Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Time has distorted much of Jisung’s memory, but he knows, deep in his heart, that being in 3RACHA has and always will be a dream come true. He considers himself incredibly lucky to still find so much fulfillment in something he started when he was 15, and even luckier because he has Chan and Changbin with him through it all.

So, with only half a year until their 10th anniversary, it’s natural that the three of them want to do something special. Something big. Something that they can do only because they’ve made it this far and still have so much love for their craft.

“We’re due for our next world tour, anyway.” Chan proposes in his living room, where they found themselves enjoying midnight snacks at 2 in the morning.

It’s not unusual for them to gather like this at odd hours of the day—or night—even if they’ve already spent the entire day in the practice room and should probably be catching up on sleep right now. He knows that they have to be at the studio tomorrow, but that’s not until 10.

If he falls asleep in Chan’s living room, then he knows that neither of his hyungs have the heart to wake him. He won’t be surprised if Changbin trudges to the guest room and declares a sleepover.

Chan lives at the penthouse of the apartment building, while Changbin lives on the floor below, and Jisung on the one before that. Since there’s only one occupant per floor, they don’t have to worry about disturbing neighbors when they get rowdy or decide to blast music or a movie.

The separation anxiety must be why they still live in the same building despite that clause in their contracts being removed when they switched entertainment agencies, but it’s different—living close to each other purely out of choice rather than legal binds.

“Let’s bring back songs all the way from the beginning.” Changbin grins. “We can perform songs from debut until our next comeback, even solo performances that we haven’t done in a while.”

Jisung perks up, cheeks full of chips. “Oh, I’d love that! It’s been a while since I did ‘Alien’ on stage.”

Almost immediately, Jisung thinks of the song that acts as the foil to ‘Alien’, which stays safe in Chan’s laptop, waiting to be released.

“We have lots of songs that stayed unreleased until now.” Chan mumbles, eyes shining with the creative fire that Jisung is so familiar with. “We can take a couple out of the vault as a treat, too.”

It’s no secret that they produce more songs than they release, so Jisung is sure that their fans would love a taste of the songs that they’ve been keeping from them for so long.

“Maybe we can design the stages to feel like our different eras!” Jisung suggests. “We can recreate the vibes from our first showcase, then move through the concepts we’ve had since then. It’ll feel like opening a time capsule or something!”

Changbin nods enthusiastically, his plate of onion rings now substituted for a plate of mozzarella sticks. “That would be insane. If our old company won’t be a little shit about it, we can even use the intermissions to play old behind-the-scenes clips. I know our fans love seeing recording and dance practice sessions.”

Chan’s face softens at the thought. “Our last encore song could be a song specially made for the anniversary, in addition to the other unreleased tracks we might include in the setlist.”

Their chatter dies down when the series showing on Chan’s TV turns interesting. They can go back to that conversation at a different time, when they have their managers to back up their ideas and to tell them to reign it in a little when they get too excited.

Jisung closes his eyes, content, and lets himself bask in the thrill of the upcoming world tour for now. He doesn’t yet think about the songs that he’s left in the past—and the person that he’ll have to bring back if he chooses to stay true to the concept.

As he finishes off the rest of the chips, Jisung files through his mental inventory of the songs he has deep in his vault. He ignores the pinch in his heart when he remembers the titles of songs he hasn’t performed in years, and even now, he knows that it won’t be the same if they perform them alone.

It’s not quite like he expected, but he does end up falling asleep on the living room floor. He stirs when Changbin carries him to Chan’s guest bedroom and tucks him in, mumbling about how he’s ‘maknae-ya, still a baby’ before he goes to sleep on the living room sofa.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘♡∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Weeks later, the first threads of preparations for their world tour have started to weave together—technicalities like logistics, schedules, venues, props and marketing, and all the other things Jisung doesn’t have the mental capacility to fully grasp.

He doesn’t have the mental capacity to fully grasp those things on a good day, much less now, when he’s locked himself in his favourite practice room for the past 6 hours.

The mirrors stretched endlessly before him, the speakers playing the four songs he’d picked out for his solo segment: Run, Alien, Human (unreleased), and the one he’s having the most trouble with, Close.

