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Changbin, Chan’s best friend of more than a decade, has moved into Seungmin (and Chan, and their mom’s) house because it’s more convenient to drive to college everyday from here than his own house. Seungmin isn't necessarily opposed. He’s going to the same college, so all this means is that there’ll occasionally be one more person in the car when Chan drives him.
Except he forgets that someone moving into his house means they are always around. Changbin comes home with them, or, on the days he drives himself (if their schedules don't align) he’ll come downstairs to scour the fridge and see Changbin slipping his shoes off in front of the door.
This all makes an odd issue arise.
In all the years that Chan and Changbin have been friends, Seungmin realizes he’s never had a real conversation with him. They know each other, obviously, have known each other since Seungmin was five and Chan and Changbin were both six, the first time Chan had come home excited about his new friend. But they've never… talked.
So sitting out here on Seungmin’s porch in the middle of the night, during the rare stretch of the year where Seungmin and Changbin are both the same age (eighteen, currently), Seungmin’s trying to figure out why’s never talked to him.
“Hey, Min.” That’s what Chan calls him, and Changbin has known him so long that they were too young to think it was weird to call him what his brother does, and it stuck. Changbin sits down next to him, rubbing his arms in the chill.
The last couple years, Seungmin knows that he’s
pointedly avoided talking to Changbin because he’s suddenly become aware of how embarrassing it is to be alive, but he’s always found Changbin the most bearable of all of Chan’s friends. Seungmin’s just confused as to why Changbin came out here to sit next to him at all, and he’s even more confused as to why he’d started talking to him.
But Seungmin’s nothing if not polite, so he indulges him, of course.
“Hi, Changbin.”
“Whaddaya doin’ out here?” That’s something Seungmin’s noticed about Changbin– the way he blends words all into one blurry phrase. Like he can't bother to take his time with words as long as he gets his point across.
“I don't know. Just sitting, I guess. Just thinking.”
Changbin snorts, though good naturedly. “Got a lot to think ‘bout on this particular night?”
Seungmin sighs. “Mostly wondering why you're talking to me at all, actually.” It comes out much more self pitying than he means to. He’s just confused. Honestly.
“Aw, don't say it like that. But Chan was talking about you, and I realized I know much less about you than I should, y’know. Having known you this long, technically. Livin’ with ya, and whatnot.”
“Little late to start though, huh?”
Changbin’s quiet for a second, before he leans back on his hands, his palms sounding roughly against the concrete. “Nah. It’s never too late to start, Min.”
It’s a much heavier statement than either of them are ready for, which Changbin seems to understand, because he changes the topic.
“Anyway. Tell me things about yourself.”
“Things like…?”
“Pretend you're setting up a dating profile, maybe.” There’s an awkward beat of silence. “Or maybe a friend profile is better. In context. Cause. Y’know. I’m not trying to date you.” Changbin scratches his arm, and then coughs.
It's the only thing Seungmin has smiled at this whole conversation, knowing that someone who seems like such a mix of cool guy and endearing loser can also be embarrassed.
“Friend profile… Um. I’m a dog person. I’m very sarcastic. Most people think I’m quiet, which is true to an extent? But I don't think I’m like that around my friends.”
Changbin hums in response. “I like dogs too. I like music. Making and listening. I like going to the gym.” He stops talking just to flex his arms, which Seungmin somehow finds funny and not extremely irritating. Maybe it’s how honest Changbin looks as he does it. (Maybe it’s because he actually really likes looking at Changbin’s arms.) “I am not very sarcastic. Minho says it’s a real issue how much sarcasm I miss. But, I don't think I miss a lot. I just ignore it.” He smiles to himself. “Like how you looked like talking to me was the last thing you wanted to do, but you're entertaining me anyway, which I appreciate.”
Seungmin's ears burn at knowing he’s been so obvious, but he nods. “Um. Sorry. You're welcome. I don't know.”
Changbin shakes his head at the apology, still smiling, and– this cannot be the first time Seungmin’s noticing his dimples, but it feels like it is. Changbin wipes his palms along the thighs of his jeans, and then awkwardly pats Seungmin on his shoulder before getting up.
“Good conversation, Min. I’ll be back another time to talk more.”
The idea of Changbin planning their conversations in advance is so ridiculous it makes Seungmin crack a smile, one he wipes off as soon as he sees Changbin smiling down at him, looking away wordlessly.
