Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jisung didn’t know Chenle was back in town. And maybe that’s why, when he hears his voice in the soup aisle, he drops a container of broccoli cheddar on his foot. 

Familiar as ever, Chenle’s laughter rings throughout the air, accompanied by a squeakier, higher pitched laugh. Jisung picks up the now-dented can of soup and drops it in his cart. He turns, ready to give Chenle a piece of his mind—assuming he’s actually there—for scaring him so bad, but the words die in his throat when he spots the child in Chenle’s arms. 

“Hey,” Chenle says. He adjusts the girl—older than a toddler, five, maybe?—on his hip and smiles at Jisung. “Long time no see?” 

And Jisung can’t even respond. He simply stares, gawking, at Chenle and the girl in his arms. 

So he says the first, intelligent thing that comes to mind. 

“She yours?” 

Chenle nods, his lips tightening into something of a grimace. “Yes,” he says. “Huijuan, this is Jisung.” 

The little girls smiles at him and fuck, she has Chenle’s smile. 

“Hi, Mr. Jisung,” she says, waving. 

Jisung says something very intelligent, like “uhhhh.” 

Chenle laughs. “It’s good to see you too,” Chenle says. “We should probably keep shopping, but …” He smiles. “I’ll text you, okay?” 

“Sure,” Jisung says. “Sure.” 

Chenle has Huijuan wave, then the pair make their way back down the aisle. It’s as he’s leaving, that Jisung realizes he has no clue if he saw a ring on Chenle’s finger or not. 

The texts from Chenle come in that night, just as Jisung’s lying down to sleep. He still has his number saved under some stupid name from when Chenle dumped him. Still has his text vibration set to something special. And, Jisung realizes, he’s somewhat bitter. 

They have a lot to talk about. 

Chenle’s texts come in rapid-fire. 

Stupid Big Meanie Butthead

Hey

It’s Chenle haha idk if you still have my number saved

Um

Sorry for scaring you earlier! Didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I wasn’t expecting to see you, really, but, if you’re open, I’d love to grab brunch or lunch or something this weekend. We should catch up. Can totally understand why if you don’t want to, though. 

And holy fuck, does Jisung want to. He’d let Chenle break his heart a million times, he thinks. 

Me

Okay

Sure

Jisung sets his phone down and goes to bed. 

He awakens the next morning to, much to his surprise, more texts from Chenle. 

Stupid Big Meanie Butthead 

Hey! Good morning. Hope I didn’t wake you up haha

Thinking brunch on Saturday at 11? Unless you hate waking up early less than you used to haha

Hyuck said he can babysit, so it’ll just be us. 

Jisung has so much to say. So much to yell at him for. The text seems to burn itself into the back of Jisung’s eyes. Hyuck said he can babysit. Jisung can’t tell but the way it’s phrased almost implies Chenle’s divorced. Is he divorced? Is he married? Was he ever married? Does Jisung still have a shot? Does Jisung even want to have a shot? 

Can he handle Chenle breaking his heart again? 

Chenle’s moving came quick and painful. A sudden severance of what once was and now is not. Jisung didn’t expect to ever see Chenle again. Ever. 

Did Chenle tell Donghyuck he was back? Before he told Jisung? Was Chenle even going to tell Jisung? 

Jisung can’t seem to settle his head. It’s Thursday. He has two days before he sees Chenle again and he feels slightly sick. He hops in the shower—he still has work—and scrubs at his skin until it’s pink, desperately trying to calm his racing mind. Jisung never stopped loving Chenle, he knows this. But it’s been five years. He had to have, right? 

He knows he hasn’t. He hasn’t dated properly—or, well, successfully—since. He only just got out of a toxic relationship and—

As Jisung’s toweling himself off, his phone rings. He quickly dresses and answers it. 

“Hello?” 

“Jisungieee,” Jaemin’s saccharine voice comes through the phone. “A little birdie told me you’re catching up with Chenle.” 

“Did you know he was back, too?!” Jisung thinks he might be sick. 

“No, baby, I didn’t. Not until Hyuckie told me.” 

“Oh.” 

“He didn’t exactly announce it, and you know him, he loves to yap. I’m surprised being back home wasn’t all over his Instagram.” 

Jisung doesn’t follow Chenle on instagram, but he elects not to say that. 

“Right.” 

“Are you sure about this?” 

“No.” Jisung answers honestly. “I think he’s going to break my heart again.” Jisung doesn’t think he could handle it. Half of him doesn’t care. He’d try again and again for Chenle. Let him break his heart again. 

Jaemin doesn’t answer for a minute. “You could try to be friends,” he says. “It’s up to you, Jisungie.” 

“I know.” Jisung pauses. “I should get ready for work. I’ll talk to you later.” 

“Good luck! Keep in touch, okay? Try not to let Chenle’s return shake you too badly.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Love you.” 

An obnoxious kissing noise through the phone, and Jaemin hangs up. He feeds his turtle and gets ready for the day. Jisung finds himself checking his phone obsessively. On the bus on the way to work. Between classes. Continually. Even though he knows if Chenle texted, he’d recognize his text tone in seconds, he still finds himself checking. 

He’s twenty-seven, dammit. He can ignore his phone and his ex for one fucking day. 

Until Chenle does text, around noon. Just as the snow grows heavy and the winds bad. Jisung realizes he never answered him. 

Stupid Big Meanie Butthead 

Hey. How does that sound? 

Me

Yeah, that sounds great

Do you have a spot in mind? 

Stupid Big Meanie Butthead

Our old cafe? 

Jisung nearly drops his phone. Nearly screams and throws it across the room—by accident, of course—but instead he simply stares at it, as anger bubbles in his chest. Okay, so maybe he’s more bitter than he thought he was. 

How could he. The audacity? Their old cafe. It’s been five fucking years, Chenle. Dammit. Jisung wants to yell at him, but Jisung’s never been one to yell. Hell, he hasn’t really changed at all, since twenty-two. Since they broke up. Since Chenle dumped him and moved out of the country in the same week. Since—

Jisung forces himself to take a breath and tuck away his phone. He gets back to work. He’ll text him back later. 

He forgets. Again. 

Stupid Big Meanie Butthead

Jisung? 

We don’t have to meet if you don’t want to 

Jisung must be a fucking masochist. 

Me

That’s fine. Old cafe works. They’ve gotten more popular, though. We should do 9 or 10. 

Stupid Big Meanie Butthead

Haha. Okay. 9:30? 

Me

Perfect

Jisung tucks his phone away and gets back to work.

He doesn’t check Chenle’s messages until he’s home safe. Out of the blistering cold and stinging winds. It’s the middle of January, and it’s days like these that Jisung wishes he had a car. 

He double checks his turtle’s heater twice to make sure it’s still working—he was having some trouble with it last week—and bundles up on the couch with a space documentary. Chenle hasn’t texted him since. 

Jisung doesn’t know if he’s upset or if he’s relieved. He doesn’t know if he wants to talk to him like they used to, or if he never wants to hear back from him again. He just doesn’t know. Jisung loves him. Jisung has always loved him. 

Instead, he finds texts from a less-savory person. 

jackass

When are you going to come get the last of your things? I’m going to throw them out. 

Me

if you’d like to drop them off, that’d be great. 

it’s freezing and you know i don’t drive. 

and i told you, i’m not stopping by without jaemin. 

jackass 

fucking grow up 

you can’t stop by alone? what are you, twelve? do you want your shit or not? 

Jisung shuts off his phone. Takes a deep breath and focuses on his space documentary. He loves this one. He’s seen it tens of times, usually with Renjun. Jisung hates conflict. He hates his exes. And he really just wants to bawl. So, he curls up tighter under the blankets, and, eventually, dozes off. 

He awakens sometime around midnight to missed calls from the jackass and a few texts in his group chat with Renjun, Jaemin, and Mark. 

Mark 

Wait, Chenle’s back?! 

Jisung promptly closes the group chat. His head hurts. He’s tired. He opens his email, relieved to see work the next day is canceled due to weather. 

So Jisung heads to bed, and sleeps until noon the next day. 

Saturday rolls around too quickly. Jisung wakes up before the crack of dawn, unable to sleep in really, at all. He bundles up tightly after showering, with a scarf and gloves and all the works. He shuffles to the cafe through the rapidly falling snow and reaches it with five minutes to spare, only to spot Chenle chatting it up with the young barista at the front. 

Jisung stares at him. He’s laughing. His face is less defined than it used to be. A little bit softer, with stronger eye crinkles and smile lines. Jisung thinks he’s just as beautiful—if not more—and he finds himself slightly dazed. 

Chenle turns, and breaks into his beautiful grin upon spotting Jisung and shit. Jisung is fucked. 

Jisung approaches him, scuffing his shoes on the mat to get the snow off before reaching him at the front. 

“Hey,” he says. “Jisung, how are you?” 

Jisung swallows the lump in his throat. “Fine, you?” 

“Pretty okay.” 

“This is the guy you were waiting for?” the barista—a girl, probably in university—says. 

Chenle nods. “This is him!” He turns to Jisung. “I’ve already ordered. Go ahead, order what you’d like.” 

“Okay,” Jisung says. He orders an americano. Large, and iced. The barista jots this down. Chenle pays, and they head to a table—their old table—near the back. Chenle shucks off his coat and hangs it on the back of his chair. He’s still quite fit, but he’s dressed nicer than he did in university. He’s wearing one of those button-up waffle sweatshirts in a dark blue that Jisung thinks looks quite nice on him. 

Jisung swallows, and stops staring, taking off his own coat and gloves and scarf and everything else and hanging it on the back of his chair. A barista calls their names and Chenle smiles his charming smile at Jisung. 

“I’ll be right back,” he says. 

Jisung takes a moment to compose himself, shooting a quick, panicked text to Jaemin that reads Help! He’s hot! then locks the fuck in. 

Chenle returns with their drinks in hand. “I can’t believe you ordered something iced,” he says, setting it on the table. Jisung takes it and sips slowly. 

“I like my drinks iced,” he says. Chenle’s ordered what’s likely a hot tea, it seems. He stopped drinking coffee a few years into university. 

