad? What’s he like?” He asked, trying to shake off the ants of nerves on his arms. 

Jay’s hand paused on the door handle, his face unreadable for a split second. Then, with a calmness that felt too measured, he said, “Don’t worry about him. He probably won’t say much.”

Niki wasn’t sure how to interpret that, but he didn’t get the chance to ask. Jay pushed the door open, revealing a spacious entryway bathed in warm, golden light.

The house smelled faintly of cedarwood and something else—something floral and faintly sweet, like a memory of spring tucked into the middle of winter. Niki’s eyes darted to the polished wooden floors, the intricately carved staircase winding upward, and the large chandelier hanging overhead, its crystals refracting the light into tiny rainbows.

He heard a voice before he saw anyone—soft and melodic, carrying through the hallway like the rustle of leaves in a gentle breeze.

“Jongseong-ah, is that you?” 

Jay’s shoulders relaxed an almost unnoticeable fraction, his lips pulling into a genuine, unguarded smile as he called back, “Yeah, eomma. It’s me.” 

Niki shuffled awkwardly as a woman appeared from around the corner, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She was elegant in a way that felt effortless, her features soft but sharp enough to hint at where Jay got his striking looks. She wore a soft, gray woolen cardigan, buttoned at the center, framing her in an air of understated sophistication. Although shorter than the both of them, the way she carried herself made her seem larger than life, her presence commanding without effort. Her hair was swept back neatly, and her eyes lit up the moment they landed on Jay.

“There you are!” She exclaimed, pulling him into her embrace. Jay reciprocated, wrapping her arms around her like a child would, shy but warm with affection. She pulled back to properly look at him, her eyes boring a striking resemblance to Jay’s as they flickered over him. “You’ve gotten thinner again. Have you been eating properly?”

“Eomma, I’m fine,” Jay insisted, his voice dropping to a playful grumble. “You ask that every time.”

Jay’s mother frowned and pinched his cheeks, fussing over him in the way only a mother could. “Oh, but you’ve lost so much weight since the last time I saw you, look at those sunken in cheekbones! I’ve always disliked those diets these companies put you on, you know? My son should eat well, not starve.” 

Niki caught sight of the light cherry red tinting Jay’s ears. “Eomma, I do eat well, don’t worry so much.” 

Her lips twitched, a sign that she wasn’t done speaking, that she wanted to say more, but she finally backed down, smoothing Jay’s blonde hair with her slender, manicured hands. 

Her gaze turned towards Niki, her eyes sharp but holding a certain honeyed warmness in them as she took him in. A kind smile stretched across her lips. “You must be Riki. It’s so nice to finally meet you.” 

Niki blinked, unsure of what to do with the sudden attention. Bow. Bow, idiot. He dipped into a quick bow, his hands pressed to his sides. “Thank you for having me, ahjumma— Ah, not ahjumma, I mean— Um…”

Jay’s mother chuckled softly at his flustered state. “Eomeonim is fine.” 

Niki nodded jerkily, feeling his cheeks burn. “Eomeonim,” he corrected, his voice teetering into a nervous quietness at the last syllable. He bowed again.

Niki groaned internally. Great. He already made a fool of himself. Was it too late to turn back and book a taxi towards their dorm? He could spend New Years alone, wouldn’t be that big of a deal. He could become one with the couch, munch on a cup of ramyeon and watch those countdowns on TV his grandmother used to follow every year. Didn’t sound too bad. Just… lowkey loser-y.

A tsk escaped the woman’s mouth as she gave Niki another once-over. Niki swallowed dryly and shifted in place, suddenly feeling self conscious of his scuffed sneakers. 

“Aigo-yah, look at you, you’re even skinnier,” She fretted, a slight frown on her lips. “Seriously, do they not feed you at that company?” She turned toward Jay, scolding, “Your father and I give you money, why don’t you treat your friends to meals? Huh?” 

Jay groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Eomma, I do feed him, and the others. Probably way more than I should.” 

Niki felt a grin tug at the corner of his lips. He bit down the teasing remark tingling on the tip of his tongue. 

“Nonsense.” Jay’s mother ignored his complaint, waving a hand and gesturing for them to follow her into the house. “You boys must be freezing out there. Come, come, you’ll catch a cold if you just stand around.” 

Niki hesitated, his steps uncertain as he trailed behind Jay into the expansive living room. The place felt more like a photograph than a real home—polished floors reflecting the golden glow of the fireplace, furniture that looked too pristine to sit on, and shelves lined with books and decorative trinkets that seemed untouched. The faint scent of something simmering in the kitchen or the family portraits scattered on the walls should have softened the formal atmosphere, but oddly enough, Niki felt that they did the opposite. 

“Here, let me take your coat,” Jay’s mother said, helping Niki shrug off his jacket. He slipped off his shoes in two, quick movements, arranging them nicely in an attempt to give off a good impression. Though he was pretty sure he had already ruined that earlier. “Dinner’s almost ready. Go show Riki to his room, okay, Jongseong-ah?” 

Jay nodded and dropped his suitcase by the staircase. Peeling off his coat, he carefully hung it on the wooden rack near the door. “Eomma, where’s haelmoni?”

“She’s upstairs resting,” his mother replied, heading toward the kitchen. 

“She’s been so excited for tomorrow, I think she wore herself out helping me prepare everything.”

Jay smiled at that, an impossibly soft and candy-coated smile. “That sounds like her.”

“Go check on her when you get a chance,” his mother added, her voice floating back over the clatter of pots and pans. “She was asking about you earlier.”

Jay hummed a wordless agreement, grabbing the suitcase and hefting it easily up the stairs. “Come on, Niki-ah,” he called out. “Let’s get you settled.” 

Niki’s sock clad feet thumped against the stairs’ polished wood as he trailed after him, the sound magnified in the spacious silence of the house. He suppressed a wince. Everything about the place was polished, deliberate. The glossy hardwood floors reflected the warm light overhead, the banister of the staircase carved with such intricate patterns it almost felt like art.

“This place is huge,” Niki muttered, his head tilted upward to take in the high ceiling and the soft glow of what could only be considered a chandelier dangling above. It shimmered like frost, dozens of lights twinkling from its intricate design. “Hyung, you have a literal chandelier. Chandeliers. Multiple.”

Jay glanced up briefly and rolled his eyes. “It’s not a chandelier. It’s just a light fixture.”

Niki snorted. “It’s ginormous, it hangs from your ceiling, and it has a thousand lights. That’s a chandelier.”

Jay didn’t reply immediately, but there was the faintest tug at the corner of his lips. He nudged Niki further up the stairs, poking his sides. “C’mon, keep moving, punk.”

Niki yelped slightly at the ticklish sensation, before sticking his tongue out at Jay and moving up, one hand brushing against the smooth wooden banister as they climbed. The walls along the staircase were lined with photographs, neatly framed and spaced in an almost too-perfect arrangement. Niki slowed down as they passed by them, his eyes scanning the snapshots of Jay’s family life frozen in time.

The first few photos showed a baby-faced Jay, his eyes wide like stars and cheeks impossibly round, coffee hair messily sprawled across his forehead, his small, chubby fingers gripping onto various objects—a toy car, a silver spoon, the hem of what must’ve been his mother’s dress. He was in various locations, on a picnic blanket, on a warmly-colored couch, on a beige, fluffy carpet, toys littered around him. 

