Chapter Text
It has 1,095 days—3 years—since Lee Minho and Han Jisung broke up.
It feels so fast yet so slow at the same time. Repeating the same motto in their heads. Take it one day at a time. Small steps, big steps, do not stop moving forward. That is how you will get over this.
At first, they crawled, feeling like they were never going to get anywhere soon. Then, they began to walk; it didn’t seem as slow, but it still took time to move on. Then time took up speed as they felt themselves jogging, it took less effort to make distance, but it still could be faster. Finally, they built it into a sprint, looking ahead without looking back and seeing others catching up.
However, the difference is that Minho doesn’t seem to have moved a single inch from where they began. No matter how hard he pushed himself to move his legs—to run with all his might—he always remained stuck in the same spot all this time. Forced to watch Jisung run full speed ahead of him, not turning back and seeing him or their memories catch up to him. As if Jisung glued wings to the back of his legs and flew away—away from Minho—so quickly.
Jisung has been making it higher up the chain in his music career. Starting as a young musician with a couple won in his pocket and a dream, now being seen taking interviews with companies and performing at growing venues. His sense of style, particularly in his lyricism, began to emerge clearer and more consistent. Building his discography with specific themes that told Jisung’s story from his heart and soul.
Even the way he dressed began to improve and represent him better than before. No more having such diversity of clothing in his closet that he fails to layer or match any article to his liking. Jisung can finally express himself and his creativity through the way he dresses, without worrying that this isn’t his true self. Every piece of fabric and fold is perfectly fitted to him.
Sitting down in the recording booth, preparing to be interviewed by reporters at Teen Vogue, Jisung thinks back to how he dreamt of being in the very spot he is in this moment. People listening to his music, hearing the meaning in his lyrics, and caring to understand him as a person and musical artist. All he dreamt of his whole life was to be heard, to be understood, to be wanted.
Inside a quiet recording booth, soft lighting and two microphones are between them.
The red lights flicker on, indicating that all microphones and devices are recording. Whatever is shared in this room, unless specified, will be turned into a transcript and an officially published article.
Jisung shifts slightly in his chair, eyes calm but focused. He’s not nervous—just present.
The reporter begins to speak, starting the interview off quickly. “First off, Jisung, thank you for sitting down with us today. I know fans are going to love hearing directly from you. How are you feeling?”
Jisung takes a deep breath, then chuckles softly with a smile. “Honestly… surreal. I’ve done interviews before, but something about this—this moment—feels different.”
He pauses. “It’s a full circle, in a way. I used to dream about this exact setup. Just… someone sitting down with me, not just asking about choreography or streams, but wanting to understand me. The person. The artist.
The reporter offers an understanding smile and nods their head. “That’s exactly what we want to do. Let’s start there—what was that dream for you, really? Before the fame, before the albums?
“You know, I was that kid scribbling lyrics on bus rides, recording demos under blankets at 2 AM so I wouldn’t wake my family. I just wanted to be heard. Understood. When I was performing on the streets, I’d feel this knot in my chest. Not because I was shy, but because I was terrified of people not getting it. Judging me. Not connecting.” Jisung allows himself to be a bit vulnerable when sharing his backstory and the beginning of music production.
“Did you ever feel like giving up?”
“More times than I can count. There were nights I thought, Maybe I’m not cut out for this. Maybe I’ll always be that anxious guy who hides behind his lyrics. But music was never just a hobby—it was how I breathed. And even if I was afraid, I kept writing. Kept showing up.” Jisung feels a weight off his shoulders as he confesses those inner thoughts out loud.
The reporter nods their head, clasping their hands over their knee as they sit comfortably. “And now you’re here. In that dream space. Do you still feel that fear?”
Jisung can’t help but smile. “It’s still there, a little, but it’s not paralyzing anymore. I’ve gone from someone afraid of the spotlight to someone who knows he was born for it. Not because I want attention, but because I finally believe I have something worth saying. I used to doubt if I could make people feel something. Now… I see their faces at concerts, I hear their stories, and I realize—they understand me, too. That’s all I ever wanted.”