“I know,” Chenle replies. “So, um … how’ve you been?” 

Jisung eyes him for a moment, before he finds himself spilling his stupid fucking guts to Chenle. Maybe it’s because it’s been so long. Maybe it’s because, even after all these years, Chenle’s still a source of comfort for him. Or maybe it’s because he just doesn’t care. Either way—

“I just broke up with this guy,” Jisung says. “And he’s holding my fucking clothes hostage.” 

Chenle’s eyes widen. Whatever he expected Jisung to say, it definitely wasn’t that. “That’s a dick move,” he says. 

“Yeah.” Jisung sips at his coffee. “Total jackass. I refuse to go to his place alone because … For reasons.” He winces. “And Jaemin’s been pretty busy lately with exhibitions.” He sighs. “But other than that. Work’s been fine. Grad school’s fine. It’s all fine.” 

Chenle nods slowly, sipping at his tea. “I could come with you,” he says. 

Jisung blinks. Processes. “Oh,” he says. “You’d do that?” 

Chenle shrugs. “Why not?” 

Jisung doesn’t really know what to think to be honest. 

“I have a car, too,” Chenle says. “I know it’s awfully cold.” 

If Jisung were Jaemin, or even Donghyuck, he’d giggle and make some cheesy remark about how Chenle just wants to spend time with him, but it all dies on his tongue. Chenle’s being so genuine, and so kind. Jisung thinks he might be sick. 

Jisung doesn’t answer. In fact, he really doesn’t do much other than stare at him. 

Chenle’s ears turn red. “I-I mean,” he stammers. “You can say no. I was just offering to—” 

“Yes.” Jisung has no fucking idea why he says yes. This is a terrible idea. 

Chenle eases, visibly. “Okay,” he says. “When do you want to go?” 

“He threatened to throw them out,” Jisung says. “We could go when we’re done here?” 

Chenle nods, smiling. “Donghyuck is watching Huijuan until four, so we’ve got time.” 

“Why are you helping me?” Jisung blurts. 

Chenle’s face falls. “Jisung, look.” He ducks his head. “I’m regretful, alright? I hurt you a lot, and … if it’s okay with you, I’d really love to try again.” At Jisung’s look of horror, Chenle keeps talking. “As friends! Of course. Obviously. I mean, I’m sure you’re …” He trails off, shaking his head. “I’d love to be in your life again, I guess, is what I’m saying.” 

“Okay,” Jisung whispers. 

“Okay?” Chenle smiles shyly. Christ, Jisung loves him. Fuck. 

“Okay,” Jisung says. “Thank you, um, for the coffee.” He clears his throat. “How’ve you been?” 

“Well …” Chenle scratches the back of his neck. “Minus the accidental pregnancy and now kindergartener, fine.” 

Jisung grimaces. “What brought you back?” 

“Fiancée dumping me …” Chenle sighs. “Parents mad.” He waves his hands. “You know. The whole shtick.” He grimaces. “I’ve come back for my masters, you know? They gave me a good chunk of money, and they have solid family housing and child care so … it was easy.” 

Jisung frowns. “What about Huijuan’s mom?” 

Chenle’s face falls. 

“Sorry,” Jisung blurts. “I won’t pry. Um. What kind of tea did you get?” 

Chenle laughs. “Earl grey,” he says. “I was going to get a London fog, but I’m eating less sugar these days.” 

“I think they have a sugar-free vanilla,” Jisung says. 

“Yeah,” Chenle says. “But I hate how the sugar-free stuff tastes, you know?” 

And, just like that, Jisung’s reminded of how easy it is to talk to Chenle. 

Jisung swallows. They chat and make comfortable conversation as they finish their coffee. And, once done, Chenle brings up grabbing Jisung’s things again. Jisung was, honestly, hoping he forgot. 

“Yeah,” Jisung says. “We can go.” 

Jisung’s shaking already at the thought of seeing him. And Chenle, who is so close, yet so damn far, seems to both make things worse and better. Jisung follows Chenle out to his car, sitting in the passenger seat and loosening his scarf around his neck. Chenle. Stupid fucking Chenle, picks up on his anxieties immediately. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

Jisung rubs his clammy palms on his jeans. “Yeah,” he says. “Fine.” 

“Jisung,” Chenle says, using the same tone he’d always use when Jisung’s lying about how he feels. 

“Okay,” Jisung relents. “I’m anxious.” He pauses. “This guy sucks.” 

“If you’d rather go with Jaemin, I won’t take it personally,” Chenle says. 

“No, no,” Jisung says. ”I—“ He swallows. “I want to get this over with, so I can just block him on everything and fucking move on.” 

“Okay,” Chenle says softly. “Let’s go.” 

He has Jisung put in the address. It’s not too far—to drive, at least. It’s a pain in the ass of a bus ride, one Jisung did many a times because he—

Jisung swallows down those thoughts. He fidgets with his hands as Chenle drives, doing his best to remain calm. 

But soon enough—too soon—they’re there. Jisung shoots his ex a text and Jisung gets out of the car once he says he can come in. 

“Do you want—” 

“Please,” Jisung says. 

Chenle nods, and turns off the car. He exits, following Jisung up the steps to his ex’s apartment. His ex opens the door, and smiles, sleazily. “Jisungie,” he croons. “Come on in. I packed your stuff up for you.” 

Jisung hesitates. He doesn’t want to go in. He thinks he’ll panic if he goes in. 

“You can bring it here,” Chenle speaks up before he can spiral, or even think to follow his ex’s whims. 

His ex eyes Chenle. He must deem him threat enough, because he disappears into the apartment, returning with a brown paper bag with Jisung’s clothes. 

“Make sure you have everything,” Chenle murmurs to him. 

Jisung hesitates, but peers in the bag. Sure enough, his jacket is missing. “My jacket,” he says. 

His ex scoffs. “What, that thing? I sold it. It was a nice jacket.” 

“I don’t believe you,” Chenle says, quickly but coolly. “Cough it up.” 

Jisung’s ex narrows his eyes at them both. Then he sneers “Moved on already, have you, Jisung-ah?” 

Jisung shakes his head. “This is a friend.” 

Jisung’s ex huffs. “Sure,” he says mockingly. “And I loved you.” He disappears, returning with Jisung’s jacket. He thrusts it into Jisung’s hold. 

“Happy?” 

Chenle gives Jisung’s coat a tug, pulling him down the steps as Jisung’s ex glares at them from behind the glass door. Jisung looks away. 

And he doesn’t look back. 

“Thank you.” It takes him half the car ride back to Jisung’s place for Jisung to find his voice. 

“Of course,” Chenle says. “That guy’s a dick.” 

“Yeah.” Jisung shrinks in on himself. 

“We’re almost there,” Chenle says. He glances at Jisung. 

“Keep your eyes on the road,” Jisung mumbles. 

“Call Jaemin, alright? Or Renjun or Mark or … or even me, okay? If you need someone.” 

“Okay.” 

“Promise.” 

“I …” Jisung hasn’t made a promise to Chenle in years. The thought of it makes his chest tight. “Okay,” he says. 

Chenle hums, content with his answer, as he pulls into Jisung’s apartment complex. 

“You’ll take care, right?” he says.

 Jisung nods. “I’ll see you,” he says. 

“I meant it,” Chenle says. Jisung finally looks at him. There’s something … strange, in his gaze. “I’m here for you, Jisung.” 

Jisung nearly flinches. 

“Okay.” 

“See you around.” Chenle offers him a smile, and Jisung exits the car, bringing his things with him. He reaches his apartment easily, letting himself in, locking the door behind him and pulling his phone from his pocket. He shoots Jaemin a quick text, blocks his ex on everything, and, finally, breathes. 

He meanders on over to the couch, collapsing onto it and huffing a sigh. He’s so tired. He sort of feels like crying, and his mind and emotions are a fucking mess.

So he does what any sensible person would do. He spends the rest of the day curled up on the couch watching K-dramas he knows will make him bawl to get out his emotions. He buries his phone in the crack between his couch cushions and ignores any and all buzzing in favor of making himself a bowl of popcorn and stuffing his face. 

He is a mature adult. Who copes with feelings. Well. 

Jisung ends up falling asleep on the couch—which it seems he does a lot these days—only stirring to a banging on his door. 

Jisung scrambles up, checking his phone and easing upon seeing he has five missed texts from Jaemin and about ten calls. 

So he meanders over to the door, opening it up and shuffling aside for Jaemin to come in. 

“Jisung!” Jaemin scolds. “You scared me, Jesus.” He huffs. “You can’t go see your ex with your other ex then drop off of the map for like ten hours and expect me not to be worried.” 

“Sorry,” Jisung mumbles. 

Jaemin sighs. “Are you alright?” 

Jisung shrugs. He shuffles across the room, checking on his turtle. He seems to be doing fine, so Jisung gets to feeding him as Jaemin walks around his apartment, cleaning it up as he goes. “This is a mess,” he mutters. Jisung hears him. 

“Yeah, well,” Jisung grumbles. “Weird times.” 

“Baby,” Jaemin says. 

Jisung ignores him, grabbing the fresh, pre-chopped veggies from the fridge for his turtle and making his way back to his tank. He places them in the tank in his bowl and helps Jaemin tidy up. 

“Jisung,” Jaemin says, again. Oh, the ever-patient Jaemin. Is it fucked up that Jisung wants to see him snap? Just once?

“I’m fine,” Jisung says. 

Jaemin purses his lips, but doesn’t reply, instead tossing Jisung’s dirty laundry into the basket and making his way to the kitchen to likely start on dishes. 

“How do you feel about seeing Chenle again?” Jaemin asks. 

Jisung’s mouth goes dry. He shrugs, opening the fridge in the search of food that doesn’t sound terrible. 

He closes the fridge. It all sounds terrible. 

“Do you want me to cook for you?” Jaemin asks. 

Jisung shrugs. “’S fine.” 

“When did you last eat?” Jaemin asks instead. 

Jisung doesn’t give him an answer. “You should go.” 

Jaemin frowns at him. “Ji,” he says. 

“I mean it.” 

“I know.” Jaemin sighs. “Baby, I’m worried about you.” 