“Oh. My. God.” Niki breathed, stepping closer to one of the frames. “Hyung, you were adorable.”

Jay groan resounded behind him. “Don’t start, please.”

“Your cheeks,” Niki cooed, pointing at a picture where toddler Jay was sitting on the floor with a pout, his chubby face tilted slightly upwards. There were small tears glistening in the corner of his cheeks as he poked at a fallen piece of cake on the floor with a fork designed for kids. “They’re so round, like mochi. Fluffy. So squishable. And, oh my god, your eyes—“ 

“Niki,” Jay warned, eyes narrowed, though there was no real heat in his tone.

“Boba pearls,” Niki whispered out decisevly. He spun around to face Jay. “Hyung, how are you even real?” 

Jay rolled his eyes, “Aish, I should’ve retracted my invitation sooner.” 

Niki stepped closer, reaching a hand out to pinch Jay’s cheek, the soft flesh rolling in between his fingertips. Jay grouched and swatted at his hand, but Niki remained undettered as he brought both hands up to squish Jay’s cheeks in his palms, reddening them in the process. 

Jay’s left eye twitched in irritation. 

It felt odd, comparing Jay’s younger self to his present one, but Niki couldn’t help but do so. It was his jaw people always noticed first—angular and unforgiving, a sharp contrast to the softness he used to carry in his youth, now carved into high, serrated cheekbones like time had whittled him down to angles. But Niki also saw his once wide, starry eyes, which had narrowed gradually into dark, feline ones—though traces of their former brightness remained. They resurfaced in fleeting moments, slipping through the cracks of his composure: when he hit a particular high note, when he got the chance to ramble on about details to a subject only he would know, like a human encyclopedia. But one feature that remained the same besides the lightly dusted freckles on his nose bridge was his smile. His heart-shaped lips stretched gently over his white teeth, softening his otherwise sharp aspects into a warm, honeyed glow. A glimpse of his kind-hearted soul peeking out. 

Niki squished Jay’s cheeks for one last time, a particular, half-rough squeeze that made Jay sputter out a slew of muffled, drowned out protesting sounds, before Jay finally batted his hands away from his face. 

“You were so cute back then, hyung,” Niki teased. “What happened?” 

Jay huffed, tugging on Niki’s arm to drag him away. “I’m still cute, thank you very much. I just have a different charm now.” 

But Niki didn’t budge, he shrugged off Jay’s arm and continued examaining the photos hung up on the walls, littered across tables. 

The photos started to change. They weren’t obvious—most people might’ve not noticed—but Niki did.

In the older photos, Jay’s smile wasn’t as bright. There was something stiffer in the way he stood, in the way he held himself. His arms hung awkwardly by his sides in a family photo, his shoulders unnaturally straight. The warmth that radiated from the earlier pictures seemed to dim, leaving something quieter behind.

Niki stopped in front of a group photo: Jay, his parents, and his grandparents. The tension in Jay’s body was unmistakable, his smile polite but distant, hair slicked back and a crisp, black suit adorning his figure. A man’s hand rested on his shoulder, firm and heavy, the lines on his face settled into a solemn purse of lips. 

Jay’s father. 

A woman with willow streaks of gray in her hair, his grandmother, Niki guessed, in contrast, looked genuinely happy, her arm slung affectionately around Jay’s waist, and her free hand interlaced with Jay’s grandpa’s. His mother smiled too, but there was a subtle tightness in her expression, a flicker of something Niki couldn’t place. 

“You look so… stiff here,” Niki said softly, pointing to the picture. “Were you nervous or something?”

Jay stopped walking this time, turning back to glance at the photo over Niki’s shoulder. His expression was unreadable as he answered, “I guess. Family pictures were always kind of a production.”

“Production?” Niki asked, but Jay didn’t answer, and his attention snagged on another photo. It was framed with dark wood, settled behind a vase of peonies. Hidden. Niki picked it up, fingers lightly tapping against the glass rhythmically. 

It was Jay again, maybe nine or ten years old, strands of hair ruffled on his forehead, sitting at a grand dining table much too large for just one kid. A frosted birthday cake sat in front of him, candles glowing in a blur of yellows and oranges, but there was no one else in the frame. 

At first glance, it looked like a normal birthday picture. But the more Niki stared, the more he noticed the little things. Jay’s hands were resting on his lap, a dinosaur bandaid wrapped around his index finger, almost like he wasn’t sure what to do with them, where to put them. His lips were hesitantly curled at one corner, meek and polite, nothing like the bright, unfiltered grins from the earlier photos. His eyes were downcast as he looked at the cake, a wisp of shadow casting over his expression. 

Jay’s voice came from behind him, quieter this time. “That was my tenth birthday.”

Niki turned slightly, watching as Jay’s gaze lingered on the photo, dark and indecipherable. His jaw was a shade tighter, his fingers flexing where they rested against his arm. “I thought they’d thrown this out,” Jay muttered, voice almost inaudible and soft, and Niki got the impression he wasn’t speaking for him. 

“Where’s everybody else?” Niki asked.

Jay exhaled through his nose, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was debating whether to joke about it or not. “Busy.”

Niki frowned. “On your birthday?” 

“Yeah,” Jay’s voice was even, too even. “Appa had a business trip. Eomma was with him. I think haelmoni and haraeboji were visiting a friend that day, something about a reunion, so it was just me at home.” He shrugged like it didn’t matter. “One of the housemaids, Eunyoung-noona, took the picture. She was the one who got me the cake.”

Niki looked back at the photo, his stomach twisting. The house in the background was immaculate, grand, but empty. The dining room chairs, too many of them for a single child, looked untouched. The cake was big and decorated beautifully, rows of strawberries lined up on the edge, but now that Jay had said it, Niki could see it—it wasn’t placed in the center of the table like it would be at a proper party. It was just… there, in front of Jay, like an afterthought.

Jay let out a breath and nudged Niki’s shoulder lightly. “Anyway, it’s not a big deal. Just a birthday. I had plenty of others.”

Niki turned to him, studying his face. He knew Jay well enough to recognize when he was brushing something off, when he was laughing just enough to make it seem like things never really bothered him.

“You had plenty of others,” Niki echoed. “But were they all like this?”

Jay hesitated for just a second, the silence stretching on for a beat too long. 

Then, with a practiced ease, he took the frame from Niki’s hands, carefully setting it back behind the vase of peonies, half-hidden once more, and smiled that easy, half-teasing smile that usually worked on everyone. “Are you going to interrogate me about my entire childhood, or are you going to let me show you to your room so we don’t keep my eomma waiting for too long?” 

Niki didn’t miss the way he dodged the question, but at the mention of Jay’s mother, he let it go. For now. 

He’d already started off on the wrong foot by calling her Ahjumma when Jay had specifically told him not to, he couldn’t afford to make her question him on his punctuality as well. 

“Fine, fine,” Niki sighed, rolling his eyes before reaching out—

And squishing Jay’s cheeks one more time.

Jay let out a muffled squawk, swatting at his hands. “Yah! Let go!”

Niki grinned. “Still cute, hyung.”