The reporter pouts in understanding, nodding their head and feeling moved by the simple story.”Oh wow… That’s powerful. And your lyrics—they’ve always had this emotional rawness. Fans talk a lot about how they feel seen by your songs.”
“That’s the biggest gift—honestly. To know that someone out there hears my voice and says, That’s me. That’s what I couldn’t put into words. I think that’s when I knew I’d made it—not the awards or numbers—but the connection.”
The reporter nods and looks down at their script, seeing what is next on the chopping block for questions. “Your fans often wonder… is there a specific person behind some of your more intimate lyrics? There’s this recurring sense of a love that was deep, maybe even long-lasting.”
For a brief second, Jisung’s expression stills. His gaze lowers—not in panic, but like something sharp brushed across old skin.
“Ah… right. That…” His voice is light—too light—like he’s skipping a stone across a lake just to avoid diving in.
Jisung lets out a sigh and begins to reply. “Yeah, there was someone. It was… a long time ago now. We were together for a long time, but I never really talked about it publicly — I made that choice early on. Not because I was hiding it, but… I guess I needed to protect something that felt real—keep it untouched by the world.”
Internally, though, the question hits harder than he lets on. He finds himself picking at his skin against his knuckles, trying to keep his cool. A familiar pang blooms quietly in his chest, not sharp, just hollow. The kind of feeling you forget until someone accidentally hands it back to you. He hasn’t thought about him in a while. Not really. Not like this.
After the small pause, Jisung continues. But it’s not something I carry with me anymore.” HE shrugs and lowers his head. “No hard feelings anymore, no more loose ends. It was part of the journey, and I’ve moved on, fully. There's no weight there now.”
Jisung leans back slightly, flashing a small smile that doesn’t quite touch his eyes. He’s polished. In control. But there’s a flicker of silence afterward, like something unsaid just hung in the air and left quietly.
The reporter almost doesn’t know what to say. But being media trained, they do not let the silence linger any longer. “That takes a lot of strength. To let go and keep growing.”
“Yeah. Growth… is strange. Sometimes it looks like forgetting. Other times, it’s just learning how to live with the echo. Either way, it doesn’t control me anymore. That’s what matters.”
Moving on, the reporter reads off the final question that was left by the fans. “If you could go back and talk to that anxious guy performing on the streets, what would you say?”
Jisung lets out a breath and smiles, leaning back in his seat. Glad to be back on a different topic. “I’d tell him, Keep going. You’re not wrong for feeling too much. One day, they’ll hear you…and more importantly, they’ll understand you. And I think… that would’ve been enough for him to keep chasing this.”
Moving into a bigger and brighter person seemed to have been second nature to Jisung. In three years, even with hidden struggle behind the curtains, he made it all look easy.
Even in the dating realm. He found himself being asked out on many dates—even having the confidence to ask out people himself—and letting himself find love within somebody new.
But this… this was something that he couldn’t make look easy. No matter how many dates he went on, no matter how hard he tried, or how many people he tried—none of them seemed to stick. Even the smallest thing about them forced Jisung and them to not fit like two pieces in a puzzle. And sometimes, the dates reminded him too much of Minho. Whether or not he realized it, maybe that is why he pulled away from them so fast.
He saw the reflection of his past too much in his present.
On the other hand, Minho failed to attach wings to his legs and fly away—away from Jisung—so quickly. No matter how hard he tries, his feet remain glued to the ground, as if he is slowly but surely sinking deeper and deeper into the past.
Despite getting dozens of raises and promotions in his career of being a dancer and performer, or moving into a bigger house in a better part of the city, or being satisfied with his body and hairstyle, Minho can’t seem to truly find or be himself. The feeling like there’s something, or rather someone, is still missing to help him feel whole again is eating away at him.
Even this breakup and inability to move on have consumed him at his work as a dancer.
“Minho-hyung?” A dancer politely walks up to the stretching dance instructor in the center of the room.
Minho brushes his hair back and looks up at his friend, lowering his hips to the side as he stretches his legs out on the floor. “Hey, what's up?” He gives a polite smile.
The dancer gives a bow, soon squatting down to meet somewhat eye-level with him. “Are you okay?”