“I had no idea,” Jisung grumbles. 

“Jisung,” Jaemin says. “You’re self-destructing. I won’t have it.” 

“I’m fine,” Jisung nearly snaps. “I’m fine, alright? So you should just go.” He’s itchy. Itchy, overwhelmed, and anxious. He’s stressed, and he’s feeling far too many emotions, and, really, he’d just like to turn them off. 

And yet, Jaemin doesn’t move from his spot by the sink. Instead he pulls off the dish gloves and turns around, crossing his arms. He stares at Jisung. 

“Jaemin,” Jisung says. “Go.” 

Jaemin doesn’t reply. 

“I know you’re waiting for me to crack. I’m not gonna crack.” Jisung is so gonna crack. He swallows. “Alright? Sure, it was weird to see Chenle and outright shitty to see him, but, I’m ... I’m not gonna crack.” He’s already cracking. Goddammit.

Jaemin still doesn’t say a word. 

Jisung sniffs. “It was a lot, yeah, I mean …” Fuck. “He’s still so nice,” Jisung croaks. “He’s still so sweet and caring and he bought my coffee and … and I just—” His voice breaks. “I missed him.” Jisung quickly swipes at his face, as the first few tears break free. And then he’s crying. Fuck, he’s crying. “It was so good to see him.” Jisung’s just blubbering now. “I missed him so much and I missed being his friend but I still love him so I don’t think I could be his friend and—” Jisung chokes. He sobs, burying his face pathetically in his hands as Jaemin guides him to the couch. Sits him down and passes him a tissue. 

“Jaemin,” Jisung sobs. “I miss him.” 

Jaemin shushes him softly. “Oh, baby, I know.” He pats Jisung’s hair as Jisung blows his nose into a tissue. Jaemin passes him another one for his eyes. 

“But he’s here now, isn’t he?” Jaemin says. “You two can grow close again and maybe … who knows, right? Who knows what’ll happen.” 

Jisung shakes his head rapidly. “I’m scared.” 

Jaemin sighs. “I know. That’s okay.” 

“People are hard. I don’t want to lose him again.” 

“I know. You won’t.” He smiles at Jisung. “If it’s any consolation … I don’t think Chenle ever wanted to leave you in the first place.” 

And Jisung sits with that. 

He doesn’t hear from Chenle until Wednesday. To be fair, Jisung hasn’t exactly reached out to him either, but still. There’s a single text from him when Jisung returns from work, sweaty and gross from teaching dance classes all day. 

Stupid Big Meanie Butthead

How are you? 

Me

Fine

You? 

Stupid Big Meanie Butthead

Are you free tonight? 

Tonight?! Jisung forgot about Chenle’s spontaneity. 

Me

Yes? 

Stupid Big Meanie Butthead

Do you want to meet Huijuan

Like properly

Jisung stares at the little screen, torn between obviously, yes I want to meet his child, and why the fuck would he want him to meet his child?

He settles on a simple “Sure.” And waits. 

An address pops up on his screen, followed by a few texts. 

Stupid Big Meanie Butthead

Wait

You don’t drive

I can come get you? 

Me 

No, it’s fine. You’re really close to me. 

Be there in ten? 

Stupid Big Meanie Butthead

Sure!!

Huijuan’s excited

Me

Good. 

Jisung leaves. He walks the six-ish minutes to Chenle’s apartment—literally down the street from him—and heads into the open floor plan complex. 

He knocks. 

The door swings open, to Chenle with the little girl on his hip. “Hi!” the girl says, and any and all anxiety’s Jisung has just seem to … melt away. 

“Hi,” Jisung says, smiling. “I’m Jisung.” 

“Hi, Mr. Jisung.” 

“Just Jisung is fine,” Jisung says. 

“Okay!” Huijuan beams. She hops from her father’s arms and grabs at Jisung’s hand. Jisung takes her tiny hand, and lets her pull him through the apartment. They settle on the floor of the main room, where Huijuan grabs a few crayons and a clipboard with paper on it. 

“Baba said you’re his friend.” She’s very talkative, Jisung thinks. He didn’t realize kids this small talked that much. 

“I am his friend,” Jisung says. 

“That’s good. Baba needs friends.” 

Behind Jisung, Chenle makes a choking noise. “Thanks, kid.” 

Jisung laughs. “Is it true?” 

Chenle splutters a bit. “We just moved,” he says. “Of course I’m low on friends.”

“Baba always tells me ‘no excuses!’” 

Chenle’s ears turn red, and Jisung laughs. “You’ve got quite the kid.” He grins at Chenle.

“She gets it from her mother,” Chenle grumbles. 

“You know,” Jisung says. “Knowing you, I doubt that.” 

Chenle’s jaw drops. He looks at Jisung, betrayed. Jisung laughs. 

“What do you think of the area so far?” Jisung asks. 

“I like my new school.” Huijuan just keeps talking. “All the boys and girls in my class are nice, and so are my teachers. Baba still packs my lunches too, which is nice. Oh, and there’s this boy in my class, and he says girls aren’t supposed to be good at math. But I beat him at math, so girls are good at math!” 

Jisung nods along. Chenle mouths something about dinner and heads off to the kitchen. 

“Can you do math, Mr. Jisung?” 

Jisung chuckles. “Not a chance.” 

Huijuan pouts. “My dad can do math. Why can’t you?” 

“Your dad is very smart,” Jisung says softly. There’s something about this kid. “He’s always been good at math.” 

“Really?” Huijuan’s eyes sparkle. “How long have you known my dad?” 

“A very long time.” 

“Wow …” 

And, though he’s not confident Chenle’s out of earshot, “He’s very special to me.” 

“Like, more than friends?” Huijuan gasps. “Best friends!” 

Jisung laughs. “Sure, sweetie, best friends.” 

“Wow,” she whispers. “That’s good. I didn’t think Baba had a best friend.” 

“Hey!” 

They both laugh at Chenle’s exclamation from the kitchen. Jisung’s stomach churns at the thought of Chenle hearing what he said. He wants to care. He wants to be mad. He’s just … He’s just sad. 

He loves him so much. And he loved him even more then. He still doesn’t know why Chenle up and left. He still doesn’t …

And he doesn’t really care to. Chenle left. Chenle broke his heart. He’d have to have a damn good reason.  

Jisung doesn’t know why he hasn’t left yet. And worse, he doesn’t know why he stays, even after Huijuan is tucked away in bed for the night. Jisung sits on Chenle’s couch, as Chenle brings out two mugs of tea. They need to talk, and Jisung knows they do. 

Chenle settles on the other side of the couch, after passing Jisung a mug of tea, placing it directly onto the hardwood of the coffee table. 

“I haven’t been able to find the coasters,” he mutters. 

Jisung snorts, but picks up the mug. “Thank you.” 

They sit in a tense silence, until Chenle breaks it. Jisung almost doesn’t want him to. He almost wishes they could just stay there, and Jisung could process his presence. 

“My parents gave me an ultimatum,” Chenle says with a sigh. “When I didn’t get into any master’s programs right out of university, they said I could either come home or they’d cut me off.” 

Jisung sits for a moment. 

“I couldn’t afford it,” Chenle says. “And I couldn’t do that to you, or your family, or—

“Shut up.” 

Chenle shuts up. 

“You should’ve just told me.” The words come out far more bitter than Jisung means, bile burning the back of his throat, an acidity on his tongue. “We could’ve figured it out.” 

“I know that now.” Jisung doesn’t want to look at him, but he does. His lips are pursed, eyes sad. Chenle’s so easy to read, and his sadness is written all over his face. “I didn’t then. I was too afraid to upset my parents. I was too afraid I’d ruin everything between us but of course then I did and—” 

“But then you went and dated someone else.” 

“It was just to appease them,” Chenle says. He sounds desperate. Jisung isn’t sure how he feels about that. “Jisung, I never …” 

Jisung knows what he’s going to say. He doesn’t want him to say it. 

“I never stopped, okay? I never stopped—” 

“Shut up,” Jisung mutters, anger, sadness, trilling under his skin. “You don’t get to say that.” Jisung swallows thickly, willing his hands to stop trembling. “Do you have any idea how devastated I was? I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with you. I-I thought we were in it forever. You were my everything. I loved you.” He still does. And maybe that’s the worst part. “It’s not fair. You don’t just get to come back into my life like nothing happened and … and …” Jisung’s horrified. Horrified to find he’s choking up. He ducks his head. Sets the mug on the table and swallows. “I should go.” 

“Let me drive you back.” Chenle stands after him. 

“No.”

“Jisung, it’s in the negatives out there. You aren’t dressed properly.” 

“Stop. Caring.” Jisung can’t handle this. He turns to face him. “You don’t get to care anymore, okay? You don’t get to love me. You had your chance.” 

Chenle’s lips are pursed, the bags under his eyes even more pronounced in the harsh white lighting of his home. Jisung thinks back, to their small apartment, with its soft, orangey glow, and he nearly bursts into tears. 

“Let me drive you home,” Chenle says again, softer, but there’s a tremor to him. “Come on.”

“Chenle.” Jisung hates how his name feels on his lips. Hates how badly he’s missed saying it, whispering it, fervently. Hates, hates, hates. He hates how here he is, on the edge of a nervous breakdown, teetering, ready to bawl. He wants to be so mad. He wants to be so angry, but his heart just hurts enough that he thinks he might be dying. 

Chenle’s looking at him, but he doesn’t move. He seems nervous. Jisung doesn’t want him to be nervous. Jisung doesn’t want to make him nervous. 

Jisung hates himself, most of all. He hates how he has no resolve. He hates that he’d let Chenle stomp all over him a thousand times, let him break his heart over and over, if it meant having him, at least for a little bit. 

“I want to hate you so bad,” Jisung says, his voice breaking. He hates crying. He’s sick of crying. Between Chenle popping up, and his ex’s abuse, Jisung feels like all he’s been freaking doing these days is crying. 

Chenle cautiously takes a step toward him. Jisung wants to glare at him. Tell him to fuck off, but holy fuck, he’s missed being in Chenle’s arms so badly. 

