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Jihoon stirs as he feels the sun shining through his eyelids, interrupting the sweet yet short-lived escape. He huffs in despair, reluctant to get up and face yet another round of mindless living, so he scoots closer to the comfortable heat beside him, throwing his leg around the body in his embrace carelessly.

Wait… body? What body?

In shock, he opens his eyes, his body rolling away to get as far as possible from the naked figure lying next to him before eventually falling from the bed, landing on his butt ungracefully, bringing the pristine white bedding that once covered them along with him.

The stranger shivers at the commotion, shifting from the sudden change in temperature.

“What the hell, Jihoon-ah?” He grunts, annoyance clear in his tone despite the hoarse voice, fresh from sleep. He tugs at what's left of the fabric, bringing a portion of it back to drape on his lower half and continue his slumber, paying no mind to Jihoon’s distress.

Jihoon's jaw drops at how casually his name leaves the guy’s mouth, too familiar for his taste. Curious, he abruptly stands up, stumbling over the question he desperately wants to ask, “H-how… oh my—”

He tries to untangle himself from what seems to be layers and layers of complicated bedding before tripping and making it drop completely from the bed, revealing the stranger’s naked body in the process.

“Ahh!” Jihoon screams, his palm flying to cover his eyes as he repeatedly bows in remorse, “Oh, oh my god, I-I’m so, so sorry.”

He prolongs the last bow, holding it to show how deeply apologetic he is. And as he tightens his grip on the sheet that wraps around his body, it dawned on him just how screwed he is. Jihoon might be your typical single-since-birth loser—well, maybe not so typical, being fruitier than his sister's favorite Yoajung order—but it doesn’t necessarily take a seasoned player to recognize the implications of their current predicament. Lying in bed with nothing but a layer of bedding to cover their naked bodies.

Jihoon had fucked up so badly, he somehow managed to sleep with a guy in what seems to be an outrageously priced hotel room and woke up with none of the details retained. The last thing he remembers is crying himself to sleep for the nth time in his mirror-covered, suffocating bedroom with shitty feng shui, his laptop still showing the unfinished slides for the materials he’s supposed to present today.

That might explain why his head is throbbing with what seems to be the worst migraine of his life. But those responsibilities are so far removed from him right now, replaced by pure confusion. He’s a law-abiding minor, for God’s sake—he is not the type to sleep around, renting hotel rooms, and recalls none of it. 

Again, just to drive this home to you—potential readers of Han Jihoon's spiraling consciousness out there—Jihoon is a 16-year-old. Sheltered. Mama-boy. Virgin. He's done nothing with his life other than dance and train to be an idol (which, honest to God, made him feel really dumb for choosing to do so, in retrospect). Really, how horny can a teenage boy be to become this wildly out of character?

“Stand up properly,” orders the stranger lazily. There are rustling sounds that can be heard along with it. Jihoon straightens his back, his eyes still glued to the floor, not daring to look at the guy’s body.

“What the heck got into you?” The guy clucks his tongue, frustrated, “Please look at me, I’m dressed now.”

Feeling the defeat in his tone, Jihoon obeys, glancing timidly before slowly lifting his head to meet the other’s eyes for the first time. He takes a good look at the guy, whose definition of dressed is apparently grabbing a stray shirt from the floor and nothing else—just long enough to cover all the important bits, but not all the red marks all over his body, which, by the look of it, might have been Jihoon’s own doing.

His gaze halts as soon as the guy’s face enters his line of sight, his sharp, cat-like eyes staring right back at him expectantly. He looks familiar, yet not so much that Jihoon immediately jumps in recognition. He squints, picking the guy’s facial features apart in an effort to put a name to the face.

He’s obviously older than Jihoon, uncomfortably so—seemingly around mid-twenties—a proper adult that shouldn't be going around sleeping with minors like him. His jet black hair is disheveled. His tan skin is covered by an awful amount of hickeys. His lips are pursed as he bites his inner cheeks mindlessly, a habit Jihoon has come to endearingly associate with one guy, far in the back of his mind.

“D-Dohoon-ssi?” Jihoon asks, his eyes widen, and his mouth agape.