It’s not that he can’t connect with the song anymore, but that he’s actively trying not to. But he still remembers a lot from that time. A song that he’d written in 3RACHA’s cramped first dorm when he was 16, fresh after filming their debut music video, full of impulsive energy and feelings that were too big for him at the time that he blindly let management understand them for him.

He still knows every word, every beat, every note in this song, but the voice that echoes back at him doesn’t sound the same. It doesn’t feel the same. He knows that it shouldn’t feel the same, but something in his chest tightens at the fact all the same.

The practice room’s door creaks open, the faint thud of sneakers soft against the polished floor. Jisung stays seated on the floor, stays staring at himself and wondering why he’s not sitting on the sofa pushed against the wall, just half a foot behind him.

He’s also wondering why he can’t just suck it up and perform this song like the part of him that’s been preserved in this song hadn’t shattered and broken years ago, but that’s not something he’s willing to tackle right now.

“You’re still here? It’s almost midnight, Sung.” Chan’s voice carries that mix of gentle surprise and quiet concern he always pushes out when either he or Changbin is on the verge of spiraling.

Jisung watches from the mirror, as Chan goes to the tech booth at the other corner of the room, to cut off the music playing from Jisung’s tablet. “I never thought I’d have to perform this again.”

He doesn’t say the song’s name, because Chan knows their discography, both as a group and their solos, start-to-finish. Even if Chan only heard the instrumental when he walked in, Jisung knows that Chan knows what Jisung is talking about.

Could he really bring this song back to the stage? Could he live up to the energy that his younger self had when these songs used to be the ones that people thought of when he’s brought up?

Younger Jisung, who was still a little caterpillar nestled in his little cocoon, running on the adrenaline of being a performer at such a young age, while still rolling in all his untouched potential.

Younger Jisung, who the world has treated with so much kindness but also so much scrutiny. Who, at 16, wrote what people still consider as the greatest love song of the decade. The very same one, out of a handful, that Jisung couldn’t bring himself to sing again.

Because how could he, at 18, when he had his heart broken for the first and only time.

How could he now, at 25, when while he’s never had his heart broken again, not to that extent, he’s never quite shaken off the dull ache in his chest everytime he hears the opening notes to ‘Close’ or any other song that’s even remotely related to him.

“You don’t have to perform ‘Close’.” Chan tells him, tone calm and deliberate. “You have other songs you can switch it to. Ones that don’t—” Chan hesitates, and Jisung sees, through the mirror, how Chan takes a moment to choose his words carefully. “—ones that don’t take this much out of you. You haven’t performed ‘I Got It’ in a while, either.”

Jisung lets out a low, humourless laugh. “I know that—of course, I know that.” he pulls his knees tighter to his chest and stares at the bottom of the mirror in front of him. “But I know how much everyone misses ‘Close’. They’ve been waiting for years for me to perform it live again.”

He doesn’t talk about ‘HaPpY’. He doesn’t talk about how that song was written in the same thread that ‘Close’ was written, only this time, the impulsive energy and too big feelings were left for him to figure out on his own, because management didn’t want to acknowledge that they played a hand in it all.

Chan sits down next to him. On the floor. Doesn’t make him move to the sofa. “Waiting doesn’t mean you owe it to them.”

Jisung knows that. He’s worked on himself just as much as he worked on his career and his place in the group. He knows that he doesn’t owe it to anyone—not to his hyungs, not to their fans, not to the test of time, not to him—but maybe himself.

He owes it to that part of himself that once thought of this song as the greatest piece of music he’d ever write. It doesn’t stand true anymore, because he’s grown so much through the years.

But there once was a time, where ‘Close’ used to be his favourite song of his.

“If I don’t perform it now...” Jisung’s throat tightens as the words leave him, equal parts resignation and admittance. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to perform it ever again. If not now, then when?”

The silence after that is heavy, filled only by the faint hum of the air conditioner and the sound of the dwindling night life outside.

“Are you going to ask him to perform with you?” Chan asks.

There’s another stab in Jisung’s chest, suspiciously close to his heart. He swallows it down.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “Should I?”

He thought about it.

A very brief, fleeting thought that he squashed down the second it fully-formed.

Sing ‘Close’ with Lee Minho, who the song is about.