So instead he sniffs, and plops back down on the couch. “I want to hate you so bad,” he croaks. “But I can’t. I still love you, and I always have.” 

“Oh,” Chenle says on an exhale, his shoulders sagging. “I—” 

“No.” Jisung crosses his arms. “You don’t get to say it back. You don’t get to love me.” 

Chenle sighs. “I know,” he says. “I know, okay? I know I don’t get to. I’ve lost that right.” He looks away. Jisung has to look away, too, because if he keeps looking at Chenle, he’ll cave. He’ll cave and beg for him to take him back, because he’s missed him so much, and he loves him so bad. 

“We weren’t perfect, either,” Chenle says. “I just hope you’ll let me stay in your life, for now.” 

Jisung crosses his arms. Chenle scoots slightly closer, and, with great hesitance, his hand rests on Jisung’s shoulder. Jisung doesn’t flinch. Instead, he chokes. He’s so embarrassed. He can’t believe he’s cracking this easily. He can’t believe he’s still not over him. He can’t believe himself. He’s so appalled. 

“Let me drive you home, okay?” Chenle says, and he gives Jisung’s shoulder a squeeze, before standing. Before he can remove his hand, Jisung places his own on Chenle’s, looking up at him, lips trembling. I missed you. The words die on his tongue. 

“You can’t,” he says, instead. “Huijuan.” 

Chenle curses under his breath. “Fine.” He exhales. “Then stay.” 

“No.” 

“Jisung, it’s too late. It’s too cold, and dark, and it isn’t safe.” 

“I live down the street.” Jisung stands, scowling. 

“We both know this isn’t the best area,” Chenle says. “You shouldn’t—” 

“Shut up,” Jisung says, some anger finally bleeding through. “I’ve been fine here, for five years without you. I don’t need you coming in now and-and caring.” 

Chenle recoils, a frown on his face. He’s no longer touching Jisung, and Jisung’s skin burns, with where he was, where he isn’t. 

“Jisung,” he says, a little too soft. 

Jisung’s going to freak out. He grips his hair. He hates this. Words tumble from his lips: “You shouldn’t have come back,” he says. “It’s not fair.” 

“Jisung.” 

Jisung shakes his head, screwing his eyes shut. He drops back onto the couch, his knees weak. 

“I don’t know how I could ever trust you again.” Jisung knows he’s hurting him. He doesn’t want to be, and yet, it’s nothing but the truth. His chest burns. He loves him so badly. He wants him even more, though how badly Chenle hurt him is … 

“I-I know,” Chenle says. “I wouldn’t ask you to trust me, I’d only ask you to let me earn it back.” His hand returns to Jisung’s shoulder. Jisung wants to scream at him, at his audacity. He doesn’t. Because he will. He’d give Chenle thousands of second chances. Jisung is a pushover, but more than that, Jisung is in love with Chenle. 

Chenle doesn’t say anything. 

“I’m calling Jaemin to pick me up.” And probably a good call. A thinly veiled truth. Both of them know Jisung would wander those streets for hours, in some self-destructive craze, letting the cold seep into, deep into, his bones. 

And Chenle exhales. “Okay.” He stands from the couch. Jisung’s skin itches. “I’m gonna go check on Huijuan.” 

Jisung nods, pulling his phone out as he goes. 

me

can you come pick me up please

jaeminnie 

????

Jisungie where are you? 

me

chenle’s

jaeminnie

be there in ten

Jisung pockets his phone and waits. Chenle returns just as Jaemin is pulling up. 

“Jisung,” Chenle says. “I … I’m sorry.” 

Jisung stares at him. He actually said it. 

“I regret it every damn day. The only good thing that’s come of it is Huijuan. I wouldn’t change what happened, because of her, but shit.” Chenle sighs. “I wish it didn’t have to be how it was.” 

Jisung grimaces. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll see you later, Chenle.” Jisung hates seeing him like this. Chenle is proud. Proud, and he always stands tall. If anything, Jisung should be groveling at his feet, to take him back. 

And part of Jisung is so mad at himself. He wants to just welcome him back, take him back, but he can’t. He can’t. He just—

Knock on the door. Jisung shoves on his shoes, and he leaves for Jaemin’s car, without even saying goodbye. He can’t. He’s been on the brink of tears for an hour now. He loves him so bad. 

He pauses. Halfway down the driveway and exhales, watching his breath crystallize in the chilly air. It’s dark, there are few clouds in the sky, a ceiling of stars above him. He could die here, he thinks, and that’d be okay. 

“Come on.” Jaemin must be done chatting with Chenle, because he takes Jisung’s arm, and drags him to the car. “No freezing, not today.” 

Jisung sits in the passenger seat. His hands are cold. He’s cold. Jaemin starts up the car and drives Jisung home in a tense silence. 

“Come on,” Jaemin says. He turns off the car, parked in the garage of Jisung’s complex, and he drags Jisung up to his unit. He unlocks it with his own key, pushing Jisung inside. Jisung crosses the threshold, toeing off his shoes, a numbness settled into his bones. All he’d wanted for so long was for Chenle to come back. And now he has. And Jisung doesn’t know what to do. 

“Come on,” Jaemin says a third time. He nudges Jisung further into the apartment. Jisung’s in a quiet daze. Arm around Jisung’s shoulders, Jaemin pulls him to his room. Helps him change into pajamas, brushes the tears from his cheeks and settles him into bed. 

“Jaemin,” Jisung finally mumbles. He looks up at him. 

Jaemin hums. “Hi, baby,” he says. “You okay?” 

“I missed him,” Jisung says. “I love him.” 

“I know.” Jaemin sighs. “I’m not going to tell you to push him away or welcome him in either way. Just know … I think he’s done a lot of growing, just like you have.” 

“I haven’t grown.” If anything, Jisung’s done far worse over the past five years.

“You have.” Jaemin’s voice leaves no room for discussion. “I’ll be in the living room if you need anything, okay?”

“Jaemin.” Jisung frowns. 

“Do you want to be alone tonight?” Jaemin asks. 

Jisung doesn’t. He doesn’t trust himself. 

“That’s what I thought.” And Jamin stands. He pecks Jisung’s hair. “Get some rest, okay?” 

“Thank you,” Jisung whispers. And finally Jaemin smiles. He winks, shutting Jisung’s door behind him. And Jisung dozes off. 

He feels like shit the next morning. Almost as though he’s hungover, but he doesn’t remember drinking anything. Jisung cuddles up tighter in the sheets. His heart aches, and some little, quiet voice in the back of his mind whispers something about depressive episodes, but Jisung ignores it. Instead, he rolls over, and tries to fall back asleep. 

His plans are immediately thwarted, not by his phone alarm, but by Jaemin, who, Jisung supposes, is an alarm of his own kind. 

“Jisungie,” Jaemin sings, throwing open his door, then the curtains to his window. Light floods the room and Jisung grunts, pulling the covers over his head. 

“Come on, baby, get up.” 

“I don’t want to.” Jisung’s heart sinks, as it clicks in his mind how oddly reminiscent this feels to when Chenle first left him. Only then, Jisung really could afford to mope in bed all day. 

He thinks about what Chenle said. The ultimatum sounded really serious, and, Jisung supposes, he would’ve reacted the same. Only he would’ve told Chenle about it. 

A bitter taste lingers on his tongue. Jaemin drags him physically out of bed and Jisung finally shuffles to the kitchen. He feeds his turtle, the only real responsibility he has (according to him) and plops back down on the couch, curling up. 

“Nope!” Jaemin says. “Come eat.” 

Jisung whines. “Jaemin.” 

“Come on. Get up.” And Jaemin drags him to the kitchen. Sits him at the table and makes him eat a bowl of cereal. Jisung does. He feels horrible. Crummy and sad and sad and crummy and … 

His phone buzzes. He looks at it mindlessly, expecting a text from Mark or … 

Stupid Big Meanie Butthead

Hi

Sorry for texting

Hope you got home safe

Take care of yourself, okay? 

Jisung’s heart aches. He misses him so badly. He wants to let him in, he wants to take him back. Jisung is beaten and bruised, the past few months have been rough on him, and Chenle is gentle. 

“I want him,” Jisung mumbles. 

Jaemin sits across from him. “I know, baby,” he says. 

“I’m so mad at him.” His head is a bit clearer after eating. 

“Take it slow,” Jaemin says. “Hang out with him. Get to know him again. You don’t have to hate him.” 

“I do hate him.” 

“I know,” Jaemin says. “Just …” He sighs. “He’s apologized, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“So … you know, start over.” 

Jisung looks at Jaemin. Jisung doesn’t know how he could. It’s like he’s feeling too many things at once. He’s upset and relieved and overwhelmed. He loves him so bad and he hates him so much. There’s so much rich history between them. Jisung couldn’t … He couldn’t start over. He wants him so badly. 

“I don’t think I could just be friends.” 

“Exist in between,” Jaemin says. “You don’t have to commit immediately.” 

Jisung eyes him. Jaemin’s looking at him with his usual intense look, as he eats his own bowl of yogurt. 

“Okay ...” Jisung mumbles. He doesn’t even know if he wants to date Chenle again. That’s a lie, he does, he wants Chenle, he just doesn’t … He doesn’t want to get hurt again. He doesn’t want to get left again. And Jisung is scared. He’s scared, what if Chenle’s changed? What if he’s like … 

“Jisung.” 

Jisung looks at him. “What if he’s like him?” he whispers. 

“He’s not,” Jaemin says. “You know he’s not.” 

“I know.” Jisung pouts. He can’t help but be nervous though. 

“Just … keep talking to him,” Jaemin says. “Okay?” 

“Okay.” 

“Do you want to see him?” Jaemin asks. 

“No.” 

“Okay.” Jaemin finishes up, placing their bowls in the sink. “Go to work today, okay? I’ll drive you in.” 

“Okay.” 

Jisung’s work is miserable that day, and the next few days, too. It isn’t until Friday, when they met the previous weekend, that Jisung sees Chenle again. 

His bus doesn’t show up after work that day. He has to walk. He’ll be damned if he calls Jaemin again, and he needs to clear his head anyway, so it works out. 