“I’m gonna get through to you, Min.” The words are a murmur, the door closing softly behind Changbin right after, but they send something beating in Seungmin's heart. Something traitorous.
—
Later that night, lying in bed, Seungmin is staring at his ceiling dissecting the conversation he had with Changbin. He remembers the first time Changbin ever came over to their house: Seungmin had been shy and hid behind his mom, peeking through her legs while Changbin waved at him excitedly.
After that, Changbin became a normal occurrence, and once they were old enough to drive, he was over nearly every day. Seungmin remembers waking up to Changbin making breakfast one morning and wondering if he was in an episode of the twilight zone.
(Changbin, in a pair of too-short-gym-shorts, no shirt and Seungmin’s mom’s hot pink apron. Standing over their oven, waiting for his protein pancake to finish cooking all the way through.)
So it's odd that, even after all that, Seungmin doesn't really know him. Of course Seungmin is someone that likes to keep to himself, but there are a handful of people that have managed to get under his skin. Jisung, Jeongin, Hyunjin. He doesn't remember when it happened, but they've managed, somehow, knowing him for only a few years. How has Changbin managed to stay so far out of Seungmin's orbit?
It isn't as serious as Seungmin's making it out to be, evidently. He’s just confused. He wonders what their relationship would be like now if they had become friends when they were six. He can't imagine how they've managed to skirt around each other for more than a decade. He doesn't know if it was entirely his fault or not, either.
He also stays up thinking about the weight of Changbin’s hand on his shoulder, the solidity, even in Changbin’s subtle awkwardness. The weight, then, of his words, that it’s never really too late.
He vows to ask him why Changbin had wanted to start this now. Whenever their next conversation arises.
–
A week later, Chan texts him that he has to stay late, and to go home with Changbin if he doesn't want to wait. So Seungmin texts Changbin to confirm (this is their first text in nearly a year, the last one being Changbin asking whether Seungmin wanted anything while he was out getting food with Chan. And he’d only been the one to ask because Chan’s phone had died.)
And then Seungmin is sitting in Changbin's passenger seat, pulling the seat belt over himself.
“Hi, Seungmin.” Changbin’s fiddling with the radio, but he looks up and smiles, flashing his dimples.
In that split second, Seungmin decides he likes those dimples. Wonders how he’s gone so long without noticing them.
“Hi.”
“Got a lot of work today?”
Seungmin notices (that’s all he’s been doing lately) that Changbin’s a good driver. Takes that piece of information, tucks it away somewhere. He keeps his eyes on the road, checks his blind spot when necessary, and keeps both hands on the wheel, unless they're at a red light.
That’s why he's a beat late to answering.
“Not really, no.”
Changbin looks at him sideways. “It’s cool if you do. I’ve just been craving ice cream, if you're down. Funded by me, of course.”
“I like ice cream.”
“What flavor?”
“...Mint chocolate.”
Changbin nods, though he looks like he’s biting the inside of his cheek with an attempt to stop laughing, which isn’t exactly what Seungmin had expected.
Changbin's just so nice.
“You're not gonna ask me if I also eat toothpaste in my free time?”
Changbin finally snorts then, shaking his head. “Didn’t wanna yuck your yum. If you like it, you like it.” He laughs again, as if remembering it all over again. “That's funny, though.”
“That’s what Chan always says when I get mint chocolate.”
“Makes sense. Chan’s funny as hell.”
They pull into the parking lot of a Baskin Robbin's, and Changbin dutifully orders (and pays) for the both of them, while Seungmin just stands next to a table, watching.
He can watch now, without being interrupted. At least for a couple minutes. His eyes run over Changbin, the back of his head (his hair is messy, maybe from leaning against the car headrest) his arms (painfully built, so attractive it seems vulgar just to notice), and his back (so wide it seems impossible, muscles rippling through his shirt when he reaches up to scratch his ear).
Seungmin is realizing, rather pathetically, that he’s beginning to have a crush.
Or maybe that this crush is coming back, if he’s being entirely honest with himself.
—
Seungmin, fourteen years old. Changbin, fifteen. They’re both still lanky little kids, for the most part. Changbin’s just barely started dedicating himself to the gym, while Seungmin still has braces, wears glasses, and has hair that refuses to lay flat no matter which way he brushes it.