Jay groaned, finally prying Niki’s hands off his face and dragging him down the hall. “I regret ever bringing you here.”

The room they entered had walls painted a muted, warm gray, contrasting with the rich, wooden flooring. A neatly made bed sat against one side, dressed in crisp white sheets and a navy comforter. There was a white nightstand next to it; a small, artificial plant, a reading lamp and a remote for the flat-screen TV mounted on the other side rested on it. The room smelled faintly of cedarwood and something else—something clean, sterile. 

Niki stepped onto the navy carpet covering a section of the floor. The room was nice, clean and simple, although it didn’t have much in it. 

“Who’s room is this?” Niki asked, grabbing the suitcase from Jay’s grip and laying it down next to the bed, zipping it open. 

“Guest room,” Jay explained, then warned, “Don’t take any of my socks.”

Niki gracelessly picked out his items from the suitcase. His pyjamas, the outfits he’d packed to wear over the span of these few days, his toiletries, his headphones and charger. “You have guest rooms?” He asked, ignoring Jay’s last sentence. He didn’t need to steal Jay’s socks when his were much more stylish and classy, thank you very much, he thought to himself as he pulled out his four pairs of garfield socks. 

Jay hummed, “Some of them are for our staff. Some we use when my appa’s business partners stay over, so we keep them looking decent.” 

“I didn’t see any staff.”

“We don’t have many. Just Eunyoung-noona and Seoyoon-noona who mostly clean and sometimes cook. Eomma probably sent them home to spend New Years with their families.”

Niki nodded absentmindedly, tossing his clothes into the drawers of the wardrobe near the bed. Everything in the room was neat, minimalistic, and arranged with precision—just like the rest of the house. It felt… untouched. Not cold, exactly, but not quite lived in either.

He heard Jay make a wincing noise behind him. “Niki-ah, that’s not how you fold clothes.”

“Yes, it is,” Niki said as he haphazardly stuffed his clothes into the drawers without much care for neatness.

“You’re just cramming everything in there.” The thumps of footsteps sounded until Jay winded up next to him, his white sock-clad foot nudging the edge of the drawer. Ew. Gross. Niki swatted it away repulsively, which made Jay wiggle his toes in Niki’s direction with a shit-eating grin that Niki couldn’t see from his position, but was sure embellished his lips. 

Niki reached out to retaliate by tickling the bottom of Jay’s foot, who, thankfully, jerked his leg away wordlessly and clicked his tongue in mellowed out ire. 

“Since when do you care about folding? You literally just throw your clothes on the floor half the time,” Niki retorted, shooting him a look.

Jay scoffed, offended. “I do not—“

“You do,” Niki cut in smoothly, grinning. “I’ve seen what’s underneath your bed, hyung. It’s like an entire clothing store. You and Sunghoon-hyung are the worst.”

Jay groaned, throwing his head back slightly. “Okay, first of all, Sunghoon is worse than me. At least I know where my stuff is.”

“Yeah, ‘on the floor’ isn’t a location.”

Jay exhaled sharply through his nose (“Brat”), then reached over and grabbed a balled-up hoodie from the suitcase, shaking it out with exaggerated care. “This is how you do it,” he said, demonstrating as he folded the sleeves neatly and creased it down the middle.

Niki arched a brow. “Wow, congrats, hyung. You folded one hoodie. Should I clap?”

Jay rolled his eyes and reached for another shirt, only for Niki to snatch it away before he could. “Nope,” Niki said, wagging a finger. “I don’t need help.”

“You clearly do,” Jay shot back, lunging for the shirt, but Niki twisted away, the laughter ripping out of his throat before he could even register it.

Jay narrowed his eyes. Back then, in I-Land, it used to make him intimidating, all sharp angles and piercing stares. Now though, Niki just thought he looked goofy. “Give me the shirt,” he said slowly. 

“No.”

“You’ll be entering 2021 with wrinkled clothes.” 

“I don’t care.”

“Niki.”

“Nope.”

“Nishimura Riki.”

Niki stilled, and gasped, “Hyung! Not the full government name.”

Jay made a grab for the shirt in Niki’s hands, but Niki dodged, hiding it behind his back with a mischievous grin. 

Jay’s face scrunched up in that cute, irritated way of his, and if Niki’s hands weren’t occupied he might have used them to aggressively ruffle his hair, or maybe squish his cheeks again. Wasn’t it weird that his hyung was so cute? Someone should’ve given him the memo that no matter how sharp his jawline was or how intense his eyes were, it didn’t change the fact that it was in his DNA to be downright adorable.

 Jay exhaled sharply, fingers flexing as they hovered mid-air. “Stop being stubborn.” 

Niki felt the grin on his lips reappear. “I’m not being stubborn,” he said cheekily, tilting his head to the side. 

“Right, you’re being annoying.”

Niki pouted. “That’s mean, hyungie. Is that any way to speak to your dongsaeng? What example are you setting?”

Jay let out a long-suffering sigh, as if he were being forced to deal with the most insufferable person in the world. Which, to be fair, judging by the way he was staring at Niki, he probably thought he was. 

“Fold your clothes the right way,” he said. “Or I’m kicking you out.” 

“You wouldn’t. Your heart's too big for that,” Niki pointed out. “Plus your eomma would kill you.”

“She would,” Jay agreed, hand darting out to reach for the shirt again. “So gimmie.” 

Niki stuck his tongue out. “Nope,” he said, popping the “p” imprudently. 

Jay stared at him unimpressively for a few seconds, before lunging. 

Niki yelped and twisted out of his grip, scrambling away, feet slipping on the polished wooden floor, as Jay chased him around the room. They danced around the bed, dodging and weaving, giggles erupting from his chest involuntarily each time he managed to barely evade Jay's grip with just a fraction of a second.

“Yah!” Jay exclaimed, pointing at him, his lips twitching up like he was trying to suppress his amusement. “Stop running!” 

Niki just grinned, holding the shirt behind his back as he dodged another grab. “Ahjussi,” he called out, voice lilting into a tease. “Shouldn’t you go easy on your joints? I can hear them cracking from over here.”

Jay’s eye twitched in irritation, and Niki felt his satisfaction grow at how easily he could get on the older’s nerves. “Aish, you little—“ 

Niki barely had time to yelp before Jay was on him, tackling him onto the bed in a tangle of limbs with all the grace of a newborn penguin. The mattress dipped beneath their weight with a creak, the impact bouncing them slightly as Jay pinned Niki down with one arm. 

“Gotcha!” Jay declared with a smug curl of lips, his free hand reaching for the shirt. 

But Niki was nothing if not persistent. 

Before Jay could snatch the shirt away, Niki acted on pure, devilish instinct. He wriggled one hand free—just enough to jab his fingers into Jay’s sides in a ruthless, completely unhinged tickle assault. 

Jay shrieked, a high pitched, scratchy sound that Niki hadn’t heard before, but sounded like music to his ears. 

“Yah—!” Jay howled, his torso jerking in a twist as peals of laughter exploded from his mouth, his entire body spasming in a desperate attempt to get away. “Stop, stop, stop—“

“Naur way~,” Niki cackled, his sloppy imitation of Jake’s Australian accent coating his words as he doubled down, fingers digging mercilessly into Jay’s ribs, dragging against the fabric of his sweater with pinpoint accuracy. 