Jisung is shuffling along the snowy sidewalk—there was a flurry the previous night. He’s almost home—probably ten minutes away—when he realizes he forgot Chenle’s place is on his way home. He looks up from where he’s been shuffling along, fingers frozen around his bag, lips probably blue. And Chenle’s staring right back at him, bundled up in a scarf and gloves, shoveling the driveway. 

“Jisung!” Chenle gapes. His car is out on the street, patchy where he must’ve cleaned the snow from it. Jisung looks away. He keeps shuffling. He doesn’t want to see him. He doesn’t want to see him. He doesn’t want to … 

“Jisung. What are you doing?!” 

Jisung winces. “My bus never showed.” The words are thick on his frozen tongue. 

Chenle’s scrutinizing him. “Come on,” he says. 

“No. I’m almost home.” 

Chenle purses his lips. “Donghyuck’s inside. He’s watching Huijuan so I can shovel. Your lips are blue. I don’t want you to get sick.” 

“Stop caring,” Jisung says. His heart burns. Maybe he is dying. 

“Jisung, your ears are red.” 

“No shit.” 

And Chenle just grabs his arm, the shovel clattering to the ground as he pulls him toward the house. Jisung is too cold, too weak-hearted, to fight it. Chenle drags him inside and they stand in the foyer. 

“Come on, take your coat off. I’ll get you some tea.” 

“Stop,” Jisung says. “Stop acting like you care. Stop trying to take care of me. You can’t. That’s not fair.” 

“Jisung, I do care.” 

“You shouldn’t!” Jisung nearly yells, but his voice is hoarse, weak. “You’ve lost that right.” 

“Ji—” 

“You shouldn’t have come back into my life.” Jisung is so upset. “And I shouldn’t have let you.” 

Chenle sighs. And at once, he walks off. Donghyuck returns instead, cooing. 

“Jisungie. You’re freezing.” He takes Jisung’s bag from his hand, eyeing his blueish fingers. “Come on.” 

“No. I’m going home.” 

“Don’t be so stubborn,” Donghyuck says. “You’re lucky you haven’t gotten pneumonia.” 

Jisung glares at him. He’s feeling too much. This is all too much. Chenle’s love is too much. 

Donghyuck sits him on the couch and bundles him up in a bunch of warm blankets. Jisung surveys the apartment. There are still boxes everywhere, along with children’s toys. 

Jisung feels sick. Someone sets tea on the table and Jisung doesn’t thank them. Instead he sits there and dissociates. He can hear whispers in the background, but he can’t make out anything they’re saying. Until something—no, someone—small, collapses onto the blankets beside him. 

Jisung turns. Huijuan is stealing his blankets, giggling as she takes a pink one and wraps herself up in it. “They’re cocoons!” she says. 

Jisung watches her. She’s just like Chenle. His smile, his ears. She looks at Jisung, and frowns. 

“Why are you crying?” she asks. 

Jisung’s heart aches so bad. This is the life he should’ve had. They should’ve gotten a kid together, not Chenle with some woman Jisung will never know. They should’ve … 

Jisung pulls the blankets over his head. 

“Hey!” Huijuan pulls at them. “I can’t see you, Mr. Jisung!” 

And maybe this child thaws him. Just a little bit. He pokes his head out at once. “Boo.” 

Huijuan jumps. Then she laughs. “Mr. Jisung, give me one more blanket.” 

Jisung unwraps a blanket from around himself, turning on the couch to face her, wrapping her up in the blanket instead. She beams at him. Jisung’s heart screams. He’s always loved kids. He works with them, teaching dance classes. And this kid is just … 

Jisung hums. “There’s an odd number,” he says. 

“I know what odd numbers are!” she yells. 

Jisung smiles. “What should we do with the extra one?” he asks. 

Huijuan looks deep in thought. “We can give it to Baba,” she says, very seriously. 

“I’m mad at him but … Okay. Go give it to him.” Huijuan takes the third blanket, in a lump in her arms, and carries it to Chenle where he must be in the kitchen. Jisung can hear him gasp. 

“Thank you, sweetie,” he says. Jisung’s heart aches. 

“Baba, Mr. Jisung was crying. And he’s mad at you.” 

Chenle doesn’t reply for a moment. “I know,” he says, his voice too soft. “Baba messed up.” 

“What’d you do?” 

“I broke his heart.” 

“You did?! Baba!” Huijuan cries. “You need to fix it!” And she must run off, because soon enough, Huijuan is clambering onto the couch again. 

“Mr. Jisung.” Huijuan sounds very serious. “Do you hate my baba? I thought he was special to you.” And she frowns. 

“N-no. No, I don’t hate him.” Jisung clutches the blankets tighter. He knows Chenle is listening. “I just wish things had gone differently, that’s all.” 

Huijuan pouts, and she looks just like Chenle when he’s upset. Jisung nearly bawls. 

“Do you like him?” 

“Right now? No.” 

Huijuan’s lower lip wobbles. Jisung ought to fix it. He can’t make Chenle’s daughter cry. Maybe he’s too selfish. Maybe he’s. 

Whenever they fought, Chenle would have to take time to process things. And whenever he did, Jisung would spiral. Then Chenle would come back, he’d beat himself up. Jisung would feel guilty, for interrupting Chenle’s processing. They weren’t healthy, they weren’t perfect. Jisung wonders if they’d just be imperfect again. 

But he’d rather be imperfect with Chenle, than not with him at all. 

He’s so afraid. 

“Mr. Jisung.” Huijuan looks so upset. “I love my baba. Is Baba bad?” 

“No,” Jisung says. “No, he’s—he’s very good, okay? He just …” Jisung sighs. Dammit. “He just made a mistake.” 

“Oh.” Huijuan sniffs. And she bursts into tears. 

Jisung panics. “Huijuan,” he says. “It’s okay. I’m not gonna be mad at Baba forever, okay? I already forgave him, I just—” 

“I love my baba!” 

“I know, I know, I love him too.” 

Huijuan looks at Jisung. Then past Jisung. Jisung looks with her. She scrambles off of the couch and barrels toward Chenle. Chenle scoops her up, shushing her. 

“Sorry,” Jisung says. “I was just honest.” 

“You know you can’t be honest with kids.” 

“She’s not just any kid,” Jisung says. 

Chenle sighs. 

Huijuan sucks on her thumb, where she’s watching Jisung, her head resting on Chenle’s shoulder. Then she looks up at Chenle, removing her thumb to whisper. “Baba, do you love Mr. Jisung?” 

Chenle makes a face. “Sweetie—” 

“Do you? You said you don’t love Mama. Mama doesn’t love you. So you can love Mr. Jisung.” 

“Huijuan.” Chenle kneels, setting her down to meet her eyes. “Love is messy, okay? It’s messy and complicated.”

“Do you love me?” 

“Yes.” And Chenle smiles. “Of course I love you, silly.” 

“So why don’t you love Mr. Jisung? If Mr. Jisung loves you?” 

“I do love Mr. Jisung, but Baba hurt Jisung, remember?” 

“Why?” 

“It was a mistake.” 

“You always say ‘no mistakes!’” 

Chenle looks a little sheepish. Jisung can’t help it. He laughs. Chenle looks so conflicted, and he’s always so stubborn. This has to be karma. Chenle gives Jisung a wilted look. Jisung sticks his tongue out. And yet, even as he sits here, he’s finding some of this anger, bitterness, melting. Of course Chenle would end up with a daughter identical to him. Maybe that’s just … that’s just how it was supposed to be. 

Chenle did come back to him. He never should’ve left, Jisung’s mad he did, but he came back, and that counts for something, right? 

Chenle catches his eye, and, hesitantly, smiles. Jisung glares at him, mostly for the sake of it. And Chenle wilts again. 

“You deserve it,” Jisung says, crossing his arms. “But … I’ll let you make it up to me.” 

And Chenle lights up. Jisung looks away. 

“Jisung,” Chenle says. Huijuan is silent, save for some sniffling, watching them intently. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t fuck it up,” Jisung says. 

“What does that word mean?” Huijuan asks between sniffs.

Chenle shoots Jisung a dirty look. Jisung shrugs. 

“It’s a bad word, sweetie,” Chenle says. He scoops her up again. “Don’t repeat it, okay?” 

“Okay.” Huijuan rests her head against Chenle’s shoulder, sucking on her thumb again. 

Chenle sighs, and glances at Jisung, something vulnerable in his gaze. He opens his mouth, then shuts it. 

“What?” Jisung asks sharply. 

“Do you want to stay for dinner?” Chenle asks.

Huijuan’s entire face lights up. “Yeah!” she exclaims. 

Jisung does. He doesn’t. He doesn’t know. “Okay,” he says. 

Chenle smiles. “Come on, Huijuan, let’s go cook Jisungie a meal that’ll fix his broken heart.” 

Jisung chokes. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Chenle doesn’t notice, he and Huijuan make their way to the kitchen, and Jisung settles on the couch, curling up tighter. Donghyuck has left, it seems. Jisung listens carefully, until Huijuan comes bounding into the room. 

“Baba said he needs your help cooking,” Huijuan says, eyes bright again. 

Jisung has never been so confused in his life. Since when does Chenle need his help cooking? 

But Jisung stands, letting Huijuan take his hand and drag him to the kitchen. Chenle looks at him. 

“Can you cook at all?” Chenle asks. 

Jisung shrugs. “I mean, kinda, I guess I can cook some things.” Yeah, like ramen.

Chenle hums. “Come on,” he says. “I’ll teach you some.” 

Jisung’s immediate reaction is to tell him no, to tell him to fuck off. He doesn’t want to learn, not from him. 

But shit, Jisung has missed Chenle. He’s missed his smile, and his warmth, and his laughter. His stupid teasing and his stupid jokes, his horrible basketball obsession and his terrible tendency to sprain ankles mid-game. His gentle touch with calloused hands. Jisung has missed him, all of him, even his weird hatred of cooked veggies and his poor (non-existent) communication styles. Jisung has missed him. 

And so, he watches Chenle. Watches him chop up some vegetables, put together a warm, filling meal, making over two portions. He diligently explains each step as he moves, why he cooks what how, seasons what when, and where. Then he makes three plates, two large and one small, and has them bring them all out to the table. 