Changbin, on the other hand, has no braces, and doesn't wear glasses, but instead has a fluffy, swoopy haircut, one that makes him seem a little bit like a god at fifteen years old.
Seungmin, just now discovering things like teenage hormones, is trying to figure out why he hides in his room every time Changbin is around. Trying to figure out why noticing Changbin's biceps feels so shameful.
(He knows why, of course. Seungmin just can't admit it to himself, that he has a crush on his brother's best friend. How terribly cliche.)
—
Now, a seven year old Seungmin. Peeking out from behind his bedroom door, watching Changbin play video games in Chan’s room. He’s sitting on the floor, leaning against Chan’s bed, and Seungmin only lets himself watch for one second.
Whenever Changbin actually tries to talk to him, though, he basically just runs away. Sometimes in the middle of Changbin’s sentences.
—
So maybe, standing in this ice cream shop with his mint chocolate chip ice cream, Seungmin has to admit to the present version of himself that this crush has been here forever. It’s just always there, waiting for something to wake it back up.
And now, Changbin's objectively hot, and making an effort to talk to him, which makes things that much worse.
“How come we never talked to each other before this?” Seungmin’s sitting across from Changbin, taking bites out of his ice cream, but he stops to look at Changbin. To see if there's anything revealing his eyes when he asks.
“I think you did a lot of staying away, Min.” Changbin says it very matter-of-factly, so it doesn't sound like an accusation. “You'd mostly just hide in your room whenever I was around. So when you weren't, I didn't try to make conversation cause I didn't want you to think I was a bother.”
Seungmin’s quiet, but he nods.
“But,” Changbin continues, “Was there a reason you were so obviously avoiding me?” It’s a good natured question, but Changbin looks so curious. “I mean, I've been around forever, y’know. I don't think it was ‘cause you were awkward.”
At that, Seungmin shakes his head. Swallows. “I was awkward. Just– for other reasons.” He should stop talking now. He looks up at Changbin, purses his lips in hope that Changbin will let this go.
“Those reasons being…”
Seungmin coughs. It's a very fake cough. An obvious, ‘I’m just stalling,’ cough. “I might've had a couple crushes on you. Throughout the years. So I’d just avoid you. And then that became normal for us.”
Changbin seems flabbergasted, while also maybe bursting with questions, from the way his mouth opens and closes at least four times. He scratches his ear, his hand pushing his hair back to reveal an ear that’s entirely bright red, and Seungmin's almost kind of proud of that.
“A couple of crushes?” Changbin finally stumbles out.
“Like, I liked you for a little bit when you first started coming over, so maybe we were seven. And then again, like, two years ago.” Seungmin looks down at his empty ice cream cup. “...That sounds much more recent than it feels. They both only lasted for a little bit, though.”
“This isn't my last question, but it's the last one I’ll ask. To be polite. You had a crush… so you avoided me?”
“Duh.”
Changbin looks more confused at this than the actual admission of the crushes. “Why would you not,” he shrugs, “Try to talk to me? Or even just stop avoiding me?”
“Why would I willingly put myself in your way if I know I like you? I’d just be embarrassing myself on purpose.” Seungmin stares at him. “Do you seriously make moves on every person you have a crush on?”
Changbin frowns. “‘Making moves’ sounds weird as hell, but I always try to talk to them and to get to know them better, yeah.”
Seungmin sighs. “We are insanely different, Changbin.”
Changbin snorts. “Yeah, Seungmin, I’d say we are.”
They're driving back home, and the car is peacefully silent, until Changbin says, “I’m honored that you had multiple crushes on me, by the way. Everyone else has only ever had one.”
God, the way he says ‘everyone else’. Seungmin can count on one hand (two fingers) the amount of people that have had crushes on him.
—
If Seungmin had been nervous that admitting these crushes would've made it weird between him and Changbin, he needed fear nothing.
Changbin’s only become more obnoxious, actually. Whenever he makes eye contact with Seungmin, he winks at him, and if they're ever out of the sight of other people and Seungmin is looking at him, Changbin begins flexing his biceps. Not the point of lifting his arms up. Just tensing them, even as they're flat by his side, to make the muscles bulge.
“Aren't you cold?” Chan’s wearing a sweater, hands stuffed in his pockets, and he’s looking confusedly at Changbin, who’s in a white tank. It’s fifty degrees out, so not insane to be wearing a sleeveless top, but not ideal weather, either.