Jay attempted to cease the unrelenting, tickling attack, hands coming up to weakly grasp and push Niki’s away, but the struggle proved far too hard with the uncontrollable laughter shaking his shoulders. He curled into himself, arms coming to protect his torso, but Niki was undettered. 

“Say I win,” Niki demanded mischievously through a few giggles of his own. Win what? Niki didn’t know himself, but the sight of Jay losing it just by being tickled a little bit, unfiltered and squeaky laughter tumbling down his mouth breathlessly, already felt like a victory. The roles had always been reversed, with Jay resorting to tickling Niki mercilessly whenever the younger’s teasing or pranking got too out of hand, but now, Niki thought impishly, the tables have turned. 

Jay writhed beneath him, legs kicking uselessly, face scrunched up in unfiltered suffering. “N-Never—AH!” His voice cracked embarrassingly when Niki switched tactics, going straight for the soft spot near his waist.

“Oh?” Niki felt his grin widen as he poked at it again, earning a spasmed giggle. “Really ticklish here, aren’t you, hehe?”

Jay flailed, laughter pouring out of him in a mix of choked gasps and wheezing protests. “Yah, yah—stop! Niki-ah—” His voice cracked again, and he tried to roll away, but Niki was relentless.

“Say I win,” Niki repeated, fingers still ruthlessly digging into Jay’s sides.

“N-never!” Jay gasped out, but his resolve was crumbling fast. He was on the verge of tears, face flushed red, eyes squeezed shut as he choked on his own laughter.

Niki grinned wider. “You sure?”

Jay let out a strangled sound that wasn’t quite a word, twisting again before finally—

“Okay! Okay! You win!”

Satisfied, Niki immediately withdrew his hands, grinning in victory. Jay collapsed onto the bed, his sweater slightly rumpled from all the struggling. He sucked in desperate gulps of air, residual giggles escaping against his will, his chest heaving, arms sprawled out like he’d just survived a battle. His face was an absolute mess—flushed, hair sticking up, lips parted, expression one of betrayal. 

“You…” he wheezed, blinking up at the ceiling.

The sound of someone clearing their throat had both Niki and Jay snapping their heads in the direction of it. 

Jay’s mom was lingering in the doorway, an eyebrow raised delicately as her gaze flickered between the two of them. 

Niki stiffened slightly, suddenly hyper aware of the fact that he was still half-sprawled over Jay. He didn’t move right away, but something about her gaze made him feel like a kid caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. His fingers twitched where they rested on Jay’s arm. Had he been too loud? Too much? She was Jay’s mom—what if she thought he was being disrespectful? What if—

“Dinner is ready,” she said, lips quirking up ever so slightly. “Unless, of course, you two would rather stay here… play fighting?”

Jay rubbed a hand over his face. “We weren’t—“

“Hyung was just being difficult,” Niki cut in quickly, sitting up a little straighter but not quite pulling away. His voice came out a little too fast, like he was trying to smooth things over before anything could be misinterpreted. “I was helping him loosen up.”

Jay’s mom hummed, tilting her head slightly. “And was all that yelling part of your method?”

Niki hesitated for half a second before a small, sheepish smile tugged at his lips, a reflexive defense mechanism kicking in. “Very effective, right?” 

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head slightly before stepping back into the hallway. “Come downstairs before your food gets cold.”

“Okay, eomma,” Jay said at the same time that Niki said, “Okay, eomonim.”

Jay’s mom glanced at them briefly, something unreadable—something bittersweet— in her expression, before nodding and leaving.

As she walked away, Niki exhaled quietly. He wasn’t sure why he’d suddenly felt so self-conscious. It wasn’t like he’d done anything wrong, he and his sisters used to do worse, but still…

Jay let out a dramatic sigh. “You’re going to make her think I’ve forgotten how to behave.”

“You? Behave?” Niki teased, hovering his fingers over Jay’s stomach and grinning widely when Jay flinched away. “That’d be boring.”

Jay gave him an unimpressed stare, his hand splaying on Niki’s back to push him away. “Get off me, punk.” 

Niki laughed and, instead of getting off, patted Jay’s stomach. “So comfy, though.”

Jay exhaled sharply through his nose, sitting up just enough to shove Niki off with a huff. “Brat.”

Niki rolled onto the floor with a laugh, landing easily on his feet before bouncing up and stretching his arms behind his head. “That was fun.”

Jay shot him a deadpan look as he got up, smoothing out his sweater. “Fun for you, maybe. Come on, fix your hair and let’s go.”

Niki clicked his tongue and ran a hand through his hair, catching a glance of himself in the rectangular mirror on the wall as they filed out the door. The blond hair was definitely something new, and quite of a bold decision for the start of his career—but when the hair stylists noonas had sat him down on one of the chairs in the salon, coaxing him with gentle hands that he’ll look good, that he’ll leave a lasting impression for their debut, he couldn’t help it. In the deepest crevices of his heart, smarting and gnawing with hunger, he almost felt like an idol. 

So he’d dyed his hair, the color seeping into his strands, the promise of standing out burning on the tip of his tongue. Just like his role-models, just like SHINee’s Taemin, just like BTS’ Jungkook. And the weight of his debut settled a little more solidly into the cracks of his mind.

He glanced at Jay as he walked behind him, following him towards the dining room. It was arbitrarily that Jay had also gotten his hair dyed blonde, but instead of it leaving Niki with that acrid, bitter taste of envy stuck to the gums of his teeth—Niki found that he couldn’t help it, the forlorn desire to be noticed, to be the only one that caught the fans’ eye with his unrivalled shine—it unexpectedly made his chest feel… featherlight. Soft like linen hung out to dry, billowing gently in the wind.

He liked it. 

Jay always had a way of pulling something from Niki, something buried just beneath the surface—like the tide teasing secrets from the shore, coaxing them out grain by grain.

It wasn’t forceful, nor was it obvious. It was effortless, as if Jay knew, instinctively, how to reach the parts of Niki that even he hadn’t fully grasped. The parts that curled inward, uncertain. The parts that sharpened at the edges, wary of being seen.

With Jay, those pieces loosened. Not all at once, but slowly, steadily, like a knot unraveling with careful hands.

And Niki wasn’t sure if Jay even realized he was doing it.

Maybe that’s what made it so easy to let it happen.

As they neared the dining room, Jay’s pace slowed slightly, almost imperceptibly. His shoulders squared, his posture straightened, and the usual easy-going slouch—the one he carried effortlessly when he was with the members, the corner of his lips tugged upwards and eyes crinkled—faded into something more controlled. Collected. Like he was slipping into a role he’d donned many times before, instinctively zipping it up without a second thought.

Niki noticed, his gaze roaming curiously over his hyung, but didn’t say anything, instead concentrating on swallowing down the jittery swarm of ants crawling up his throat in hoards. 

He followed Jay inside, the sight of the dining room greeting them. It was as polished and defined as the rest of the house. A long, dark wooden table stretched across the room, sat neatly with ceramic bowls, silver chopsticks and lit-up maroon candles. The chandelier overhead cast a warm, citrusy golden glow, reflecting off the pristine wine glasses near each plate. The smell of freshly cooked food filled the air, and Niki inhaled deeply—bulgogi, its thinly sliced meat resting next to a bowl of white rice, kimchi jjigae, pickled radishes to the side, and a mix of Japanese dishes as well. He instinctively perked up upon landing his eyes on them. Miso soup and oden, Niki counted, the hard boiled eggs and fish cakes stewed in a light, dashi broth undeniable. Everything was arranged with careful precision, as if the table setting itself had been curated rather than casually put together.