Sitting half-naked in front of him is Kim Dohoon, with all his baby fat gone and features sharpened. His hair is no longer blue, but he's still unmistakably Kim Dohoon. Practical music sunbae from the class next door, His vocal teacher's most adored pupil, Pledis' upcoming boy group’s center and Jihoon's hallway crush, Kim Dohoon.

And God, is he gorgeous. Jihoon can't believe he's the one who wrecked him like this. Which again, it can't be him, obviously. Duh. Yeah, sure, he's seen porn (he's terribly familiar with it), but he knows that it takes a good amount of skill and experience to ruin someone so thoroughly like this.

Hurt flashes in Dohoon's eyes before scoffing, looking away to avoid Jihoon's stare, "Wow, I didn't take you for such a jerk, Jihoon-ah."

The frank comment makes Jihoon scramble, desperately diving deeper into his memory to defend himself and to prove his innocence. He opens his mouth in hesitation, stammering to come up with an excuse, only to give up when he can't seem to find any.

Jihoon should have been able to recognize him anywhere, at any time. He knows the guy in front of him with so many titles, so many backgrounds—how can he not, when he sees Dohoon everywhere he goes? When their paths constantly overlap, when he has been carrying a feeling for him, lightly labeled as respect and admiration.

It’s never exactly subtle, with the way his eyes track Dohoon’s every move wherever he goes, how his head follows his receding figure as his mind goes blank each time Pledis’ debut team passes them, so much so that it was a source of relentless mocking by his former teammates. Whoa, chill, your neck will snap at that point, they had said then.

Dohoon's eyebrows grow more and more furrowed the longer he waits for Jihoon’s response, "What has gotten into you? I thought we– ugh, we talked it out last night. Was all of that just us being drunk, again?"

To be completely honest, none of Dohoon's words registers in his mind. Instead, it instantly focuses on the oddities scattered in all his claims, highlighting them in neon yellow as he tries to come up with a response, "I don't drink. No, wait, I can't drink! We– I'm a minor!"

He's probably focusing on the wrong thing, something that's too obvious. But Dohoon seems to see it as an important detail, judging by the way his expression shifts—all of his anger visibly dissipating, replaced by pure confusion. He searches for Jihoon's face for a while, squinting hard before backing up in doubt, "Don't joke around."

"I'm not!" Jihoon cries, feeling unfair.

"Then tell me. Why do you wake up shocked, addressing me with honorifics you haven't used in years?"

"I promise, the last thing I remember is preparing for my presentation on the history of hip-hop, which—Oh my god, is supposed to happen today, but I guess that's not that important anymore? Unless we can go real quick, like, if we catch a bus, I think we can arrive before the second period? Or maybe Dohoon-ssi wants to skip class today, it's fine… also…?"

Jihoon trails off, feeling conscious of how Dohoon looks at him, his furrowed brows never fully disappearing.

"Do I look like I still go to school?"

Jihoon stares at Dohoon to contemplate his answer, shaking his head stupidly once he decides that it's probably not an insult to imply that the guy before him is too old for school.

"Do you look like you still go to school?" Dohoon asks again, gesturing at something behind him and waiting for Jihoon to turn around and face the mirrored wall.

Jihoon gasps, his left hand leaving its grip on the sheet that has been covering him, letting it slide along his right shoulder and exposing his defined muscles. He steps closer to the mirror, analyzing all the shifts in his features, small and big. His cheeks are not as round, his jaw gets more defined, and his hair is dyed an ash-grayish tone.

The Han Jihoon standing in front of him is a sharper, more mature version of himself—the one who could probably handle his alcohol, cook his meals without burning them, manage his finances, and control his emotions. He's the one who somehow manages to get with THE Kim Dohoon.

He turns around, facing a now-bewildered Dohoon once more. His voice cracks, "Dohoon-ssi, what year is this?"

Dohoon looks at him in disbelief, his eyes blinking rapidly to process the situation. He naturally mirrors Jihoon's formality, "It's 2030."

The information leaves Jihoon stunned. He mutters to himself, although not so quietly, "Oh my God, I've always wanted to time travel—damn, I hope this is not permanent."

Dohoon pauses a second, processing Jihoon's response before letting out a small, amused huff, "This really happens, huh? At least it's nice to see you be so unchanging, Jihoon-ah."