Sing the version of ‘Close’ where Minho has his own verse and where they share the last chorus, because Jisung had feelings bigger than he knew what to do with, and management convinced him that it would be good publicity for the nation’s favourite couple to have a song together.

“It’s up to you.” Chan puts a hand on Jisung’s shoulder and squeezes comfortingly. “Jeongin agreed to sing with me for my segment, and Changbin is thinking of roping him into his for an unreleased song, too.”

Jisung hums, nodding. He likes Jeongin, has been a close friend of their’s ever since they changed entertainment agencies, so he’s not surprised that the singer-actor agreed to guest for their concert so easily.

“I’ll think about it.” his stomach churns at the thought of seeing Minho, much more standing in front of an audience with him again.

It’s impossible not to know what Minho is up to. He doesn’t sing anymore, not exactly, but he works so hard on his movies and dramas, and is now a beloved actor. But he doesn’t know how the older is. He doesn’t know if he’s well, if the rumours of him dating Kim Seungmin are true, if Jisung’s name follows him around the same way his name still does to Jisung.

“Think about it tomorrow.” Chan urges, like a parent comforting a child.

Another song pops up in Jisung's head. An actual duet he and Minho wrote, but it’s under Minho’s name, and he’s only a featuring artist. But he loved that song, too. The first song that competed with ‘Close’ as Jisung’s favourite.

Jisung nods, even if a switch has already been flicked in his head.

Everything and anything reminds him of Minho. Of everything around them—tabloids and journalists and cameras and their managers breathing down their necks, claiming that their ‘puppy love’ is amazing publicity for both Minho as a solo singer and 3RACHA as a group.

Jisung doesn’t notice himself being shown out of the practice room, led to the parking garage where Chan’s car is. He sits down on the passenger seat and looks out of the window while Chan drives them home, where Changbin has already ordered a late dinner for the three of them.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘♡∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The smell of coffee and marker ink has resulted in a dull migraine, the long table still littered with setlist drafts, budget outline, and the projector moving from one slide to another to confirm the dates and numbers.

Jisung sits between Chan and Changbin, but half an hour has already passed between now and his last attempt to actively listen to their manager, creative directors, and the executives present. He gets the gist of it: finalizations for venue capacities, stage designs, the live band, etc.

There’s no resistance when Chan shares that Jeongin will be both his and Changbin’s guest. ‘Black Hole’ and ‘Burning Tires’, the latter of which is unreleased and Jeongin is yet to record. Jeongin is under the same label, so drafting a memorandum of agreement will be easy.

“For Han-ssi’s solo segment,” one of the executives began. She directs her attention to her copy of the meeting’s agenda, notes scribbled on the sides. “Since ‘Close’ is already part of the conversation, completely out of Han-ssi’s volition.”

Jisung nods, once. A subtle bob of his head to tell the room that he’s paying attention.

She continues, “What if we reach out to Lee Minho? The duet version of ‘Close’ is still a fan favourite. I reckon that it will make the anniversary tour more special. He has been a part of 3RACHA’s humble beginnings.”

Jisung knows.

He can’t watch their debut MV anymore because Minho was the dancer in it. That’s how they met. That’s when the world began to fall in love with the idea of them.

He also expected this question, when he finally put his foot down on himself and confirmed ‘Close’ to be a part of the setlist.

But, even still, the words landed like a stone dropped straight into Jisung’s chest.

Lee Minho.

Child star-turned-singer-turned-actor.

Jisung’s first love.

Jisung’s biggest heartbreak.

Minho.

His name echoes in Jisung’s mind, louder than the hum of the projector or the coffee machine behind him. Chan shifts on his side, exchanges a look with Changbin that Jisung can’t see because he’s focused on a spot at the table.

He can feel his chest rising and falling in breaths bordering on shallow.

“Sung?” Changbin’s voice softly into his haze. Concern, subtle but sharp.

Jisung blinks and forces himself to meet his members’ eyes. Chan’s brows are furrowed, protective to a fault, while Changbin simply looked at him with endless patience.

“I thought about it.” Jisung clears his throat, willing his voice not to crack. “But I don’t think he’d want to. It’s been years since we last talked, after all.”