The table is in a small dining room and surrounded by boxes. Chenle sets himself down at the head and Jisung to his right, Huijuan to his left. Jisung feels slightly sick, at the terrible domesticity of it all, at the horrible, irreparable quietness. The warmth. Chenle watches his daughter fondly as she eats, keeping a close eye, probably so she doesn’t take any bites too big, or with any pieces of food too large. 

“Mr. Jisung!” Huijuan says, food in her mouth. Chenle fixes her with a stern glare and she finishes chewing. “Are you going to eat?” 

Jisung swallows thickly. A meal from Chenle. How long has it been since he’s had a meal from Chenle? 

He takes a bite. It’s just as good as he anticipated. As flavorful and tasty, the texture and details perfect. Jisung chews and swallows, resisting the urge to spit it back out. To wrap it up in the napkin and throw it in the trash like he never even—

He takes another few bites. It’s good. Jisung was hungrier than he realized. He finishes his plate, listening as Huijuan rattles off every detail of her day. Jisung listens as Chenle hums along and asks her prompting questions, to make her think. Jisung feels sick, with jealousy, with anger, bitterness and maybe even sadness. He should be the one Chenle’s raising a child with. He should be the one in Chenle’s life, parenting his kid. Chenle never should’ve left him. Jisung is so—

“Mr. Jisung!” Huijuan pipes up. Jisung looks over at her, and manages a tired smile. 

“Yes, Huijuan?” 

“Do you like ponies?” 

Jisung blinks. So maybe he wasn’t listening as well as he thought he was. He shrugs. “I think so.” 

“Jisung likes dogs,” Chenle says. “And turtles.” 

“Turtles!” Huijuan beams. 

“I actually have a turtle,” Jisung says. 

“You do?!” 

Jisung nods, smiling a bit wider. “Yes.” He glances at Chenle, pleased at the shock written all over his face. 

“I never thought you’d actually do it,” Chenle says. “You talked about it for ages.” 

“Yeah, well,” Jisung gives him a wry smile. “When your heart is broken …” 

Chenle frowns. Jisung turns back to Huijuan. 

“Yes,” he says. “I have a turtle.” 

“Wow!” Huijuan beams. “Is he old?” 

“He’s seven,” Jisung says. 

“That’s older than me!” 

Jisung laughs. “Yes,” he says. “It is.” 

“What’s his name?” 

And Jisung flushes. He can’t say. He can’t say the turtle is named Sonic, because he and Chenle had an inside joke, that turtles were slow, and Sonic is fast, and maybe if Jisung names his turtle Sonic, it’ll be fast too. So, no, he can’t say the turtle’s name.

So he doesn’t. “That’s a secret,” Jisung says. “I’ll tell you when your baba’s not around, okay?” 

Huijuan brightens up. “A secret from Baba?!” 

Jisung nods. “That’s right.” 

“Woah. I don’t have any secrets from Baba.” 

“That’s good,” Jisung says. “This can be the only one, okay?” He glances at Chenle, surprised to see something fond in his gaze. And Jisung’s stomach flips, a sudden nausea taking over him. An itchiness under his skin, he’s struck with the sudden, deep desire to destroy himself, in some desperate coping manner. He has to leave. He has to run. 

And how ironic is it. Chenle, who did run away, and Jisung, who wants nothing more than to. And yet, he couldn’t. He could never. Not when he finally has Chenle again, here before him, within reach, even if he is still so far. 

Chenle’s foot bumps his under the table. He’s looking at him. Jisung feels sick, sick to his stomach. 

“Bathroom,” Jisung mutters. He’s freaking out. He’s completely, utterly freaking out. He feels horrible. He shouldn’t’ve gone to work today. He shouldn’t’ve gotten out of bed this morning. He wants to die so fucking badly he thinks he might—

So Jisung stumbles through the house, laden with several boxes, until he finds the bathroom, past a small bedroom, the only room put together in the entire house, without any boxes, without any mishaps. A pink duvet and colorful stuffed animals covering it, Huijuan’s room is in perfect shape. Jisung is gonna—

He shuts the bathroom door shut behind him, hurrying to the window, cracking it open just to get some fresh air. And he curls up, curls up on the floor beneath it, clutching his chest. He feels so stupid, and embarrassed. And how embarrassing is it? Having a panic attack on your ex’s floor because he cooked you a meal for the first time in five years, after leaving you behind and returning with a fucking kid. 

Jisung grips his shirt with one hand, the other clutching the sink counter to steady himself. Chenle must’ve just showered after work, the bathroom reeks of his shampoo. And Jisung screws his eyes shut, as he fights to catch his breath, he fights to calm down. He’s missed him so badly. He needs him even more. He hates him. He’s angry. He’s upset and he’s tired but holy fuck, he wants nothing more than to leave this stupid bathroom and stumble into Chenle’s arms, to let him hold him tight until this stupid fucking panic attack passes, like Chenle would, like Chenle did, for oh, so long, for countless years of college, for the near-ages ago days of high school. Jisung’s known him longer than he hasn’t. He’s missed him for more than he ever thought he would. 

A knock on the bathroom door. Jisung forgot to lock it. Fuck, he forgot to—

He can’t answer, he can’t speak. He’s dizzy and a little bit dazed, and he can’t seem to fucking calm down. So he curls up, curls in on himself, bringing his knees to his chest and hugging them tight. Another knock. Jisung can’t even tell him to go away, because he wants him to come in. 

“Jisung? You okay in there?” Chenle sounds worried. Of course he does. Chenle knows Jisung, and Jisung has always been easy to read. 

“I’m coming in,” Chenle says. The door opens. Jisung buries his face in his knees and squeezes, his whole body tense. He doesn’t want to see him. He feels so stupid, and weak. Weak and stupid. And, to be honest? He’s scared. Scared, because any time the last guy saw him like this, he didn’t like it. 

Chenle rests a hand on his shoulder and Jisung doesn’t move. He can’t bring himself to. He knows he’ll just throw himself into Chenle’s arms, and he certainly can’t do that. 

“Jisung,” Chenle murmurs, his thumb gently rubbing Jisung’s shoulder. “Hey.” And his hand moves, leaving Jisung’s shoulder, patting his hair. 

Jisung lifts his head just enough from his knees to speak. “Go away.” 

“No,” Chenle says. “I’m not leaving you like this.” Not again hangs heavy in the air between them. 

“But you did.” 

“I know,” Chenle says. “And I’m sorry. I regretted it every day, and I won’t do it again.” 

Jisung’s shoulders shake. He screws his eyes shut, in a terrible attempt to keep tears from falling. He’s calm, calmer than he was, just by Chenle’s warmth alone, but he’s so … 

“Jisung.” Chenle places his hand on one of Jisung’s, pulling it from his shin to take it in his own. “Come here.” 

Jisung lifts his head as he takes a shuddering breath, before sobbing. And he uncurls, lifting his head and lowering his knees so he can fall into Chenle’s open, waiting arms. So he can let him hold him, in a way he hasn’t in so long. Chenle pulls Jisung close, to where he’s sat beside him. And Jisung buries his face in Chenle’s shoulder and bawls. He lets Chenle wrap an arm around him, hand curled around his waist, the other on his knee. 

“I’m so sorry,” Chenle murmurs. “I never, ever wanted to hurt you so badly. I could barely live with myself knowing I did.” 

Jisung should be upset. He should be angry and furious but he’s just so sad, and even more so, he’s … he’s relieved. Relieved and content and devastated to be in Chenle’s arms again. He didn’t think he’d ever get this. Never again. And yet, Jisung calms. 

“You didn’t deserve it,” Chenle says. “You deserve so much better.” 

Jisung can’t bring himself to reply, even as he calms. He doesn’t move from Chenle’s hold, not even as his breathing steadies, and his tears slow. And Chenle doesn’t push him. He doesn’t push him away. 

Chenle takes a deep breath, slightly shaky. He moves the hand from Jisung’s knee, instead cradling the back of his head, playing with the hair at his nape. Chenle’s nervous. It’s obvious, from the finger tapping on his side, to the way he keeps turning his head to the door. And then he turns it again, and his movements pause. 

“You okay, sweetie?” Chenle calls. 

“Is Mr. Jisung okay?” Huijuan sounds scared. 

Chenle pauses. Jisung should take this as his cue to sit up. He doesn’t, instead, he just pulls his head back, leaning on Chenle’s shoulder still, not quite ready to leave his hold, not when he’s missed out on it for five years. 

“Can she come in?” Chenle asks, his hand again patting Jisung’s hair. 

“Yeah.” And, reluctantly, Jisung sits up, as Chenle beckons Huijuan into the bathroom. She barrels straight to Jisung, nearly tackling him, as she embraces him tightly, joining him and Chenle on the floor. 

“Are you okay?” she asks, resting her cheek on his shoulder. 

“I’m okay,” Jisung says. “Don’t you worry your cute head, okay?” And Huijuan pulls back, pouting, before plopping into her father’s lap, curling up like it’s a second home. Chenle pats her head, taking Jisung’s hand with his other one. Jisung lets him. 

“Mr. Jisung.” Huijuan pouts. “Why were you crying?” 

“I’m just …” What does he even say? “I’m having a tough time.” 

“Oh.” Huijuan frowns. She moves her thumb to her mouth, looking up at Chenle. 

“He’s okay,” Chenle says. “We should get you to bed, sweetie.” 

“Aw.” Huijuan’s frown deepens. “I don’t want to go to bed.” 

“I know,” Chenle says. “But we need our rest.” 

“Fine,” Huijuan grumbles. “But Mr. Jisung has to tuck me in.” 

Chenle glances at Jisung, but Jisung ignores him, instead smiling at Huijuan. “Okay,” he says. “I can do that.” 

Huijuan stands off the floor first, then Chenle, who offers Jisung a hand. Hesitantly, Jisung takes it, letting Chenle help him up. Jisung grips his hand tighter when he goes to pull it away. Chenle makes a small, surprised noise, but doesn’t let go. And they follow Huijuan to her room. Chenle picks out a pair of pajamas for her and she goes to change in the bathroom. 