He gets up and heads toward the bathroom, giving Jihoon's frozen figure one more look as he passes him, ruffling his hair haphazardly before entering the bathroom without closing it fully, "You know, we just talked about this for hours yesterday? What would it be like if one day you woke up and found yourself back at your starting point?"

The sound of running water can be heard along with his voice, muffling it slightly but not enough to bury Dohoon's words. There's a pause in Dohoon's voice, replaced by an echoing sound of brushing. Jihoon takes the opportunity to ditch the sheet that wrapped him for some random clothes that were scattered on the floor.

"You had been over the moon the entire night, saying that you couldn't believe all the stuff we had achieved. You said, Wouldn't it be funny if I suddenly woke up in like, 2022? I would cry myself to sleep if I were to experience that twice." Dohoon continues once he's done brushing his teeth. There's a trace of fondness in his voice as he mocks Future Jihoon.

He emerges from the bathroom, now wearing a pair of cargo pants to complete his look. "I guess we should have brainstormed the opposite scenario," Dohoon shakes his head, clearly still baffled by the whole situation. He then drags a pair of giant suitcases out of the closet, laying them wide open in front of the shared closet space as he sits beside it.

Jihoon stays frozen, doing nothing but stand and stare as Dohoon takes all of the closet contents out to fold them. His feet shift uncomfortably—his outdated brain can't seem to handle all of the information, but the year mentioned especially bothers him. So he points it out, "I-I'm from 2022. December of 2022."

The revelation makes Dohoon stop in his tracks, his hands reflexively putting down the towel he was about to fold. He looks at Jihoon with such solace in his eyes, as if he understands Jihoon whole, knows all of his pain, and Jihoon has never felt so exposed by a mere stare.

But contrary to his warm gaze, all he ever gets from Dohoon is a nudge on his toes from an unopened luggage, presumably Future Jihoon's. He taps the space beside him, inviting him to come join him, "Okay, Jihoon from 2022, you should pack, we're checking out at 1."

"And stop being so formal to me, it's super weird."

Okay, so to recap, here are Jihoon's personal Top 3 Most Shocking Facts of 2030:

3. His noona is married, and he has a niece who's apparently waiting for him to visit and bring her pretty trash as souvenirs from Japan, which is why his luggage is full of them.

2. He's an Idol. A proper, active one who just wrapped up the Asia leg of their year-long world tour.

1. He's in the same group as Dohoon, and they're like, BIG big. Like, selling-out-venues, face-plastered-everywhere type of Big.

Jihoon had assumed, back when he first accepted his fate of being flung so far into the future, that maybe he was a professional dancer whose path continued to overlap with the idol's as their respective careers thrived. Being an idol himself no longer crossed his mind.

He had asked to talk to the head of the rookie development team tomorrow, to let them know that he'll be leaving in pursuit of another path—after all, he had moved on, swallowed his ego whole as he folded all his big dreams into a paper plane, flinging it with all his might, only for it to land head first, bumping it's tip into the walls of the other corner of his room. Its futility goes unaddressed, though, and Jihoon continues to hold his head high, pretending that all the weight has finally taken off and gone with the wind.

His face must have twitched weirdly when Dohoon revealed their career back in their room, judging by how his enthusiasm dissipated once he caught a glance. Jihoon doesn’t have the heart to tell Dohoon that all his ambitions ran dry, sucked out by the six drawn-out years of hoping and being let down.

He contemplated his response, trying to pick neutral words to hide his hesitance, only to realize that he doesn’t have to—Dohoon already knows. He had laughed softly, Don't worry, you'll come to love all of it, he had reassured, placing his hand on top of Jihoon's, before Jihoon even managed to conjure up a diplomatic answer.

It's truly fascinating to see how Kim Dohoon, of all people, has become so intimately familiar with his pain. Whatever bond they ended up having in the future must have been enough for Future Jihoon to lay all of his vulnerabilities bare, willingly let Dohoon study every bit of his soul.

After almost an hour of what seems to be a very overwhelming Q&A session disguised as packing, Jihoon finds himself in the hotel elevator along with Dohoon, running late to the dining area for a nice, hearty late breakfast before leaving the country—because yeah, apparently they've been in Japan the whole time.