At the head of the table sat Jay’s father. His serrated features and poised, dour demeanor bared that he was a man attuned to authority. Wrinkles crinkled around his sharp eyes as they quickly surveyed Jay, before drifting to Niki, indecipherable. A cursory nod was the only recognition he offered him. Niki scrambled hastily to return it with a ninety degrees bow, arms glued to his sides and shoulders unbearably stiff. 

Next to him, Jay’s mom offered a warm smile as they entered, crows-feet creasing around her mouth. Besides her sat an older woman—Jay’s grandmother. Her presence instantly softened the atmosphere, her rounder eyes twinkling with familiarity as she spotted them. Her wiry, gray hair was loosely braided to the side, draping over her shoulder. 

“There you boys are,” she said, voice crackly and laced with fond amusement. Something about her felt unguarded—like she carried her heart in open palms, raw and beating, with no irresoluteness, nothing tucked behind pretense or careful facades. It wasn’t hard to trace the resemblance between her and his hyung. “Took you long enough. Were you two wrestling up there?”

Jay’s cheeks coloured, and Niki would’ve almost found it amusing, how quickly Jay became flustered around the people who raised him—most of the time, he was always calm and composed when it came to the members; Niki supposed it came naturally with the second oldest title he donned haughtily—if it weren’t for the nervousness he couldn’t quite shake off of his forearms at being here, eating dinner with Jay’s family, which seemed to be so unlike his own. 

The feeling slammed into him again. The bitter, cloyingly sweet melted pearls of homesickness trickling down his throat in thick spurts, gagging. The loud, irritating sound of his younger sister’s laughter as he attempted to shovel as much food as possible into his mouth, bare knees kissing the cold ground, his mother smacking his back, reprimanding him with the disappointed tone only a mother could reproduce, camouflaging droplets of concern underneath, her lips pressing together to suppress a smile when she met eyes with his father. 

“You’re disgusting,” his older sister would mutter, rolling her eyes moodily, and Niki would grin up at her, teeth full of food, earning a round of repulsed and stunned gasps from the entire table. 

“Eomma told you already?” Jay asked, rubbing the cerise flesh of his ear between his index and thumb. 

His mom smiled, a knowing look in her eyes. “You were being loud,” she responded. “Everyone could hear you from downstairs.” 

Niki ducked his head slightly, scratching the back of his neck, the ants crawling across the arch of his Adam’s apple. He couldn’t help but feel like it was his fault. “Ah… sorry, eomonim.” 

Jay’s grandmother chuckled, the sound discordant and dry, but in a way that felt surprisingly warm, like a spoonful of honey. “No need to apologize, dear. It's been too quiet here, anyway.” She gestured towards the seat in front of her and Jay’s mother. “Come sit.”

Niki slid into the stiff seat, Jay’s warm hand on his shoulder guiding him. The wood pressed into his bones, straining. 

Jay settled in beside him, exhaling subtly as he picked up his chopsticks. Niki could sense the shift in his posture, the way his movements became more deliberate—careful. He wasn’t sure if it was something he was supposed to pick up on, but he did, and it left a strange weight on his chest.

“Let us eat,” Jay’s father finally spoke up, voice deep, rumbling throughout the room. It spurred the rest into plating their dish with the food they wanted, hands pressed together with an echoing chorus of “I’ll eat well”. They waited until Jay’s grandmother took her first bite of bulgogi, fingers shaky on the chopsticks, before diving in themselves. 

Niki reached for the miso soup, pouring a quarter of it into his bowl, its sides warm against his palms when he held it. He inhaled. The salty, earthy aroma filled his nostrils, and the familiarity of it all was comforting. 

“You must be Riki,” Jay’s grandmother said, turning her attention to him. “Or was it Jungwonie…? Ah, forgive me. My memory isn’t what it once was.” 

Niki sat up a little straighter, willing his shoulders to relax as he met her gaze. “Nishimura Riki, halmeonim,” he confirmed, shaking his head slightly as if to assure her he wasn’t offended by the mistake. He fought back the laughter bubbling up in his throat without his permission at being compared to Jungwon, the image of his round, cat-like eyes and mischievous smile as he ruffled both his and Jay’s hair the day he left materialising into his brain. 

Jay’s grandmother nodded thoughtfully, humming. “Nishimura Riki… a strong name.” Her gaze swept over him, taking in his features with quiet inquisitiveness before she smiled, warm but knowing. “So you’re the one Jongseong’s been looking after.”

Niki blinked. “Um…”

“I wouldn’t say ‘looking after’,” Jay cut in quickly, the tips of his ears rapidly growing red once again. Poor things, Niki thought, they never get a break, do they?

Jay busied himself with his chopsticks, pretending to focus on the kimchi jjigae in front of him as he poked it around. 

“Oh? But I remember you saying you were keeping an eye on him, making sure he adjusted well,” his mom mused, sipping on the glass of wine Jay’s father had poured for everyone earlier, except for Niki and Jay. Niki supposed the glasses were there just for the aesthetics of them. Symmetry, and whatnot.

Jay’s mom lips quirked slightly, clearly enjoying Jay’s embarrassment. 

Jay exhaled sharply. “That was before.”

Niki tilted his head. “Before what?”

“Before you turned into a little menace,” Jay muttered, filling a small bowl of white rice and topping it with a few pieces of oden before pushing it towards Niki. 

Niki grinned as he popped a fish cake into his mouth. Such contradictory actions. “You love me.” 

Jay shot him a glare, mouth parting open, ready to rebut, but his grandmother only chuckled, a hint of fondness in the lilt of it. “It’s good that Jongseong has someone to banter with now,” she said. “When he was younger, he would always sit at the table all proper and serious, a frown on his little lips. Even when he was a child, he tried so hard to act like a grownup.” 

At her words, Niki’s mind flashed back to the framed pictures of a younger Jay on the walls. The one half-hidden by a vase of peonies, the one where he’s surrounded by his family, a solemn purse of lips on his face—they stood out the most. 

The cadence of her voice was joking, light, so why did Niki feel a weight settle inside his chest, heavy and unplaceable?

“Halmeoni…” Jay complained, the end of the word trailing off into a half-whine. 

“What? It’s true.” She turned back to Niki. “And you—your Korean is very good. I heard from Jongseong that you’ve been studying hard.”

Niki straightened a little, his tongue feeling heavy inside his mouth. “Ah… yes. I’ve been practicing.”

“I imagine it’s hard, being so far from home,” Jay’s mother said sympathetically. “Every time we traveled abroad, after the first week, I’d always start missing home. I could never stay longer than that.” 

Niki nodded, swallowing dryly before lifting his spoon and taking a quiet sip of miso soup, its salty tanginess trickling warmly down his throat. “Yes, it’s been a bit… hard.” 

That was an understatement. 