“It’s nice in here,” Jisung says, surveying the room. Lots of pinks and blues and yellows. It’s well-decorated and filled with toys and stuffed creatures. Chenle hums. 

“The move was really hard for her,” Chenle says. “And her mom leaving her, well … that’s always hard on a kid too.” 

“And you came back for the masters?” 

Chenle’s ears turn red. “I didn’t know if you’d still be here,” Chenle says. “And I knew it’d be stupid to hold out hope you would be, but I still did.” And he sighs. “I didn’t have anywhere else I could go. I didn’t have anywhere else I knew. Even if you weren’t still here, I had Hyuck and Mark here and … they at least offered to help with Huijuan.” Chenle plops onto a purple beanbag in the corner. “It’s been really hard. Raising a kid is so hard, but …” 

“Baba! I even put my clothes in the pamper.” 

“Hamper.” And Chenle smiles. “I wouldn’t change it for anything.” He stands, pulling back the covers on Huijuan’s bed and helping her climb in. He leaves it untucked. 

“Come on, Mr. Jisung!” Huijuan cheers. Jisung gently tucks her in, ignoring the way his hands tremble. 

“Goodnight,” he says. “Sleep well, okay?” 

“Mr. Jisung, will you have breakfast with us?” 

Jisung smiles. “We’ll see,” he says. “Okay?” 

“Okay!” And Huijuan beams. 

“Goodnight, sweetie,” Chenle says. And Jisung’s stomach twists, as they leave her room. It feels domestic, stupidly so. Jisung is upset. Feels like he’s constantly fucking upset these days. 

He let Chenle back in far too easily. 

And yet. 

Chenle pulls him to the couch and sits him down, as he returns to the kitchen, likely to pack up the food. Jisung can’t just sit—seldom can he ever—so he stands and meanders to the kitchen, watching Chenle pack the food and two lunches. He pauses, as Jisung approaches. 

“Do you want one too?” he asks. “A lunch.” 

“Chenle, we—” Jisung nearly chokes. “We aren’t …” 

Chenle’s face falls. “I know,” he says quietly. “I’ll text Jaemin, if you don’t want to stay. I’m sorry. I meant to offer to drive you home after dinner.” 

And he looks like a sad wet cat. Jisung sighs.

“I want to,” he says. “Okay? I missed you, alright? Really badly. All I wanted for five years was to see you again, and now that I am, I guess it’s just … it’s just too much.” 

Chenle pauses where he’s slicing a cucumber and glances at him. 

“Focus,” Jisung says. “You’ll lose a finger.” 

Chenle hums, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “You were saying.” And he turns back to the cutting board. 

Jisung takes a deep breath. “I shouldn’t stay. I don’t know if I can …” Handle it. He doesn’t think he could handle it. Not being so close to him, not loving him, not … 

Too late for that last one. 

Jisung wants to sleep. He’s exhausted, and drained, as panic attacks do to him. He’s embarrassed, too. Even if he’s not sure he should be. 

“I really want you back,” Jisung mumbles. “I want things to be how they were, but everything’s changed now.” 

“Everything’s changed,” Chenle parrots. “Yeah, I think so. We’ve both changed.” 

Jisung doesn’t mean to say it, but he does. “Maybe we’d be better this time around.” 

Chenle cries out at once, the knife clattering to the cutting board. “Shit,” he hisses. “Yes, I agree.” He glances at Jisung from where he’s clutching his hand. 

“Chenle!” Jisung crosses the kitchen quickly to him and drags him to the sink, to rinse Chenle’s bleeding thumb under the cold water, a long, shallow cut across it.

“Where’s your first aid kit?” Jisung asks. 

“Jisung, I—”  

“Shut up. Where?” 

“Bathroom cabinet.” Chenle sighs. Sad, wet cat, truly. “Jisung, I’m sorry, I didn’t—” 

And something in Jisung thaws. He leaves him where he stands, so as not to kiss him right then and there, hurrying to grab the first aid kit from the bathroom. When he returns, Chenle’s dirtying a towel, drying off his thumb. 

“It isn’t that deep,” Chenle says. “It shouldn’t need stitches.” 

Jisung takes a deep breath. He sets the first aid kit on the bathroom counter and opens it up, pulling out a bandaid. 

“I’m sorry. I just wasn’t expecting you to say it. I mean, I agree, I think we could be—” 

“Shut up,” Jisung mutters. He turns and takes Chenle’s hand, patching up Chenle’s thumb. 

“Be better, but I didn’t think you’d ever let me. Of course, I couldn’t stop dreaming you’d be here but I never thought you’d ever imagine giving me another chance and I—” 

“Shut up,” Jisung says, a bit louder. 

“I’ve always loved you. I never stopped thinking about you, every night and—” 

“Shut up, Chenle.” Jisung drops his hand, where the bandaid sits, pristinely placed. Chenle shuts up. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles. 

“I shouldn’t take you back,” Jisung says. “By all means, I should tell you to fuck right off.” He looks at him. Fuck, he’s beautiful. He’s just as beautiful as Jisung’s always known him to be, with his plump lips and dark eyes and … 

Jisung needs him. 

He looks nervous, timid, where he’s rubbing his now-bandaged thumb and eyeing Jisung. Jisung hates seeing Chenle so meek, and so upset, and so … 

So Jisung sucks in a breath. He’s going to kiss him if he keeps looking at him, and surely Jisung can’t do that. So he pushes past Chenle, takes the knife and drops it in the sink. He tosses the few bloody vegetables and packs the others away in plastic baggies. Chenle watches him. Jisung sets the baggies in a lunchbox each, filling the rest of the space. He zips them up, sticks them in the fridge, and grabs Chenle. He drags him to the couch and they sit. 

“Thank you,” Chenle says. “That was kind.” 

Jisung doesn’t reply. He wants to kiss him so badly. Now that the thought is in his head, he just can’t stop thinking about it. He’s missed him so much. The feeling of Chenle’s lips against his, his hands on his skin, his … 

Jisung feels a little bit insane. Chenle’s watching him. Jisung shouldn’t. Jisung knows he shouldn’t. He knows he couldn’t handle it. And yet he wants and he wants and he … 

“Jisung,” Chenle says. “Do you want me to call Jaemin? Or Hyuck? To bring you home?” 

Jisung doesn’t trust himself, not to be home alone, not tonight. Jisung doesn’t think he’d make it, he’d be able to handle it at all. He doesn’t want to leave Chenle’s side, the person who’s provided so much comfort and warmth to him, in all the times he’s felt down. 

Maybe he should walk home, so he can slowly waste away. Maybe he should drift away. Maybe he should … 

Jisung is tired. And he isn’t sure if Chenle is making things better or worse, or neither or both. 

“Hey.” Chenle scoots close to him, taking Jisung’s hand and squeezing awfully hard. Chenle, who knows him so well. 

Jisung speaks before his mind can catch up to his mouth and stop him. “Can I stay?” 

Chenle seems to recoil—albeit briefly. He gives Jisung’s hand another squeeze and stammers, “O-of course. Of course you can, you always can, you …” Chenle sighs, composing himself. “Yes.” 

And Jisung manages a wry smile. 

“Come on,” Chenle says. “It’s early but you’ve had a long night. You can take the bed, okay? I’ll sleep on the couch.” 

Jisung is upset, disappointed, but this is for the best and he knows it is, so he just nods. 

Chenle pulls him to a room on the opposite end of the house from Huijuan’s. He gives Jisung a spare pair of sweatpants and a larger t-shirt and leaves the room while Jisung changes. When he returns, it’s with a glass of water. Chenle does some rummaging around the room, pulling out a spare phone charger and grabbing his laptop. He leaves the room again to set it all in the living room then comes back to the bed. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I can change the sheets if you’d like.” 

“It’s okay,” Jisung says. Chenle pulls back the duvet and the sheets and Jisung climbs on in. 

“Um,” Chenle says. The room is stiff, with a few boxes scattered about, the queen mattress on a small bed frame. “I’ll be in the other room, okay? If you need anything.” Chenle won’t stop picking at his nails. Jisung wants him to stay. 

“Okay.” 

Chenle offers him a smile. He takes a step toward Jisung, then hurries out of the room, shutting off the lights behind him. 

Jisung should have asked him to stay. He rolls over, and tries his best to sleep for a while, but it seems his mind won’t stop racing and, despite how exhausted he is, he just can’t sleep. It feels wrong, being in Chenle’s room, being with Chenle, but not with Chenle. Not in their little cozy apartment, without boxes and …

Jisung needs to ask him to stay. The fear claws up his throat at once. If he doesn’t ask him to stay, will he? Jisung can’t lose him again. 

Jisung slips from bed, his legs shaky, his heart pounding. He feels stupid, like a kid telling their mom they’re scared of a monster. Jisung struggles to make his way down the hall, until he spots Chenle at the dining room table, glasses hanging off his nose, narrowed eyes focused on something on his computer screen. He’s muttering to himself. The bags under his eyes are obscene, and his hair, finally dry, is fluffy and unkempt. 

Jisung clears his throat and Chenle leaps, slamming his computer shut and his glasses falling off an ear. He takes them off, rubbing his eyes and pushing back his chair, hurrying to Jisung. 

“Are you alright? What’s wrong?” Chenle asks, reaching him. 

Jisung feels so stupid, and childish, but he just … he needs him. 

And yet, when he goes to ask Chenle to stay, he can’t seem to get the word from his mouth. He can’t seem to get his lips to move. He just wants to hold him. He just wants to be held. 

“Jisung?” Chenle places a hand gently on his bicep. “Everything alright?” 

At once, Jisung hugs him. He snakes his arms around Chenle’s waist, nosing into his neck. Chenle stiffens, but then eases, and hugs Jisung back. He sighs, one hand cradling the back of Jisung’s head, another wrapped around his shoulders. Chenle rests his cheek on Jisung’s hair, and murmurs. “I missed you.” 

Jisung gives him a squeeze, then pulls back. “Stay,” he says. “Come stay, please.” 

“Jisung, I-I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

Jisung shakes his head. “Stay.” 

Chenle purses his lips. “Are you sure?” 