It’s the safest answer he could give. None of these executives, even their manager, have been here when it all happened. They didn’t have to carry the weight of 3RACHA’s first entertainment agency, when 6 years had passed since they signed with them.

He’ll put the weight on Minho, because he’s not here to defend himself. Because there is a small chance that Minho still has anything to do with him.

The meeting carries on, other names and concepts being tossed around, but Jisung barely hears past the static building up in his ears. The echo of Minho’s name lingers, pulling him back to a place he’s never had the courage to revisit.

3RACHA’s manager—their first one—insisting that the public is eating them up. That everyone can’t get enough of a whirlwind romance that wasn’t real until they made it real. And even then, time has blurred the authenticity of it in Jisung’s mind, until all that he was sure of was the way it all ended in tears and heartbreak.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘♡∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Minho doesn’t think he heard that right.

Minho’s manager speaks casually, seated on his dining table while Minho puts away his groceries. She visited to deliver the first batch of scripts for an upcoming drama Minho is starring in, set to start filming next month, and then she pulled out her tablet and started informing him about his schedules and promotional offers.

“3RACHA’s team reached out,” she says, voice suddenly wary, like she fully expects the way Minho’s entire body freezes. “They want you as a guest singer for their 10-year anniversary tour... Specifically, to perform ‘Close’ with Han Jisung.”

The name lands heavily in Jisung’s chest, straight to his heart.

The butter knife Minho was using to transfer butter to his butterbell slips, makes a clanking noise against the compartment of the butterbell reserved for water. In any other situation, Minho would have grimaced at the sound.

He hasn’t sung in years, much less sang a song that had the likeness of Han Jisung written all over it.

It’s been years since he thought of his short-lived singing career with any kind of distance. Reminiscing those years always led to thinking of Jisung, because there’s no world where Han Jisung wasn’t closely tied to all of the music in Minho’s life.

He doesn’t speak right away. He lets his manager’s words linger in the air, trying to gauge the sudden shift in his own pulse.

The idea of sharing a stage with Jisung again makes Minho’s chest ache in all the ways he was sure he’d buried deep, deep down, in the darkest corner of his mind. The same corner where everything about that time in his life has been pushed to.

“They really asked for me? Specifically me?”

It’s a stupid question—‘Close’ is Jisung’s song to him, and to sing it with anyone else will spark outrage Minho wouldn’t wish even to his worst enemies.

Because he can sing it alone. There’s a version with only his voice in it. Not a trace of Minho, except for how the entire world knows that the words he’s singing have been directed at Minho.

There’s no reason for Minho to be there aside from the nostalgia factor of it all. For their fans, it would be nostalgia. For him, it would be reopening a door he’d forced shut, even if it meant blood on the nails and hammers and boards.

“Yes,” his manager confirms. “It’s their 10 year anniversary, they want it to be as grand and meaningful as possible. Even I can’t deny how much 3RACHA’s fans still love that song. If you decide to sing with Han Jisung, it’d be huge.”

A marketing strategy. A publicity stunt. A way to create buzz, to make sure people are watching, to keep interest and fascination and revelry.

He wants to laugh, but he knows that if he did, it’d come out hollow and strained.

Minho clenches his fist, hoping to stop the trembling in his fingers. “I’ll need to think about it.”

“You don’t have to decide right this moment.” she tells him. “They do need a response by next week, since there’s a lot of planning and coordinating that needs to be done with your schedule if you choose to do this, but I won’t allow anyone to hold it against you if you reject the offer.”

Minho nods. He tries to go back to organizing his groceries.

His manager studies him but doesn’t press. She gives a small nod before she reminds Minho about his remaining schedules for the week. A fitting with the styling team of the drama, a photoshoot for promotional posters, then a table reading with the other cast members.

Minho nods along, but he barely processes any of it. When his manager leaves him, done with her tasks for the day, Minho realizes that his butterbell sits on the edge of his kitchen counter, disassembled and the butter only half filled.

He still has another grocery bag to unpack, but his legs have turned numb and he’s opted to sit in his living room.

To catch his breath. Gather his thoughts. Count the years on his fingers and decide if 7 years is a long enough time to see Han Jisung again.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘♡∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Minho sits by the chaise lounge stationed by his living room window. The mug of coffee in his hands has started to cool despite staying mostly untouched. He knows that he has to be up and ready in the next hour, but the heavy weight in his mind has him practically frozen in place.