She smiled warmly. “Well, I’ve made the miso soup and oden for you, Riki. Just some simple recipes I’ve picked up from our rare travels to Japan.” 

Niki’s head snapped up, eyes widening. “F—For me?”

She nodded, chuckling quietly. “Jongseong mentioned you might miss home, so I thought you’d appreciate something familiar.” 

Niki blinked, taken aback. His grip on his spoon tightened briefly before he glanced at Jay, who was suddenly very interested in his rice, his fringe falling into his eyes like a curtain. 

“Thank you, eomonim,” Niki said sincerely, bowing his head. His chest felt oddly tight, warmth blooming underneath his ribs as he took another sip of the broth. It wasn’t just the effort that she’d put in—it was the fact his hyung had thought about him enough to mention it. Niki hadn’t even accepted Jay’s preposition until the very last day, which meant that Jay must’ve been completely certain that Niki would have said yes. 

“I hope it tastes okay,” Jay’s mom continued. “I had to look up the recipes again, but I used to make them for Sunghoon and Heeseung when they visited.” 

Jay’s grandmother let out a quiet huff as she chewed on some pickled radishes. “Those two boys ate like they hadn’t seen food in weeks.” 

“They probably hadn’t,” Jay’s mother laughed warmly, “with how hard they were training back then.”

Niki perked up slightly. “Sunghoon-hyung and Heeseung-hyung have been here before?” 

She nodded, the delicate furrow of her brows tinged with something like nostalgia as she waved her hand. “Oh, all the time. They practically lived here. Our house is the closest to the HYBE building, you know? Jongseong used to invite them over to sleep all the time, insisted it’d be more convenient when they had to go back to training in the mornings.” 

She took a sip of her wine, a featherlight chuckle leaving her lips as the memories seemed to all come back to her. “I never minded, plenty of room here. Heeseungie always made himself comfortable, never hesitated to raid the fridge, especially when I got lazy and made ramyeon. Sunghoonie was a little more polite, bless him, but he followed right along. The three of them were inseparable back then.” 

Niki stole a glance at the boy beside him, watching as Jay chewed his bulgogi a shade too deliberately, humming under his breath like he was trying to stop himself from reacting. It was subtle—probably something most people wouldn’t pick up on—but Niki noticed. He always noticed. Maybe because he’d spent too much time observing rather than speaking when he first got here, trying to navigate a world where every conversation felt like a puzzle he didn’t have all the pieces for.

And Jay, Sunghoon, and Heeseung had been one of the first things he did notice.

It wasn’t like they had tried to hide it—their history together, the way they just fit in a way that made Niki’s stomach twist, back when he was a lonely fourteen-year-old who barely spoke the language, surrounded by twenty-three other trainees who didn’t quite feel like his people yet. Jay spoke of Sunghoon with far too much pride in his voice, the kind he tried to downplay but never really could. And Heeseung—Heeseung had been the first person Niki had ever seen ruffle Jay’s hair and not get immediately mauled in return. Niki remembered it had left him shocked for days, watching one of the most intimidating trainees let their guard down like that: the softening of sharp brows, the arc of an embarrassed smile.

At first, Niki had hated that.

Not in an obvious way, not in a way that would make sense to anyone else, but in the way that made his chest ache just a little too much when he watched them joke around like it was effortless. Like there was something unspoken between them that he couldn’t be a part of. 

And maybe that was stupid—he barely even knew them back then—but loneliness didn’t always make sense.

He’d never say it out loud, though. Never admit that some bitter, childish part of him had wanted that same familiarity, that same ease.

Not that it mattered now.

Because somehow, without even realizing it, Niki had ended up right here—sharing a meal, sitting shoulder to shoulder with the same boy who had once felt so out of reach.

“Jongseong-ah, how are they doing? Heeseung and Sunghoon?” Jay’s mother’s mellow voice pulled him out of his head.

Jay swallowed his food, his throat bobbing with the movement, before tilting his head and answering, “Well, I still haven’t managed to convince hyung to stop eating ramyeon almost three times a week, but besides that, he’s doing well.” He huffed a quiet, almost inaudible laugh before continuing, “Sunghoon’s just… the same as usual, I guess. Told me to tell you he’s been eating well and not to worry so much. They both went back home to spend New Years with their families.”

Jay’s mother sighed fondly. “Ah, those boys.” 

Niki let the conversation wash over him as he smiled slightly, spooning more miso soup into his bowl. He was trying to process the warmth between his ribs, the way the flavors of home mixed with the strange but oddly comforting atmosphere of Jay’s family. It wasn’t quite the same as his own family dinners—his family was louder, messier, full of overlapping voices and playful bickering—but there was something about this that still felt… easy.

Truthfully, he’d been immensely nervous when he’d accepted Jay’s invitation. What if he wasn’t actually welcomed? What if Jay’s parents had accepted having him over for such an intimate holiday just out of a sense of contemptuous pity, out of an obligation to their newly debuted son they felt they had to fulfill. What if he said something stupid or offensive, or ran his mouth excessively? What if they disliked him, became full of doubts about his worthiness—as Jay’s friend, as a member of ENHYPEN? 

But now, sitting here, the warmth of miso soup trickling down his throat as he watched Jay softly conversate with his grandmother while she piled more food on his plate, rubbing his ear teasingly between her wrinkly fingers, insisting that he needed to eat more if he wanted to grow taller, he finally allowed himself to relax, to slouch back against the wooden back post of his chair and chuckle lightly as Jay’s mother shared embarrassing stories of Jay as a child in between bites of kimchi jjigae. 

Jay’s father suddenly cleared his throat. 

A quiet, insignificant sound, yet it shifted the entire room.

The soft murmurs of conversation halted, and Niki felt Jay stiffen up beside him, shoulders coiled taut like a string being pulled as Jay’s father’s piercing eyes steered completely clear of Jay and landed on Niki. 

Setting his chopsticks down, he asked in a deep, gravelly tone, “Riki-ssi, your parents let you leave Japan at an extremely young age, is that right?”

Startled, Niki straightened up, swallowing dryly before responding, “Yes, sir.” 

Jay’s father studied him for a moment, his indecipherable gaze tracing the movement of Niki’s eyes as they fluttered around, unsure of where to look, cowering underneath the heavy pressure. 

“Were they truly okay with that?” 

Niki’s grip on his cutlery tightened indescribably. The question was calm and windless, nothing like an accusation, not outright, but there was something pointed in the way it was asked, serrated and needle pricking. A curiosity that dug too deep, prodding at a darkened vastness Niki preferred to bury in the back of his mind. 

Niki felt his breath hitch. The dithering comfort he’d begun to feel—it wavered, slipping between his fingers like crystal water. 

His parents had been the first ones to know of his dream. Who else would it have been? 

They had owned a dance studio after all—smiling softly as they guided his tiny hands, encouraging him from the moment he could toddle his way across the wooden floors. He had learned to move before he could properly speak, his clumsy limbs swaying to the rhythm of a low jazz tune crackling from a vintage radio, displayed among various trinkets on the shelf in their living room. A graceless child, stumbling and flailing like a newborn fawn, yet unafraid, because the music made him feel something too immeasurable to keep inside.

It had always been inevitable. 