Dohoon seems to be enjoying every bit of Jihoon's tiny heart attacks—there's a giddy smile that won't leave his face. That is nice, he supposed. At least one of them is having a good time, because, fuck, they could've warned a guy, Goddammit.

Jihoon really underestimates how disorienting it is to be thrown into what was his dream life without any notice.

The elevator dings as they arrive at the dining floor, the scent of fresh bread flooding his senses as the door opens. Dohoon's cold hand instinctively reaches for his, dragging him along like an excited puppy.

Jihoon lets out a sharp inhale, not used to the contact. His mind scurries to highlight a crucial detail—a new Dohoon Data for Jihoon's personal consumption: Dohoon, despite being a broad and tall guy, has the tiniest hand. Jihoon needs to stop himself from squealing as the fact dawns on him.

"Come meet the members, you'll love them!" He says as he turns around briefly to meet Jihoon's gaze, his eyes curved into a crescent.

The others are already digging into their meal by the time they drag the empty chairs with their dishes in hand, sitting across from each other. Jihoon scans around the private room, his mind busy repeating the names that Dohoon had mentioned this morning as he briefs him about the group.

It's truly a relief that most of them are familiar faces, the same ones orbiting around Dohoon as they bumped into each other yesterday—and by yesterday, he means nearly 8 years ago—when they were still Pledis' debut team who had occupied the small practice room across the hallway.

"Oh my god, again?" utters Junghwan—the oldest of all, the one who never meets his gaze each time they see each other in the hallways—as he gives them a dirty look, spending his sweet time observing Dohoon's neck, partially covered up by his tracksuit, but not nearly enough to hide all the redness. "Dear Lord, tell me you guys talked it through, this time."

The oldest doesn't seem to have the same struggle now, Jihoon carefully notes, as Junghwan stares a dagger at both of them with an exasperated look on his face. Intimidated, Jihoon signals Dohoon to answer instead, hoping the cluelessness in his eyes is enough for him to understand.

After all, Dohoon never mentions any of these—each time Jihoon nudged about their relationship, all he got from him was a painfully vague answer and an uncomfortable Dohoon. He merely said, Oh, yeah, we're a thing, they know. What the heck is a thing, Jihoon does not know. Jihoon had tried his luck, asking okay, but for how long? But all he got was a shrug from the older, I'm not sure, to be honest.

Dohoon shifts uncomfortably, clearly catching Jihoon's gaze, yet reluctant to answer their oldest. He holds his index finger up, signaling that he's not done with his bite. It's clear that he's trying to buy himself more time.

It seems to drag on longer than Junghwan's patience, though. "Quick, answer me. You got a lot to explain, young man," He shoves a glass of water from across the table into Dohoon's hand, tone stern in a way Jihoon never knew Junghwan was capable of—being the oldest member must have shaped him a lot.

The one addressed quickly swallows his food, taking a sip out of the glass Junghwan offered before opening his mouth to defend himself, "We did, we did! Gosh, this is so embarrassing."

Honestly, it's crazy how similar the scene is to how a parent would scold their prepubescent child at dinner—Dohoon dodges all the questions like how Jihoon dodged his mom's questions last month, back when he was avoiding his new reality, sulking like a kid who got his rubber duck stolen.

In his sister's position are the rest of the members, who are listening intently to the interrogation, observing both him and Dohoon as if they're suspects waiting for trial. Dohoon fidgets on his sleeve—there's a hint of red on his cheeks. "We're dating now."

Jihoon, meanwhile, can only nod in approval to back up Dohoon's claim—his lips curved into a shy smile. He has no idea how truthful Dohoon's statement is, considering what he told him in private, but he indulges himself in the possibility for a moment.

And just like that, the heavy air around them dissipates, and there's an audible sigh coming from somewhere on his left. Junghwan gives them an adoring look before he slips back into a more serious tone, "Finally, I'm really happy for you guys. We're scheduling a team meeting once we get back, though."

Dohoon slumps deeper into the chair as he sighs, "Ugh, you're right. It's gonna be exhausting."

The guy beside Dohoon, Kyungmin—their maknae, the one who used to look at Jihoon with such adoration in his eyes, throwing shy compliments at him whenever they bump into each other. Oh my god, he looks like an actual adult now—latch on to him and rest his head on Dohoon's shoulder, patting him in an effort to comfort the older, "you're doing so much better now, hyung."