Should I do it?

Over the years, he’s told himself that the past was best left untouched. He’s spent far too much time willing away the feelings that used to dictate everything he did. The feelings that were used against him so that he did what other people wanted of him.

And yet...

Would it be worth bringing the past to the present?

As much as his rationality screamed at him to keep his back turned, begged him not to do this to himself—there’s that quieter, more subdued part of him that wants to see this through. That part of him that’s convinced that if Jisung found it in himself to reach out, then enough time must have passed between then and now.

Minho sets his mug down with a sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose.

Just thinking about it makes his chest tighten with a swirl of anticipation and dread he doesn’t know how to separate.

What if I refuse and regret it?

What if this was his one and only chance to go back to the songs that he used to love. Because no matter how much time has passed, that hasn’t changed. ‘Close’ isn’t just a fan favourite: it’s the first of their songs.

All this time, he’s only had one of their songs under his name, and even then, he hadn’t been able to go back to it. He hadn’t given himself permission to.

Maybe this is it. Before he lost all of the music in his life.

That quieter, more subdued part of him argues that it’s fragile and stubborn. That he should grant himself this chance to honour the boy he used to be, the one that saw a lifeline in music, the one that, at 17 years old, saw the world in the 15 year old singer that wrote songs with Minho’s name on the tip of his tongue.

Minho leans back and stares at the ceiling. His phone buzzes where it’s perched on his lap, telling him that he has 20 minutes to get ready and wait in the lobby for his manager to pick him up.

He leaves his coffee on the kitchen counter, decides that he can get himself another cup on the way to the filming site. He dresses up in comfortable clothes, fully aware that he’ll have stylists shove pre-approvied outfits in his hands the moment he’s done with hair-and-makeup, and rides the elevator to the lobby.

His manager texts him, says she’s around the corner.

Minho hops inside the car when he sees it.

He takes a deep breath.

“I’ll do it.” he says, and he can’t, for the life of him, figure out how his voice doesn’t shake when he speaks. “I’ll perform ‘Close’ with Han Jisung again.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘♡∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

If Jisung’s being honest, he didn’t think that they’d get a response from Minho by the end of the week. In his head, the best case scenario was that the older would have ignored the request and not make a fuss about it; the worst case scenario was a sarcastic and snarky response about how he’d never be caught dead with any member of 3RACHA ever again.

So, when their manager knocked in the practice room and halted their dance practice with Hyunjin, Jisung was already too busy bracing himself for the refusal that he hadn’t prepared for the storm that came with the acceptance.

“Lee Minho’s team has responded regarding being a guest singer. He accepted, and would like to be sent rehearsal schedules and the Memorandum of Agreement at the soonest possible time. I’ll send those over before the day ends, but I just wanted to let you guys know.”

The words hit him like a sudden drop in an elevator.

His heart lurches, then stutters, then his blood runs cold as if he found himself in the most frightening nightmare his subconscious could conjure up on his overworked, adrenaline-filled body.

“You got Lee Minho as a guest singer?” Hyunjin asks when their manager leaves. He has a bottle of water in his hands, apparently deciding that now is as good a time as any for a break.

Chan nods. “It seems like it.”

Changbin plops down on the sofa. “I can’t believe he agreed.”

“I have dance classes with him once a month.” Hyunjin says carefully, knowing that this is something he chose to omit from them. “He seems like a good guy, but that’s maybe because he doesn’t know I choreograph for you.”

“No, he’s a good guy.” Chan confirms.

It should be simple: a professional decision, a special moment for their fans, an unexpected anniversary surprise. That’s all this should be.

But Jisung feels the old fault lines in his chest shift and move along with his breathing, cracks he thought have long-since been settled threatening to make themselves known again.

“Jisung?” Changbin’s voice cuts gently through the haze building in Jisung’s head. His tone is careful, but probing, as if the turmoil isn’t internal but on display for everyone in the room to see.

“I’m fine.” Jisung manages, but he tugs on the collar of his shirt to make room to breathe.

He didn’t think this far ahead.

He didn’t think MInho would agree.