“Have you ever thought about how messed up it is that they're called wife beaters? I wonder how wives feel about that.” Changbin’s hands are also stuffed in the pockets of his sweatpants, and Seungmin can see the goosebumps forming on Changbin’s arms, but he seems relentless.
“You could've at least chosen a shirt with sleeves.” Seungmin's picking lint off the sleeves of his own sweater, but he looks up at Changbin just to smirk at him. To see that barely hidden look in Changbin's eyes. That subtle rush of– whatever it is. Knowing that there's some knowledge shared between the two of them that Chan doesn't know about.
“But then nobody would see the biceps I've worked so hard for.”
There’s a beat of silence, filled with such joint disbelief that Seungmin wants to fall to his knees in laughter. He doesn't, of course. He is the picture of nonchalance. Rather, he shares a look with Chan, and then it’s much more work for Seungmin not to laugh.
“...Do you think people haven't seen enough of your biceps all summer long?” Chan sighs, dramatically. “People only get to see my abs once in a blue moon. It preserves the novelty. Everyone's bored of your biceps already.”
Changbin shoulder checks Chan, but they're both doing that weird boyish chuckle, and Seungmin’s peacefully walking behind them, taking the time to stare– without shame– at Changbin's back. Again. It’s his new favorite pastime. Especially now, in this white tank. Back muscles rippling as he stretches his arms, the expanse of skin Seungmin can see when Changbin scratches behind his ear, the way drops of sweat cling to Changbin’s neckline. All things that feel wrong to notice.
But Seungmin can't stop noticing.
—
It’s another night where Seungmin’s sitting outdoors. This time, though, he’s in the backyard, lying down on a picnic blanket, and stargazing.
He hears crunching behind him, and he should probably be scared that he’s about to be murdered, but the steps have Changbin’s gait.
“Mind if I sit?” Except Changbin’s actually just standing there, slightly away from Seungmin’s picnic blanket, like he’d truly say okay and turn around if Seungmin told him to leave.
So Seungmin shakes his head. Beckons for Changbin to come sit, as best he can while lying down, anyway.
“I have an extra pillow,” Seungmin supplies.
“Thanks. Why are we out here tonight?”
“There’s never a real reason. Sometimes the sky looks good. Sometimes I realize I haven't been outside for more than ten minutes all day. It’s a good time to think.”
“You do so much thinking. What’s on your mind tonight, Seungmin?”
Seungmin pauses. “You don't have to answer if you don't want to. But how come you were always over at our house, even when you were younger. I’m just– I wonder about your parents, is all.”
Changbin hums. “It feels weird explaining this to you mostly ‘cause it’s old news to me. But I guess it just boils down to– well, my dad left before I was born, and my mom was never the most involved. Long as I showed up at some point during the day to say I was alive, that was enough for her. And once I got a phone, if I texted her saying I was alive, that was also enough.” Changbin sighs, the sound surprisingly loud against the backdrop of crickets. “I mean, I’ll just be honest, she was uninvolved ‘cause she was drunk, like, twenty out of twenty four hours of the day. So our house was always a mess, and I just had no desire to be there anymore.”
It’s the most words Changbin has ever said at once, and it makes Seungmin feel terrible that he’s been avoiding him so pointedly. For so long.
“I can't believe I didn't know that. Any of it.”
“I mean, I don't really go around volunteering it. I don't blame you. We didn’t really know each other.”
The conversation fades. They're both stargazing, silently. There’s a cool breeze, enough to give Seungmin a slight chill, but he’s too comfortable to move. The stars are gorgeous, bright white against a pitch black backdrop.
“Not to keep bringing this up,” Changbin starts, “But I would like to know more details about you having a crush on me.”
“Just because you say ‘not to keep bringing this up' doesn't mean you get to keep bringing it up, stupid.”
“But I wanna know. What started it? Why'd it go away? Why'd it come back again?”
“I don't remember why it started the first time. We were seven, and I just thought you were funny. I hid from you because I thought you were much, much cooler than me.”
“And you were right, of course.”
At that, Seungmin reaches over to shove Changbin's shoulder, and Changbin pulls away, dodging it, giggling. Full on, high pitched giggling.