Minho is taken aback for a moment. He slowly blinks with his bunny teeth slightly peeking out through his gaped mouth. He doesn’t speak, just stares blankly at the person before him, registering the words coming from his mouth. Are you okay? There are more than plenty that he is not okay about. It can be as little as the fact that the collar of his t-shirt is tugging too tightly on his neck to the fact that he is not over his ex from three years ago. Pathetic.
“Hm? Why do you say that?” He quickly covers his internal thoughts, stretching his arms above his head as he twists himself side to side.
His friend sighs and decides to join in with the stretching. Lifting his arms behind his back, rolling his shoulders forward. “You haven’t been yourself lately. And I mean in the way that your choreography has changed… a lot.”
Minho doesn’t speak; he just raises a brow.
“The last few months, you haven’t touched any of the songs or choreo you were planning to do.” The friend shrugs. “Whenever you put your mind to something, you never let go. And the fact you let go… I guess - just took me off guard?”
“I just haven’t had the right inspiration to get those choreographed - I want it perfect, you know?” Minho responds. Though this is true, he is hiding a lot of details on what exactly took such inspiration from him. What sucked the life out of him.
His friend nods. “I understand - but - you just seem… different…”
“Different how?”
“It’s not just that you haven’t done those songs or choreography - but you haven’t had such energy or hype in a long time. And I mean, a long time.”
Well shit.
“I didn’t want to say, but the last year, you have completely changed your style as a dancer - which isn’t a bad thing, of course! But it just took such a sudden turn in a different direction that I didn’t even have the time to register it.”
Minho fiddles with his thumbs for a moment, sucking in his lips into his mouth and pondering into his next thoughts carefully. He lets out a sigh through his nose and pinches at the end of his ears—a recent habit he picked up he didn’t realize till he watched back his recordings—clearing his throat. “I’ll be honest with you…” He looks at his dancer in his eyes.
He continues as the dancer remains silent to allow room to speak. “I have been trying to get over some personal things in my life… but time doesn’t seem to pause for me to catch up.”
The mood shifts. It is much more intimate. Warmer. Softer. Fragile. Delicate. Feeling like if you tried to speak, everything might fall apart right then and there. Even the wrong breath at the wrong time could tip the balance.
“Ah shit - sorry… made it all depressing on you-“ Minho quickly tips the balance and brings it back to the more casual setting. Rubbing the back of his neck as he feels it rise up in temperature. He hasn’t been this vulnerable with anybody besides his cats, who he wonders if they actually understand him.
The dancer quickly shakes his head and gestures his hands in front of him. “No no, please, don’t apologize. It’s okay, seriously.” He clears his throat and gives a small smile. “You can express your feelings, even if it isn’t the brightest. It’s normal.”
A sense of relief washes over the two. A sense of understanding and appreciation.
“Thanks…” Minho speaks softly, letting his body release all tension that kept him so stiff at the moment.
“I really do want to get to those more energetic choreography and songs. I just… need to get back into rhythm - ya know?” He chuckles to himself and shrugs his shoulders.
The dancer nods his head. “Oh yes definitely. I’m sure you’ll get into it.” He presses his hands against his thighs as he pushes himself straight back on his feet. “If you ever need assistance, remember you have a whole team behind you.”
Minho nods gratefully. “I’ll never forget that. Thank you.” He gives a small smile as he watches the dancer excuse himself, leaving the studio. Leaving Minho all alone in such a large space, again.
Letting out a sigh, finding balance within himself, Minho pushes himself to his feet and begins to pack up his bag. It’s about time he heads back home. Home being a humble home with his three sweet cats that he misses so much.
𝜗𝜚
Opening his door, Minho is quickly greeted by soft purrs and meows, furry tails wrapping around his ankles. Kneeling down to give his babies sweet pets on the top of their head, he smiles. “Did you miss me? I’m sure you guys did.” He shuts the door behind him as he walks over to the kitchen.
Glancing over to the food bowls, he sees how they’re all wiped and licked clean. They must be hungry.
“Soonie, Doongie, Dori!! Come here and get your dinner!!” He calls out as he pours and cuts the food into their bowls one by one, shaking the bowls around as he places them back onto the ground.