But he did.

Now, they have to see each other again.

They’ll have to sing the song that 15-year-old Jisung wrote after he met Minho for the first time because he was smitten and blinded by teenage infatuation and had nowhere to put feelings too big for him to understand by himself.

“How about we get lunch before we go back to practice?” Hyunjin suggests. He’s in front of Jisung now, curling Jisung’s palm around a new bottle of water.

Jisung blinks at it and takes a moment for the gesture to register. He mumbles a quick ‘thank you’ and twists the cap open, though he doesn’t take more than a sip.

Chan and Hyunjin go outside to buy lunch for them, while Changbin and Jisung stay in the practice room. Jisung sits down next to Changbin on the sofa, still clutching the water bottle in his hand.

“Are you sure you can do this?” Changbin asks him.

Jisung nods. He looks at himself in the mirror, hopes that he’s the only one that can see the uncertainty in his stance, even when it’s staring right back at him.

“If he agreed to do this with us, then it must mean that he’s over it. I’m over it, too. It’s been, what, 7 years? 6 years?” Jisung shrugs. “Everything between Minho-hyung and I is long in the past, it shouldn’t get in the way of us giving our fans the best experience we can.”

Changbin squeezes his shoulder, then pulls him in for a loose hug. “He’s always been a good guy, I don’t think that’s changed.”

“I don’t think so, either.” Jisung whispers. “I don’t think even a hundred years can make Minho-hyung a bad guy.”

Chan and Hyunjin come back with a paper bag full of egg-drop sandwiches and bottled juice. Chan makes Jisung choose first, saying that their youngest should get first pick, but Jisung simply reaches into the bags blindly and goes with what his hands touch first.

He eats slowly, and he kicks Hyunjin on the shin when the choreographer makes a stupid joke. Jisung is glad for the momentary relief, even when it comes in the form of an annoying friend.

After lunch, the rest of practice moves on. Chan and Hyunjin are sharp as ever, counting beats and adjusting moves and formations to create different choreographies for their songs. They go over the transitions between songs and alterations to original choreography, because this is their chance to have fun with it.

Jisung’s body moves like it’s on autopilot. His mouth forms the shape of lyrics. His limbs follow along through Hyunjin’s comments and instructions with ease, but his mind is elsewhere.

Every now and then, Hyunjin’s voice cuts through—”Sung, your angle is off” or “You’re a beat fast” or “Presence of mind, Jisung, you might get hurt if you get this wrong”—and Jisung snaps back to full clarity, if only for a moment, to let his body process the alterations before the haze comes back.

By the end of the practice session, Jisung is relieved that he didn’t make enough mistakes to raise suspicions, but it’s clear that he’s not fully present. Chan decides that they don’t have to go to the studio today like they originally planned to, and that it’s best for the three of them to turn in early since they’ll have full schedules ahead of their world tour.

“Do you want us to stay with you?” Chan asks as they head home.

“You don’t have to, hyung.” Jisung shakes his head. “I think I’m going to fall right asleep as soon as I feed Bbama, anyway.”

Chan nods and doesn’t push. They’re only a floor or two above him, anyway, so if Jisung changes his mind, then he can easily knock on either of their doors.

When he gets to his apartment, he feeds Bbama and refills his water bowl, then plops down on the sofa to unwind with mindless TV.

Minho said yes.

Jisung rests his eyes.

It was only a matter of time before we crossed paths again, anyway.

At least, this is on their terms. This wouldn’t be possible if they both didn’t agree to it.

For the first time since they’ve met, at least, this is something they both decided on their own.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘♡∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Minho has been in the entertainment industry since he was a child, first as an actor, then as a singer, then back as an actor, so hours of rehearsal is something that’s been embedded into who he is as a person.

But today, the thought of hours of rehearsals tightens something in his chest.

His manager sits beside him in the van, tapping her fingers against the schedule on her tablet. “You don’t have to stay long, but I already blocked out your entire day just in case. Today, you’ll be focused on meeting 3RACHA’s team and warming up to the members. Blockings and proper rehearsals won’t be until next week. No pressure.”

No pressure. Minho almost laughs. It’s easy to say if it wasn’t him. It’s easy to say if it isn’t them.