Seungmin's heard it, of course. He hears it all the time when Chan’s around Changbin. But it’s an insane feeling to have it happen because of him. Making Changbin do his freakish little giggle, all of his own accord. It’s a rush like no other.
“It went away because I forced it to. I didn't want to be a cliche little kid with a crush on his brother’s best friend, and I was just embarrassed of liking you in general, so–” Seungmin gasps, comically loud. “Do you even like boys? Is this relevant to you at all or are you secretly thinking homophobic thoughts?”
Changbin laughs, again. (God, that rush.) “I like boys, Seungmin. And girls. But mostly boys. Except it's mostly girls who approach me, which is why you might think otherwise. No homophobic thoughts, I promise. Keep talking, please.”
“Point being, I tamped it down, and avoided you even more, and it went away eventually.”
“You can just force them away, and that works for you?” Again, Changbin sounds somewhere between baffled and awestruck.
“Mostly, yeah. If I tell myself enough times that there’s nothing there, then there's eventually nothing there.”
“I can't tell if I love or hate that, Seungmin.”
“Anyways. The second time, I think you'd just started going to the gym. Um. I guess I can't admit this without it having lasting repercussions, but I liked that you were getting buffer.” Seungmin coughs, suddenly embarrassed that this links back to the present. That he’s pulled out of talking about his old crushes like they'd been childish little fantasies. “Fifteen year old me appreciated your biceps, specifically.”
There’s a beat of silence, before Changbin speaks again, like he’s had to wait to ask what he’s about to ask. “...Only fifteen year old Seungmin?”
All of a sudden, Seungmin's heart is beating out of his chest, a sort of anticipation that simultaneously feels so heavy his palms are beginning to sweat, and also like the highest dopamine rush he’s ever felt.
“Well. No, not only fifteen year old Seungmin.”
And then Changbin rolls over so he’s balancing on his side, looking down at Seungmin's face. They're much closer than Seungmin remembers, so much so that if Seungmin lifted his head up a little bit, and Changbin leaned down a little bit, they'd be kissing.
Fuck.
Now is not the time to be thinking about kissing Chan's best friend.
Except– It kind of is. They're both lying on a picnic blanket under the stars, following a rather tension-filled conversation, so Seungmin doesn't know what else he could do to make this any more perfect.
So as if on instinct, he reaches up, moves an unruly strand of Changbin’s perpetually messy hair off his forehead, uses only the tip of his index finger so all the skin-to-skin is really just a slight graze against his forehead, except Changbin sucks in a breath like it had been so much more, and–
Seungmin can't imagine that going after all of his crushes would've ended this way. He thinks that maybe he didn't ever do anything in the past because this one was meant to amount to something. The kind of pre-determinism bullshit that Seungmin hates to admit he sorta believes in.
Changbin leans forward, and Seungmin closes his eyes like it might really be a kiss, but Changbin just rests his forehead on Seungmin's shoulder, something that manages to feel somehow even more intimate than a kiss might have.
“We’ve only just gotten to know each other, Seungmin. Just barely. Give yourself some time.”
Seungmin breathes a laugh, even though Changbin is technically right. “Would Chan hate you?”
Changbin groans, falling backwards until he’s flat on his back again. “Shut up.”
—
This will-they-won't-they business is the highest rush Seungmin has felt, maybe ever. Stolen glances, fleeting touches, this ever present weight of Changbin’s gaze– it makes Seungmin feel sick, but somehow in a good way. Sick with anticipation, rather than dread.
When Chan drives them, Changbin sits in the passenger seat, Seungmin in the back, as has been the tradition for years now. Except sometimes Changbin offers to drive and pretends to adjust the rearview mirror just to make eye contact with Seungmin in the backseat. Sometimes he reaches a hand backwards, between the driver's seat and the door, when Chan isn't looking, and Seungmin will brush his fingertips against Changbin’s. That’s it. That's the entire interaction, stealthy and secret and lasting maybe seven seconds in total, but Seungmin’s heart stays beating out of his chest forever afterwards.
When they walk into the house, Changbin slows his feet to let Seungmin pass him, just to reach out and brush Seungmin's wrist with his fingertips before they part ways when they're inside. Before Seungmin goes left to the staircase, and Changbin heads straight for the kitchen.
Sometimes Seungmin lets him pass when they're leaving the house, just to tug on the back of his shirt. One small tug, right along the hem of his graphic t-shirts.