He smiles as he stands idle by watching all three cats rush to the bowls and eat to their hearts content. His heart grows full and walks over to them, petting and scratching them gently, praising them as they eat so well. “Always eat well, my loves~”
Still settling back home after a long day at the studio, Minho leaves his cats be, for now, and heads to his bedroom.
Tearing off his sweater dance clothes, embracing the cool air that tickles against his skin as he steps into the shower. Turning the heat up to help soothe his sore body, letting the shower walls and mirror fog up from the condensation.
Humming to himself as he washes his hair and body, shutting his eyes to escape from reality for a bit. Letting the showers heat envelope his body, completely relaxing as he feels the soap lather all over. Even though the showers didn't last long, he cherished every moment as a break.
Drying himself off, keeping his towel wrapped around his waist and a small towel around his shoulders to keep his hair from dripping down, he stumbles to his closet.
Pushing and pulling hangers back and forth, trying to look for an outfit that he shall reside in for the rest of the night. His eyebrows furrow in frustration as none of the clothing options seem comfortable enough for him. They all have been worn before, or the texture doesn’t feel right for after such a relaxing shower, or the color isn’t what he feels appealed to right now. His brain is racked with thoughts.
But he stops at a specific hoodie that catches his attention.
It’s oversized and extra thick. It’s fully gray and the only design it has is white whispy wings on the back.
Pang.
“Hyung, it’s cold out. Take this hoodie for now, I don’t want you catching a cold with just that tshirt on.”
“Jisung-ah, it’s not that cold out. I’ve worn shorts and a tank top in this weather. I’ll be fine.”
“Oh? You don’t want to talk about that weeklong cough and sniffling you had after that day? Hm?” Jisung begins to taunt Minho, getting on his nerves.
Minho rolls his eyes. “I was not sick! I was having allergies!”
“Allergies? To what?”
“You.”
“Oh ha.” Jisung rolls his eyes this time, shoving the hoodie right into his hands.
“What can I say, I’m a comedian.” Minho chuckles as he unwillingly takes the hoodie and begins to put it on.
Jisung chuckles. “And that’s why I started dating you.”
“Aw… it wasn’t because of my amazingly and dashingly charming looks?” Minho strikes a pose, pressing a hand against his head with an angled arm, a hand on his hip, and one leg bent in the air behind him.
Jisung lets out a full heart life as he admires the cute boy in front of him. Feeling his cheeks become warm as he blushes, fighting the urge to kiss him right then and there. “Oh shut up- just take the hoodie and go now, you’re going to hit the night traffic.”
“You want me gone so badly? You wound me Han Jisung…” Minho steps closer as he grips the left side of his chest, pretending to feel heart ache from such words.
“Yet you still love me all the same.” Jisung chuckles, pushing back a strand of hair behind his lover’s ear as he glances between his eyes and his lips.
Minho slowly guides his hands up Jisung’s back, stopping right at the back of his head and holding his waist with a tight grip. “I love you always and forever.”
They meet in the middle as their lips press together. Click. Like the final piece of the puzzle has been finally found and connected into place. Hearts swelling up, breaths caught within the other, time stopped just for the two of them… just as it should be.
But it isn’t like that. Not anymore at least.
They depart from the kiss, looking at each other with longing eyes.
“I’ll give you the hoodie back tomorrow.” Minho says as he begins to make his way towards the door, his hand still interlocked with Jisung’s dragging behind him.
Jisung scrunches his nose. “It’s yours now, silly. What’s mine is yours… and what’s yours is mine~”
That hoodie was never given back since that day.
Pang.
Minho grips onto the hoodie as memories flood back into his mind. His teeth grits as he remains strong, keeping his cool as he yanks the hoodie off the hanger. Shaking off all the thoughts and putting the hoodie back on.
Despite the hoodie not being with the original owner for years, Minho can’t help but sink the neckline of the hoodie into his nose. The scent of Jisung he searches desperately for. But he can no longer find it. And he hasn’t for years. But he will never stop searching for it.
Searching for what they had back. Searching for him back.