He nods, anyway, stabs the corner of his mouth with his straw and quietly sips his coffee. What else can he do? He already agreed to appear at the concerts. He already signed all the necessary contracts.

Backing out now would only make all the ghosts in Minho’s head louder.

Taunt him with all the things that were and were never.

He goes over every possible scenario in his head: Jisung smiling like nothing happened, Jisung refusing to meet his eyes, Jisung angry, Jisung stoic.

But, he hopes—

He shouldn’t.

He can’t do this to himself. He can’t allow himself to think about Jisung in a way that extends past the present moment. He just can’t.

The building comes into view faster than Minho is ready for, an unfamiliar glass facade of a building that he’s never stepped foot in. His pulse quickens, just enough to feel it in his throat, when the car passes through the initial security check and is let into the underground parking garage.

“Ready?” his manager asks as they step into the elevator.

He gives a noncommittal hum and directs his eyes to the blinking numbers that tell him what floor they’re on.

This is just work. Just a song. Just a moment on stage to give fans what they want, to let them know that they’re not forgotten, that the things they loved still exist and can be brought back.

That’s what he tells himself, over and over and over, until he and his manager reach the practice room he’s supposed to step into today.

Minho’s body isn’t convinced by his mantra. His muscles hum with a restless kind of energy, anticipation laced with stress.

When was the last time he and Jisung were in the same room?

Had there been managers or cameras or someone to dictate how they should smile and wave because God forbid the nation’s couple had problems between them?

No. Minho remembers the last time. It had been just them, screaming and shouting and yelling—and then silence. Raw and heartbreaking and unfixable silence.

Now, years later, there’s only a door between them again.

The practice room door creaks open, and he can now hear music from inside. A title track from two years ago, if memory serves Minho right. He’s not granted a chance to confirm, because the music is quickly cut right as a staff member pokes her head out to greet them.

She smiles kindly. “Lee Minho-ssi, just in time. I’m 3RACHA’s manager, we’re so glad that you could make time today. The boys have a half-hour break now.”

Minho smooths down his jacket, willing his face into neutrality, despite the best of his heart being anything but.

“I’m just about to head out and get lunch for everyone.” she turns to Minho’s manager. “Would you want to join me? You know, to give the old friends time to reconnect in private.”

Old friends. Old flames. Old wounds reopened.

From over 3RACHA’s manager’s shoulder, Minho can see a glimpse of him. Wearing a cap low on his face, turned toward the mirrored wall, shoulders tense from across the room.

And just like that, the years between them have collapsed.

The air in the practice room is charged, as if everyone inside can feel the shift when Minho walks inside. Jisung doesn’t turn around right away, but Chan and Changbin do. They pause mid-conversation before breaking into familiar smiles that look almost the same as they had years ago.

Looking at them, Minho almost bursts into tears right then and there.

“Minho!” Chan crosses the room in a few strides, the same warmth in his voice that had once anchored Minho when they were all just teenagers.

Minho sees the moment of hesitation when Chan waits for him to step back, but when Minho gives him a small nod, Chan pulls him into a tight hug. For a moment, Minho lets himself sink into it—he barely remembers if Chan still uses the same cologne and fabric softener, but Minho remembers the grounding way Chan’s hugs always gave off.

It’s so achingly familiar that Minho has to clear his throat just so that he doesn’t choke on his tears.

“It’s been way too long,” Chan says when they pull apart. He claps Minho’s shoulder and smiles. “I’m really glad you agreed to do this with us.”

Minho forces a small smile, “It was hard to refuse.”

Changbin walks over next, with his wide grin and energy spilling over more than it did when they were younger. He’s bulked up considerably, so Minho almost trips over himself when Changbin glomps him. Luckily, Chan catches them with the hand still on Minho’s shoulder.

“Good to know you’re not too good to be seen with us.” Changbin teases, though his hug is genuine. “We’ve been watching your stuff, you know. You’re killing it.”

Minho laughs, and this time, there’s no lump of unshed tears lodged in his throat. He hadn’t realized how much he needed this—to see Chan and Changbin again. He hadn’t realized how relieving it is to have them welcome him so easily like this.