—
Still, alone time is hard. Chan's always around, given that it’s his house, and Changbin’s his best friend.
Seungmin thinks it is, anyway. Until he’s lying in his bed on his phone, around one in the morning. His door squeaks open, and he thinks it might be Chan, except Chan’s shoulders are not nearly this broad.
Changbin's standing there, in front of Seungmin's bookshelf, eyes taking in the dimly lit room, and Seungmin's suddenly nervous. Somehow, Changbin hasn't been in here in ages. At most, it's only ever been a glance, never a full moment to study Seungmin's room.
Changbin’s thorough– he picks up trinkets and puts them back where they were, shuffles through Seungmin’s bookshelf, even looks at the shoes he keeps on his closet floor. All wordlessly, basically silently.
“What are you doing?” Seungmin finally asks, mostly because Changbin’s now going through his drawers, and getting a little too close to his underwear drawer.
“Looking.” Still, Changbin leaves the drawer, sitting on the edge of Seungmin's bed. He stares at Seungmin, whose phone is still in his hand. Seungmin stares back.
Changbin leans forward and presses a kiss to Seungmin’s nose. Seungmin’s eyes flutter shut, slowly opening again as he hears Changbin back away.
“Got a crush on me back?” The words tumble out of Seungmin’s mouth, warbled but too late to take back.
“Back implies you like me too.” Changbin’s sitting on the edge of Seungmin's bed, but now he’s getting up so he can stand in front of his bed and flex his stupid arm muscles.
“Too implies you like me at all.” Seungmin sticks his tongue out at Changbin, and then they're just staring silently at each other, until–
Seungmin has his third kiss ever. But it’s his first kiss in his childhood bedroom, with airplane posters still up from when he wanted to be a pilot and space posters from when he wanted to be an astronaut and little stars on the ceiling from when he used to be scared of the dark.
Changbin tastes like strawberry chapstick, strong enough that Seungmin wonders if he put some on before he came in. There’s a faint smell of shampoo, something heady and masculine, and Seungmin’s hands are resting on Changbin’s chest, and he kind of feels like there are fireworks in his veins.
Changbin's hands are in his hair, over his shoulders, occasionally thumbing the space under his shirt, above the waistband of his pajama pants. Changbin's lips on are on his neck, behind his ears, pressing softly to Seungmin’s adam apple.
—
Seungmin is laying on his chest, and they're both clothed, but from this angle Seungmin can see the scar hidden under Changbin’s chin. He remembers when it happened: Changbin and Chan deciding they wanted to learn how to bike on their own, borrowing their neighbors bikes only for Chan to fall and eat shit within ten minutes– Changbin doing the same within twenty. Chan running into the house yelling about blood, their mom freaking out while having to be normal because she was on an impotent call, Seungmin calmly walking (speed walking, closer to running) to the bathroom to get rubbing alcohol and bandaids.
Seungmin knows so much, so many little intricacies, can recite how most of Changbin’s scars came about, so he can't believe that he only just got to know him. He can't help this heavy, heavy weight, pressing down on his ribs, wondering what could've been if he'd known Changbin for longer than four and a half months. He imagines a seven year old Seungmin, with glasses and braces, who shyly poked his head through Chan's door when Changbin was over. An eight year old Chan, overeager, inviting Seungmin to come and play video games with them, and Seungmin having been close to Changbin for as long as Chan had.
“Whaddaya thinking about, Min?” Changbin's hands travel: one hand, the arm that Seungmin is curled up in, sometimes traces little shapes along Seungmin's back. Stars, circles, sometimes letters that seem to spell out Seungmin. Right now, though, it’s buried in Seungmin's hair, lightly drumming at his skull. Changbin pulls Seungmin's attention back to him with a gentle tug.
“I think,” Seungmin turns around so he's flat on his back, though his head is still cushioned by Changbin’s arm, “I think I’m regretting that I didn't know you. I think… I think I’m feeling like I missed out on so much. After all these years.”
Changbin’s quiet for a while, the only sound their breathing and the rustling of their clothes when they move. “Maybe… But I feel like I've known Chan since I was a little baby, and I think of him as my brother. I would never, ever have feelings for him that go beyond that. So– I know what ya mean, but then I don't think any of this would've happened. I think that things ended up this way because they were meant to. Anyways. It’s never too late to start. Like I said, all that time ago.”