That he would sit them down on their maroon, cotton couch at just fourteen years old, after eleven years of flying through all kinds of dance genres—from jazz to ballet, hip-hop to contemporary, b-boying to latino, and most recently, k-pop—the words that would come next, tumbling down his lips with a trembling intensity, a tremendous covet, would be: 

“I want to be an idol.” 

His mother’s steady hands had cupped his cheeks, kneeling beside him as she lightly brushed her lips against his temple. “You were born to be a star, my dear.” 

And just like that, they had let him go, setting him free to soar towards his dream, chasing it like a parched cardinal, greedy with want. 

They had always been supportive. They knew they couldn’t have kept him for much longer, not without him growing restless, wings itching for flight.

Still, Niki knew it had hurt them, even if they hadn’t once let it show. 

Because sending their fourteen year old son to another country, all alone except for the staff HYBE had arranged to help him settle in, his language skills barely above conversational—it couldn’t have been easy. 

And Niki hadn’t wanted to admit it, to think too much about it, about their trembling hands as they cradled him in their embrace at the airport, before reluctantly letting him board, because the guilt threatening to drown him and pull him under had been far too much to deal with. Overflowing. He didn’t know what to do with it, how to swallow it down so it’d feel less painful. 

He was glad they still had his sisters, though. 

Niki bit the inside of his cheek, hard, the coppery taste filling his mouth before he parted open his lips to finally respond. “They… they were worried,” he said, his voice quiet. “I was young, so… of course they were. But they were supportive of me nonetheless.” 

Jay’s father studied him for a moment longer, before leaning back slightly. He hummed, rolling his wine glass between his fingers. “I see.”

He didn’t sound judgemental. He didn’t sound like anything. His tone of voice was so incredibly indecipherable it almost drove Niki crazy. But the way he was looking at Niki felt like he was assessing something, weighing it carefully in his mind. 

Then, after a pause, in perfectly pronounced Japanese—

“Do you regret it?” 

It was so sudden, so precise, cutting straight to the bone with no reluctance. The language shift caught him off guard, the familiar pronounced syllables of his mother tongue sounding so foreign coming out of the man’s mouth.

Jay’s mother set her chopsticks down. It was a small, nearly imperceptible movement, but it said enough. 

Jay spoke up before Niki could, words hissed through gritted teeth, “Abeoji.”

Just one word. A quiet warning.

Niki didn’t mean to, but the question sunk, uninvited, into his bones, slithering clandestinely between the hollow spaces, pressing against the parts of himself that were still raw and blistered and bleeding, jagged, unfitting pieces he’d shoved to the side and promptly avoided with all of his might. The excuses kept coming: he had other stuff to focus on, training, securing a debut place, dancing, improving his vocals, and then—media-training, photoshoots, music video shootings, interviews, selfies, weverse posts made by fans he had to reply to. They were never ending, and at one point, the routine became so engraved into him, it was almost comforting. He’d forgotten about those pieces that had no place, that pierced into his sides angrily, demanding they be heard.

But right now, with Jay’s father staring him down—poised, patient, unrelenting—there was nowhere to run. No rehearsed responses to fall back on. No convenient distractions to turn to. Just the weight of the question, settling deep in his chest like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples across the vast surface. 

Do you regret it?

A part of him wanted to scoff. What kind of question was that? 

He had everything now. The dream he had chased across the ocean, the stage he had bled and sweated for, the name he had carved for himself in an industry that devoured the weak. He had a group, brothers—family. He had fans who screamed his name, who loved him in a way that felt both exhilarating and terrifying. He had worked too hard, sacrificed too much, to let himself dwell on what ifs.

And yet—

There were nights when he dreamed of home. Of walking through the familiar streets of Okayama, past the small ramen shop his family used to frequent, past the dance studio where he had spent hours spinning, leaping, defying gravity. Of sitting in his childhood bedroom, surrounded by the scent of his mother’s cooking, the sound of his sisters bickering over something stupid. He dreamed of being fourteen again, of standing in the airport with his father’s steady hand on his shoulder, his mother’s tearful smile, his sisters clinging to him like they could keep him from leaving.

And when he woke up, disoriented in their Seoul dorm, the city skyline stretching endlessly beyond his window, there was always a moment—just a second—where he forgot where he was.

So no. He didn’t regret it. 

But that didn’t mean it hadn’t cost him.

Jay shifted next to him. He was tenser than before, jaw clenched like he was struggling to keep the words from gushing out, but his knee pressed lightly against Niki’s underneath the table. A subtle reassurance.

Niki swallowed dryly, tingling ants crawling up his throat. He lifted his gaze, meeting Jay’s father’s eyes directly for the first time that evening. His heartbeat thrummed against his ribs, but his voice was steady when he finally spoke. 

“No,” he said in Japanese. “I miss home. But I do not regret anything.”

A beat of silence passed.

Jay’s father exhaled slowly. He swirled his wine glass between his fingers, letting the rich liquid coat the sides in slow, deliberate circles. Then in the same, impeccably pronounced Japanese—

“It’s a shame,” he uttered, tinged with disappointment. He tilted his head imperceptibly, as if studying something neither of them could see. “You were raised to do more.” 

The sentence was said in Japanese, his gaze never leaving Niki as he formed the words, yet Niki didn’t think they were for him.

Because the moment they left his father’s mouth, Jay went unbearably still. 

His chopsticks hovered just above his plate, his knuckles pale against the metal. His expression remained unreadable, perfectly composed, the kind of blankness that came not from unawareness but from years of careful practice.

Niki’s heartbeat pounded against his ears, eyes flitting uncertainly between Jay and his father. 

He could feel it, the shift in the air, the way it grew dense and suffocating. He could feel it in the coiled rigidness of Jay’s shoulders, unease splaying against his shoulder blades like a heavy hand. He could feel it in the way his fingers curled, barely trembling, around the metal chopsticks. He didn’t say anything, didn’t even utter a word. It was silent, unbearably so. 

Jay’s mother sighed quietly, tucking her hair behind her ear with a restless hand, her movements uneasy. A disapproving frown creased her face as she cast a fleeting glance at Ni-ki—her gaze tinged with something almost apologetic, as if embarrassed by her husband’s actions, by this side of their family that Ni-ki was now witnessing.

It occurred to him, the simmering feeling that this wasn’t the first time this conversation had happened, that Jay had heard these words before, solely cruel and dripping with dissatisfaction.

Niki felt something slot into place. 

It hadn’t been about him at all. 

The realization settled like a pit in his stomach, sickly and heavy with a weight he didn’t know what to do with. Every word Jay’s father had spoken—calm, measured, insidiously polite—had only been a means to an end. The question about Niki’s parents, the assessment of his choices, the curiosity laced with something sharper, something laced with judgment—it had all just been a tool, a way to carve out something deeper, something entirely unrelated to Niki himself.

Jay’s father had simply been making an example out of him.

He had been saying, Look at him. Look at how much he gave up. This is precisely what I didn’t want for you.

Because in his mind, Niki had done exactly what Jay shouldn’t have.

He had left home, left his family, pursued a future that was unstable, unpredictable, with no guarantees. And yet, his parents had let him go. Encouraged him. Believed in him.