He feels far too clueless about the context to join the conversation. What he manages to gather about… them, so far, is that this is not the first time they have slept together, and that somehow pisses the group off. Yet it seems not to be because of the act, based on how positively they act towards Dohoon's reveal.

Jihoon's best guess is that something—honestly, Jihoon feels that it might have to do with his, their? feelings—must've happened the first time they slept, causing conflict and whatnot, enough for the other members to meddle.

"I'm glad you guys finally made up." Says Kyungmin, still snuggling on the crook of Dohoon's neck, oblivious to Jihoon's agony. He points at Dohoon's neck, bringing the group's attention to it once more, "You need proper makeup to cover that up, by the way, we can totally see it."

He then turns toward Jihoon with disproval written all over his face, "You're a fucking monster, hyung."

It takes Jihoon a second to realize that Kyungmin is addressing him, not used to being older than someone else. The rest of the members are now staring at him, waiting for him to say something. Jihoon stammers as he finds an appropriate response, before Dohoon butts in, saving him.

"You should see his back, it's no better." Dohoon chuckles idly without looking from the omelette he's cutting.

Okay, that's almost the complete opposite of saving; that's putting out a fire with oil. Jihoon is already prepared for the unfunny joke to come his way, the one thrown to hide their own discomfort, his best pretend-laughter already prepared for such scenarios. But nothing hostile comes their way—instead, they got nothing but fond chuckles.

Fond. Chuckles. What in the world?

These are full-on Adult Conversations about a relationship between two guys, so casually spoken over brunch by a group of twenty-something-year-old guys, and his 16-year-old self doesn't know how to navigate them, having spent most of his days locked up in a practice room down in the basement with such different people.

It's fascinating how normal everyone is acting, despite how scandalous this all feels to Jihoon.

Because technically, they're coworkers who just had homosexual intercourse in a company-paid hotel, yet there seems to be not even a tiny bit of scrutiny from them—there's none of that fascination that made Jihoon feel alien, no hint of poorly disguised disgust in their voice that he's used to hearing. If anything, he feels celebrated, as if Dohoon and Jihoon are just an exasperating couple in their friend group who took a little too long to get together.

Another guy, Youngjae—their best dancer, as far as Jihoon remembers. Which, by the way, when did he become this... broad?—chimes in quietly from across the table, shaking his head softly in endearment, "God, you guys are a match made in heaven."

The comment stays with him for a while, echoing in his mind as the corner of his lips goes up sheepishly. He looks up from the bowl of porridge, staring at a preoccupied Dohoon, who's currently bickering with Kyungmin over the last piece of their shared sausage plate. It's almost like the two never change. Just last week, in his timeline, there was a commotion coming from their corner, and Jihoon caught a glimpse of it: 11th grader, blue-haired Kim Dohoon, arguing with 9th grader Lee Kyungmin over a steamed pizza bun.

But this time, it feels warm and fond, layers upon layers of understanding and familiarity soften the blows of their sharper words. It's playful, and it stays that way even as the other joins in, ganging up on Kyungmin when the youngest accidentally drops the sausage into Dohoon's glass of infused water.

"Aghh, the heck, Kyungmin-ah," Dohoon complains, but there's no bite in his tone as he laughs in between. He pours the wet sausage into Kyungmin's empty plate and gets up from his chair, "I'll go grab another glass."

Jihoon watches as Dohoon storms away dramatically—to highlight how pissed he is, Jihoon assumed—observing him intently as he leaves the room to grab a new glass of water. He can almost hear squeaks from Dohoon's shoes by how childishly he stomps, his hair bouncing along with him.

"Wow, you should see your own face just now, Jihoon-ah," utters the guy beside him, Hanjin. Jihoon knows he's Chinese, but Jihoon is not that familiar with the guy, being a rather new addition who barely speaks any Korean in his timeline. But, damn, is he fluent now.

"You look extra smitten."

Goddamn, does he really have to use his hard-earned skill to slander Jihoon? Can't he see that Dohoon was being Objectively Cute? If anything, it's Hanjin who's not smitten enough!

Jihoon feels the blood rushing into his cheeks, but he chooses to ignore it, responding to Hanjin with the same expected sass, "No need to spell it out."