Jisung nods. 

And they head back to bed. Jisung twists his fingers, but climbs in, scooting to the far side and lying there. There’s some rustling as Chenle changes and he scoots in beside him, pausing to turn off the lights and shut the door before joining Jisung. 

“Your house is all locked up?” Jisung whispers. 

“Yes,” Chenle says. “And the stove’s off.” He smiles. “I’m an adult, Jisungie.” 

“I just had to make sure,” Jisung says. “You always forgot to check.” 

And Chenle just chuckles. “I know. It was a steep learning curve.” 

“Was it?” 

“After I lost a couple hundred dollars and a bunch of my nice clothes one day? Yeah.” 

Jisung winces. “Oh.” 

“It’s okay,” Chenle says. “We live and we learn.” 

Jisung sighs, sinking into the plush pillows. “Your bed is rock hard,” he mutters. 

Chenle laughs. “Sorry,” he says. “You know I like firm beds.” 

“This is not firm. This is a rock.” 

Chenle smiles. And he rolls onto his side, to face Jisung. 

“Don’t look at me,” Jisung says. 

Chenle hums, and rolls back onto his back, shifting around slightly. “Okay.” He doesn’t even fight Jisung on it, not like he would have ages ago. It makes Jisung wonder. 

“If you look at me …” Jisung’s voice trembles in the quiet night. “I’ll want to kiss you.” 

Chenle stops shifting. He exhales quietly. “Oh.” 

Jisung doesn’t want to go but he needs to. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I should leave.” 

Chenle catches his wrist before he can exit out the other side of the bed. “Don’t,” he says. “I won’t even turn toward you, okay? Just—Just stay.” 

Jisung wants to stay so bad. He’s scared. He’s scared of letting Chenle back in his life, and a lot of him is still awfully angry too. So he doesn’t move. He just stares at the popcorn ceiling above them and remains silent. He doesn’t know what to say. Maybe he’s feeling too much and too little all at once, or maybe he’s just said all there is to say, and now there’s nothing left to fix them but time. 

Chenle shifts around beside him, in a slightly distracting manner. Jisung peers over at him, shocked to see there’s now a pillow between them. 

“There,” Chenle says, his ears dark in the moonlight streaming through the gaps in Chenle’s curtains. “Now … now you won’t be tempted.” 

“It’s like you don’t even want me to kiss you.” 

Chenle’s eyes widen. “I-I do! I really do, I just don’t want to rush you. I’m really trying not to rush you, and I …” Chenle trails off, as Jisung giggles. 

“Sorry,” Jisung says. “You deserve to flounder.” 

Chenle scrunches his nose in displeasure. “I guess I do.” And he turns away from Jisung, rolling onto his side, then mostly onto his front, still facing away from Jisung. Jisung forgot Chenle’s a stomach sleeper. Always meant Jisung was the big spoon. How heartbreaking that Jisung isn’t any spoon at all right now. 

Jisung rolls over away from him, curling up small. His heart aches. He doesn’t know how to deal with everything he’s feeling. He’s overwhelmed and upset and tired and scared. He’s still … still processing everything from the last guy and now Chenle’s back and—oh, stupid loving Chenle! 

And Chenle’s been nothing but kind and understanding. Patient and non-pushy. He’s not acting like the Chenle that Jisung’s familiar with, the Chenle that Jisung knows best. He’s still Chenle, of course he is, but he’s far more mellow than he was. He’s a lot more soft-spoken and quiet. He put together his daughter’s room before anything else in the house and he cut his finger when Jisung said what he did and he doesn’t drink as much sugar or caffeine and fuck. Jisung will never be able to stop loving this guy. No matter how hard he tries. 

Jisung shuts his eyes, in an attempt to eventually, finally sleep. Fortunately he isn’t needing to feed his turtle until tomorrow, so staying at Chenle’s is fine. It should be fine. 

Jisung sighs, hugging the duvet tightly to him. It’s chilly, in Chenle’s apartment, which makes sense, he supposes. Chenle’s now a dad, and dads never keep the thermostat above 65º. 

“Where’d you even go?” Jisung asks, breaking the silence. “Across the country, right?” 

Chenle sighs. “Yeah,” he says. “Huijuan had never seen snow until we moved back.” 

Jisung hums. “Okay.” His heart aches and burns. “Was it nice?” 

“Eh. Too expensive.” 

Silly, stingy Chenle. He’s still so similar, yet so different. “You’re funny,” he says. 

“My parents cut me off.” 

“Oh.” Oh. “When?” 

“When Huijuan’s mom …” Chenle swallows. Jisung wants to see him. “You know, when she … she left.” 

“Was it hard?” Jisung asks. “Did you love her?” 

Chenle’s quiet, for a few moments. 

“No. I didn’t.” 

“Well, no wonder she left.” 

Chenle shifts around some more, the blankets rustling. “I was upset, because I knew Huijuan’s life was about to change, and it was selfish of her to leave her, and not even say goodbye, but … but I was relieved, I think. I couldn’t keep living a life where I was lying to all three of us every day.” 

Jisung hums. “I didn’t even know you liked women.” 

“I … I don’t, not really.” 

And Jisung laughs. “You’re so stupid.” He doesn’t need to see Chenle’s face to see his pout. 

“C’mon,” Chenle mutters. “You know how my parents can be.” 

And Jisung sighs. “I do. I do know, and I’m sorry. That sounds like a rough five years.” 

“It was terrible, and I—” Chenle abruptly stops talking. 

“You?” 

“I missed you,” Chenle says, in a small voice. “I missed you so much, Jisung. I missed our little apartment, our small home, and I missed your laugh, and your smile. I missed having you, in my life and at all. I wanted to be with you forever, I …” 

Jisung thinks back, back to the warmth of their little home, filled to the brim with love. They’d even bought a Christmas tree, and seasonal decor. The Christmas tree now, sits in Jisung’s mother’s basement. 

Chenle’s next sentence, he says it so quietly that Jisung almost wishes he hadn’t heard it at all. 

“I had just bought that stupid ring,” he whispers. 

And Jisung’s heart nearly stops. Chenle’s side is silent after that, not even the shuffling of the blankets. Jisung lies there, his mind an odd static. Of course, at the time, he’d thought they were going to spend the rest of their lives together. He had sworn it, he’d known it. He was so fucking sure of it. And then Chenle had to go and—

Jisung bawled for weeks. He self-destructed for months. He nearly lost his job, he had to move back in with his parents. Jisung was a disaster. He had known that, too. He was so suspicious, and so hopeful, Chenle was going to propose, and now to know he was. 

“Do you still have it?” Jisung speaks before he can stop himself. 

“The …” Chenle sniffs. “The ring?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Yeah, I—I do.” 

“Let me see it.” 

“Jisung, are you—” 

“Shut up. Let me see it.” 

Chenle sits up. Jisung looks at his back, watches as he swipes at his face. Chenle never cries. Never, in their years together, did he ever cry. And yet, here he is, crying. Maybe he has changed, Jisung thinks faintly. Maybe they would work out. Maybe they would be okay. Maybe—

Chenle stands from the bed and it creaks. He crosses the room, rummaging through the dresser drawers and pulling out a small black box. He returns to the bed, still swiping his eyes, and he sits beside Jisung, moving the pillow. He pulls the lamp’s chain and warm, yellowy light fills the room. 

Jisung sits up. He holds out his hand and Chenle hesitantly places the box in Jisung’s. Chenle’s ears are red, his eyes a little bit puffy. Jisung loves him, he thinks, and he always will, and he doesn’t think anything could change that. 

Jisung sits with it. The box is velvet, and soft to the touch. He’s almost too scared. Almost far too afraid. He opens it at once, steeling himself, and he’s met with a small silver band, with one singular, green crystal in the center. Almost more like a wedding band than an engagement ring. They’d talked about traditions and customs and Jisung had admitted he’d always liked the Western engagement and proposal customs. And so … 

“I—” Chenle’s voice breaks. He takes a breath. “I know emeralds aren’t either of our birthstones,” he says. “But we met in May, so that’s what I wanted to go with, and I know you like them.” 

Jisung should be sad. He should be sad, or furious, and angry, but all this really is doing to him, is existing as tangible proof that Chenle never wanted to leave. 

“I don’t like your parents anymore,” Jisung mutters. 

Chenle laughs. “Jisung, you never liked them.” 

Jisung looks at him, where he’s sitting beside him, legs crossed, hands on his ankles. He looks young, less like the father he’s become and more like the Chenle that Jisung’s known his entire life. 

“Fine,” Jisung says. Their gazes meet. “You may take me on a date.” 

Chenle’s eyes widen, before he breaks into his stupidly beautiful grin. “Really?” 

“Yes.” 

And Chenle beams, so wide his eyes scrunch up small, the cat whisker dimples on his cheeks only more pronounced. 

“Thank you,” he says. “Thank you, Jisung, for giving me another chance.” 

Jisung can’t help it. He smiles at Chenle, albeit tiredly. “Don’t fuck up,” he says, though his words hold no heat. 

“I won’t,” Chenle says. “Seriously, you’ll be really impressed, I got really good at emoting.” 

Jisung’s smile grows. “Did you now?” 

“Yes! I mean, you saw, I was just crying!” 

Jisung laughs. “Okay,” he says. “Sure. Good job. I guess.” 

Chenle smiles, something terribly fond and horribly loving in his gaze. 

“Here.” Jisung passes the ring box back to him. “Hold onto this. I know you can’t afford another one, now.” 

Chenle flushes, his smile turning shy. “Okay.” And he stands from the bed, tucking it back away. He returns to Jisung, and Jisung pulls the pillow back up, lying back down. 

“Goodnight, Chenle,” Jisung says. He’s warm, and comfortable. 

“Goodnight, Jisung.” Something pokes Jisung’s leg and Jisung grabs Chenle’s hand. 

“You’re really pushing it,” Jisung says. 

“Sorry.” But as Chenle goes to remove his hand, Jisung doesn’t let him, instead, holding it only tighter. 

“Goodnight.” 

Chenle giggles. Jisung has missed that sound. He gives Chenle’s hand one last squeeze, and, at once, he dozes off.