Jay’s father, on the other hand—

Niki didn’t even need to finish the thought. He could see it, in the way Jay remained completely unmoving, his entire body drawn tight like a string about to snap. He could see it in the way his mother’s fingers twitched slightly against the tablecloth, in the way his grandmother’s eyes flickered between them, her lips pressing together like she wanted to say something, but didn’t.

Most of all, he could see it in the unspoken weight hanging between father and son.

A weight that had clearly been there for a long, long time.

Jay’s father didn’t just dislike the idol career—he resented it. He saw it as unstable, reckless, childish. He had wanted Jay to follow a different path, one that was safe, secure, predetermined. He had wanted Jay to inherit whatever legacy he had built for him. And instead, Jay had chosen this.

Niki wasn’t stupid. He had always sensed there was something unspoken between Jay and his father. It wasn’t obvious—Jay was Jay, after all, good at laughing things off, at redirecting conversations, at steering things into lighter, easier places. But there were moments, glimpses, little cracks in the facade that Niki had learned to catch. The way Jay tensed at the mention of his father. The way his voice wavered—just slightly—whenever he spoke about home. The way his jokes about their family business felt more like a shield than anything else.

But this—this was the first time Niki was seeing it so plainly. So starkly.

And it made his stomach twist.

Jay’s father exhaled, setting his wine glass down with a quiet clink. His expression remained unreadable, the same cool, detached mask he had worn all evening. But the words had already settled, lingering in the space between them like smoky fume, thick and insidious.

Niki inhaled slowly, his hands curling into fists against his lap, nails digging crescent moons into his palms, sharp enough to ground himself but not enough to break skin. He shifted his knee underneath the table, pressing it more firmly against Jay’s, hoping—uselessly, helplessly—that his show of wordless solidarity might bring his hyung some semblance of comfort, as little as it might be. To show him that he was here, that Jay wasn’t alone. That Niki had his back, no matter what.

But Jay was still frozen, eyes fixed somewhere past his plate, past this conversation, past all of this, like he wasn’t even here anymore. And yet—Niki could see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers had curled just slightly tighter, the faintest tremor against silver. 

And for the first time since this conversation had started, Niki felt something serrated crawl up his spine.

Anger. 

Because what the fuck?

Niki might not have known the full extent of Jay’s relationship with his father, might not have known the exact words exchanged between them over the years, but he didn’t need to. He could see it, clear as day, in the suffocating silence that followed, in the quiet resignation in Jay’s mother’s gaze, in the way Jay himself refused to react, refused to acknowledge it. 

Like he had long learned that fighting back was futile. 

Niki had never wanted to punch someone’s parent before. But right now—

He felt his pulse spike up, veins piercing against his skin. 

Because Jay was so passionate. About everything he did. About the music they made, the performances they poured their entire souls into, the grueling hours in the studios, dragging agonizingly late into the night, the relentless pursuit of improvement. He worked harder than anyone Niki knew—pushing himself past the breaking point again and again, not because anyone demanded it of him, but because he wouldn’t allow himself to settle for anything less than his best. 

Niki had seen him exhausted to the bone, limbs shaking, eyes rimmed red, yet still getting up the next day to do it all over again. Because he loved this. He lived for this. And to have someone—his own father—belittle that, to reduce it to a childish mistake, a disappointment, a waste—

Niki’s throat burned. 

He glanced at Jay’s mother. She wasn’t looking at either of them now, her lips pressed into a thin line, eyes cast downward. His grandmother, on the other hand, was watching the scene carefully, a quiet, mauve storm flickering behind her gaze, as if she were waiting, watching to see if someone would finally speak. 

And for once, despite all the nervousness, all the doubts, all the need to please seared into him ever since birth, Niki wasn’t just going to sit back and watch anymore. 

With deliberate ease, he set down his cutlery, the soft clink of it sounding almost too loud and grating in the smoky silence of the room. He lifted his head, locking eyes with Jay’s father’s heavy, piercing gaze, before smiling wilfully. 

“I guess that depends on what you define as ‘more’,” he said. His voice was steady, calm, but there was something coiled beneath the surface, something sharp-edged and unwavering. “Because, personally, I think Jay-hyung is doing better than ever.”

Jay tensed. A flicker of motion—his head barely tilting, his fingers twitching, like he was registering Niki’s voice through the haze. But Niki didn’t stop.

“He didn’t get where he is because it was the easier choice,” he continued, watching as Jay’s father’s brows furrowed ever so slightly, but Niki refused to flinch. “He’s here because he fought for it. Because he earned it.“ He exhaled through his nose, voice polite, respectful, but firm. “And whether you approve of it or not, sir, your son has already built something for himself that no one else can take away.”

Jay’s father studied him for a long moment, his face unreadable. The candlelight flickered against the polished surface of the table, reflecting in the deep red of his wine glass. He exuded the kind of power that didn’t need to be spoken aloud—controlled, deliberate, and unwavering.

And yet, Niki didn’t look away.

A strange kind of clarity settled over him. He had spent hours upon hours, months upon months in this industry learning when to hold his tongue, when to be polite, when to defer. He had been taught how to smile even when his stomach churned, how to bow even when the words spoken at him stung, how to endure without ever letting it show. But this—this was different.

This wasn’t about himself.

This was about Jay.

Jay, who had never once let Niki feel like he was too young to stand beside him. Jay, who had been the first to reach out all those years ago, stumbling through clumsy Japanese just to make him feel less alone. Jay, who had given Niki space to grow into himself, who had fought for him, who had believed in him before Ni-ki even knew how to believe in himself.

So if Jay was going to sit here and take this, if he was going to let his father’s words weigh on him like an iron shackle, then Niki would do what he always did.

He would have his hyung’s back.

A small, sharp exhale broke the silence. Jay’s father tilted his head slightly, his wine glass balanced between his fingers, his expression as carefully neutral as ever. “And you think that justifies it?” he asked smoothly.

Niki’s jaw tightened.

“I think that’s not my place to say,” he answered honestly. “But I also think that’s not yours, either.”

Jay’s father’s movements halted, still as a shadow that had yet to draw in a breath.

Something flickered behind his gaze, not quite anger, not quite surprise, but something dark and sharp-edged.

Niki heard Jay’s mother inhale sharply from opposite him. Jay’s grandmother, on the other hand—her lips quirked slightly.

For a long, drawn-out, unbearable moment, the table was doused in silence, only the unceasing ticking of a dark wooden clock persisted against it. 

Then, finally—Jay’s father exhaled slowly, setting his wine glass down with a quiet clink. 

It was a measured, deliberate motion, yet Niki couldn’t shake the feeling that he had lost something in this exchange. Or perhaps, that he had simply decided it wasn’t worth his time.

“I see.”

Nothing more. No explosion of words. No scolding, no retort. Just two simple, meaningless words, laced with an exhaustion that made Niki’s stomach twist.

Jay’s father leaned back in his chair, brushing nonexistent dust off his cufflink. “You’re a bold one,” he remarked idly, casting Niki a brief, assessing glance before at long last turning his gaze to his son.

Jay finally moved.

It was subtle—his hand shifting slightly against the table, his shoulders loosening just the tiniest fraction—but Niki caught it. His knee pressed back against Niki’s, just barely. A silent acknowledgement, a relieved breath of something that felt like a thank you.

“I hope,” his father continued quietly, “that you won’t regret that boldness one day.”