Hanjin sets his spoon down, his expression turns into something genuine, "No, no, I love to see it. You deserve to be happy, you know."

The group seems to approve of Hanjin's comment, giving their own hums and nods towards him, which Jihoon replies to with a shy thank you, despite knowing that he lacks the context to fully grasp the weight carried by Hanjin's statement. They're such an affectionate group, it seems, maybe too affectionate, Jihoon soon notes as Hanjin pulls him by the head, pressing a wet, dramatic kiss on his cheeks.

Shocked, Jihoon forcefully pulls away, screaming, his hand lightly slapping Hanjin, "Ahh! Don't kiss me, I'm Dohoon-hyung's!"

The mentioned guy bursts into laughter, entering the room just in time to witness the scene. His eyes glinting as he walks towards the table with more than a glass of water in his hand, his left hand full of a plate of sausage and a box of milk.

Dohoon directs his attention towards Hanjin, who is now timidly eyeing him, confused at the seemingly unusual rejection, "It's okay, Hanjin-ah, smother him like you always do. His dick must’ve let out some brain cells too, last night."

Hanjin snorts at the blunt statement, patting Jihoon's hot cheeks as an apology, "Nooo, Dohoon-hyung should be the one smothering him a lot."

"Oh, trust me, I will," Dohoon replies, his intended ominous vibe gone as soon as his laughter spills out. He then sits back down, placing the plate between himself and Kyungmin, while the milk goes in front of Jihoon.

His Favorite. Jihoon lets out a little squeak as he welcomes the drink's presence, his mind already letting go of the previous fiasco. Dohoon is actually the light of his life, the man of his dreams, love in its purest form, the king of his heart, an Actual God by how much he knows him, at this point. Future Jihoon is one heck of a lucky guy to have bagged this smoking hot, adorable, thoughtful baddie.

Just as he's about to pull the straw apart, Youngjae points out, eyebrows raised in doubt, "Didn't you quit those because of last year's MAMA?"

Jihoon throws Dohoon a questioning look, not sure what he means. What the heck happened in MAMA 2029?

Dohoon ignores Jihoon's signal, waving his hand to brush his friend off, "he's trying to recover from the trauma."

Kyungmin looks at him like he's gonna grow a second head. Jihoon throws a hesitant grin at him, creating a new memo titled "MAMA 2029: Melon Milk" in his mind, intending to ask Dohoon about it the next time they're alone.

"Pftt, good luck with that," teases Junghwan as he leans back into his seat, patting his full stomach repeatedly as he watches Jihoon take his first sip.

Challenged, Jihoon let out a loud, exaggerated gulp, all merely to spite Junghwan. Giving him a questioning look as he continues sipping, satisfied by the taste of familiar sweetness when it hits his tongue.

Just like that, the table goes crazy, the once-chill group of guys are now standing up, taking turns to shake his hand enthusiastically, celebrating something so mundane to him. He literally just drank a box of this exact milk before waking up here, but these guys are acting like they're on January 1st, 2025, celebrating a newly-adult's first gulp of alcohol.

Dohoon, meanwhile, stays seated across Jihoon, beaming brightly in amusement as he reaches into his pocket to snap a picture of Jihoon.

"Jihoon-ah!" He calls, phone in hand, ready to capture the moment.

Jihoon turns his head towards the voice, happily throwing in a peace sign, lips still attached to the straw despite all the commotion. He might have zero context, but he sure is having so much fun.

Jihoon is NOT having fun right now, he absolutely forgets that being an idol also means Getting Mobbed in Airports.

As he drifts apart from the rest, drowning amongst all the chaotic crowd, flashing lights, and cameras shoved into his face, he tries to convince himself. See? Leaving the career path has its ups as well. After all, who in their right mind would enjoy this?

But he never got to fully believe in the fact, not when Dohoon's hand got to him first. And as they make their way through the bustling crowds, Jihoon's entire being focuses on the warmth of Dohoon's hand on his, grasping it as tightly as possible, determined to lead him through the crowd. A contradicting thought crosses in his mind: he wouldn't mind dealing with all this if it were with Dohoon—he wouldn't mind if it were with these guys.

After the exhausting mob and the endless layers of security, he finally sees the end, in the form of luxurious first-class seats, waiting for him to lie comfortably in them. Goddamn, they really are living the life.

His butt was inches away from sitting down in the seat written on his ticket when someone tapped him from behind. Junghwan—their beloved leader, as it turns out—points at the seat behind him, the one beside where Dohoon has plopped down a second ago.

"Let's switch seats," he says casually, aiming to throw his bag on Jihoon's supposed seat. He fails terribly, almost hitting poor Kyungmin who's sitting next to the empty seat, minding his own business.

Jihoon bursts into laughter, patting an offended Kyungmin on the head before throwing Junghwan a smile of gratitude. They are such a sweet and supportive group of boys, and Future Jihoon is so, so lucky to have met them.

He had thought so too, on the way to the airport in a rented minivan, as he watched a newly released behind-the-scenes video of their opening tour discreetly, Dohoon's head rested on his shoulder as he slept.

Jihoon concluded that he must have fallen in love somewhere in the middle of watching the 30-minute video, which showcased the performance's process with easy banter scattered throughout. It didn't take long for Jihoon to notice that they work so well as a group—they share the same fire in their eyes, the same frown between their brows as they stare intensely at their own reflection, determined to get everything right.

Future Jihoon looked like an absolute lovesick fool as he led the lesson—the one he had choreographed himself!—bouncing endlessly, unable to contain his excitement. And as disturbing as it looks, watching yourself do things you can't remember doing, there's a sense of relief surging in Jihoon's chest. The Han Jihoon of 2030 looked carefree, in a way that 2022 Jihoon hadn't been in so long. There's no weight on his shoulders as he flung himself from one member and clung to another, staring adoringly like they had hung the stars for him.

And so, as Junghwan pushes him to sit down next to Dohoon, Jihoon stops lying to himself—he wants this. He wants them so badly.

"Hyung," he calls to Dohoon once they're up in the air. The title still feels foreign in his mouth, but he persists in using it, basking in the implied proximity of it. "What's with the melon milk?"

Dohoon giggles cheekily, as if he's been waiting for the question. "It's nothing crazy, really."

"Our performance for that year was… experimental, to say the least. You really wanted to do acrobatics for some reason." He straightens his back, leaning forward to make sure his voice is heard amongst the deafening engine noise. "So you were pretty nauseous and unwell when we got backstage after. It just so happened that the milk you drank after was expired, and it smelled terrible, so you ended up perched in front of a toilet bowl in the artists' bathroom for the rest of the show."

"Oh damn."

"Yeah. I had to keep apologizing to passersby for the funky smell." He continues, "It was pretty goofy, though, or at least you say it was. You got a lot of attention from those cute male rookies you wanted to adopt so much."

"They're very concerned about their dear sunbae's digestive system," Dohoon adds teasingly.

Jihoon exhales loudly at the information, baffled as he imagines the embarrassing experience. Throwing his guts out with Dohoon holding a water bottle beside him, still sweating in their stage outfits, and respectable people from the industry coming and going to empty their bladders, witnessing the horrors.

"We also had a special stage the next day, so when you had diarrhea that night, we were like, full-on panicking," Dohoon explains through his giggles. "Hanjin stayed with you the entire time—well, not like that. He's not in your hotel bathroom with you as you blew up the toilet. He's in your hotel room, standing by in case you need anything, and Kyungmin decided to stay up and learn all of your part just in case you couldn't do it the next day."

"They're so good, right?" There's pride in Dohoon's voice, as if he's showing them off.

"That's so sweet of them." Jihoon purses his lips in hesitation, "I think I want to try once more, as long as I get to be with you guys."

Dohoon looks slightly taken aback by the declaration, though he recovers quickly, giving him a gentle pat in the head, "I know, you never let us forget that. We're—I'm glad that you chose us."

He takes his hand carefully, "We're waiting for you, okay? Don't forget to check your email. I can't believe that we almost lost you because of stupid-ass Do Not Disturb Mode."

Jihoon finds himself alone in the practice room after a rather lengthy nap, alarm ringing in his hand, reminding him of the upcoming meeting that he'll have with the head of the rookie developmental department regarding his departure.

He gets up, puzzled, and he's having a hard time recalling how he even got here. His sleep feels wrong, too deep. There’s a heaviness behind his eyes, the aftertaste of a dream he can’t quite grab—laughter in a language he knows too well, someone tugging his hand through a suffocating crowd, the familiar sweet smell of melon.

Today seems blurry—but again, it has been that way since November, so he pays no mind.

He blinks away his sleep as he packs his bag, ready to head to the meeting room. As always, the room across sounds lively—there's always laughter coming from where Pledis' debut group resides. He stares at his lonely reflection pitifully, grimacing at the stark difference.

Just then, a nagging voice, sounding vaguely familiar, echoes in his mind, telling him to check his email.

Jihoon looks around, puzzled. He's not new to late-night hauntings in empty practice rooms, to be frank. So really, he's not that fazed by it.

But come on, that's super specific, no? So he obeys, just in case.

He opens his inbox, ignoring the 999+ number circled in red. He scrolls through a bunch of nothings: push-notifications, proof of purchase, advertisements, and whatnots.

One email stands out amongst the rest, rotting in his inbox for almost a week. Jihoon stares at the screen, dumbfounded as it loads.

From: [email protected]

Subject: Opportunity to Transfer to Debut Teams at Other Agencies

To: [email protected]

Attached: HYBEBG23/24(CONFI.).pdf (311 KB) HJH-ExternalReq.pdf (238 KB)

Jihoon opens the first file without much thought. After all, his decision to leave is final—he's merely curious.

He leaves the practice room with his eyes still glued to the list, scrolling with no interest. He has done such a great job so far, resisting the temptation of a lengthy fantasy about walking as a fellow member amongst the groups listed.

But then there's Pledis, along with Kim Dohoon's face plastered below it, among others, and his thumb can't seem to carry on to the next page. There's a nameless tug in his gut, undeniable yet vague.

Concept: Boyish, refreshing, youthful.

So not me, Jihoon thinks, I've never trained for this.

As he puts every little information written on Pledis' debut team under scrutiny, he passes by the loud room, his eyes peeking through the door.

It's them. Laughing cheerily while lying on the floor, limbs tangled despite their sweaty body.

And Jihoon doesn't mean to—it's not what he's there for. But as he rides the elevator to Bighit's management team floor, he swallows his pride, for the last time, he tells himself. He can't really explain why, but he thinks they will be worth it.

"Hyung, I had a really creepy dream about traveling back in time to 2022 and spending the whole day in school, must have been the discussion last night," Jihoon says as they get off the plane, voice laced with horror.

Dohoon laughs uncontrollably, his voice echoing through the empty hallways, "Oh, you were really there."

The other members look at them weirdly, but Jihoon pays no mind—he's too focused on trying to decode the guy in front of him. "What?"

"Yeah, I just spent the entire day babysitting depressed high-schooler Jihoon, you know. I gave him melon milk!" Dohoon shoves his phone towards Jihoon, grinning proudly while showing proof of him smiling with melon milk in his hand.

Jihoon reflexively gags once he sees the picture. He whines, "Hyungg."

"What? He enjoyed it! I know you must've missed it, deep down, you know?"

They walk together through the parking lot, Jihoon listening intently to Dohoon's wild story of meeting a 16-year-old Han Jihoon. It's always fun listening to Dohoon talk, such an animated guy.

But something slowly dawns on him,

"Wait, hyung," Jihoon tugs at Dohoon's sleeve, halting his tangent.

"That means you were spending almost the entirety of our first day as a couple with THAT guy!"

Dohoon furrows his brows, his lips forming an exaggerated pout, "I don't see how it's my fault that your soul decides to time travel for fun."

"Well, that's true," Jihoon contemplates, "But we need a do-over."

"Spend the break with me." He laces his fingers through Dohoon's, yanking the older one into his arms before whispering something only Dohoon can hear, "We can go to somewhere romantic like Paris, the Maldives, or something. Your choice, hyung."

Dohoon forcefully pulls away with a frown on his face, but there's a shy smile on his face. Adorable. Jihoon is fully convinced that his boyfriend is actually a cat.

He leans into Dohoon's personal space once more with a teasing grin plastered on his face, "How was that? Did I make your heart flutter?"

"Shut up," Dohoon says, walking faster to their van, the red tint on his ear evident.