When he and Jisung ended things, Minho knew that he lost more than a boyfriend. He feared that he lost his career, but he knew that he’d lost the family he found in Chan and Changbin. Back then, it felt inevitable, because there was no separation between the members of 3RACHA, and Minho can feel that it’s pretty much the same until now.

But the absence of them—of Chan’s comfort, Changbin’s playfulness, of everything Jisung—left Minho moving with an ache he buried under scripts and schedules.

Now, standing here with Chan’s hand on his shoulder and Changbin grinning at him like nothing was lost between them, Minho feels the full weight of how much he missed them.

“Feels weird, huh?” Chan says with a chuckle, squeezing his thoughts. “I can’t believe it took a world tour to get you in the same room as us again.”

Minho’s throat tightens, but he nods. “We’ve all been busy. But time flies, huh? I can’t believe 3RACHA has been around for 10 years now.”

He means it.

Even if busy wasn’t the reason why they drifted apart.

From the corner of his eye, Minho sees Jisung finally turn around. He takes his cap off and lets it hang off his wrist by the hole on the back of it, his expression unreadable as his eyes flicker between Minho and his groupmates.

The reminder of why he’s here presses back into Minho’s chest, sharp and unrelenting.

Their eyes meet.

For a fraction of a moment, the room feels like it’s shrinking around them. Minho sees the boy he remembers—brilliant and wide-eyed and captivating, impossibly young and impressionable, eager to make it big—overlaying the man that stands before him now—shoulders squared, gaze carefully guarded, still brilliant and captivating, even after he’s made it big.

“Hey,” Jisung says, voice low but steady.

Minho clears his throat, forcing out a reply of his own past the sudden dryness in his mouth. “Hey.”

It’s not enough. It’s nearly not enough for everything that hangs heavy between them, but it’s all either of them could have managed.

The silence that follows is taut but fragile, feeling like the air right before a storm breaks.

Chan shifts his weight, his gaze flickering between the two of them before he clasps Minho’s back with forced brightness. “Well, let’s sit down. We have much to catch up on.”

Jisung doesn’t answer, just drops his eyes back to the floor.

Minho clears his throat again, the smile he gives Chan now wry. “We should catch up, yeah? That’s a good idea.”

Changbin plops down on the long couch pushed against the wall, then beckons Jisung closer with a friendly hiss and a beckoning gesture.

Minho wants to say something simple, something that could acknowledge the years between them without starting a shitshow that could break the fragile truce of this arrangement—but he comes up with nothing, and the words snag somewhere in his throat.

He’s never been good with words. Words have always been Jisung’s forte.

The sound of the practice room door opening captures their attention. A waft of roasted coffee and steamed food makes its rounds as their manager announces, “Lunch is here!”

Chan springs up immediately, grinning as he takes the paper bag from Minho’s manager. “Perfect timing, we’re starving.”

Chan laughs and moves to help, passing around the food containers and cups of iced coffee after he asks what each of them would like. After that, they settle into a loose circle, the quiet rustle of containers opening and iced coffee straws cutting through the four of them.

Their managers find seats near the speakers, where a small table is, and it’s clear that they’ll be fast friends from the way the two women are already immersed in a conversation of their own.

Changbin nudges Minho lightly with his elbow. “So, what have you been up to? Do you have so much free time that you could travel the world with us on short notice?”

Anything for you guys. Minho would have said, if it would hurt less to admit that truth out loud. Instead, he shrugs. “I start filming for a new drama soon, but my manager was able to negotiate my schedule so that I can juggle both that and touring.”

“Thank you, Minho.” Chan’s smile is warm, “You didn’t have to do all that.”

“Anything for you guys.” Minho has never been good at keeping such truths to himself for so long.

But it’s true, isn’t it? He’d do anything for these guys. Chan and Changbin and Jisung. No stretch of time could change that; not for Minho.

Minho glances at Chan again, his expression softening into something more personal. “By the way, congratulations on renewing with Fendi. Your campaign photos are all over Seongsu and Gangnam.”

Chan laughs, a touch embarrassed but clearly pleased. “Ah, thank you. I didn’t think they’d keep me around this long, honestly.”

“They’d be stupid not to.” Minho almost blusters. He wants Chan to know that he’s not just being polite, but he genuinely believes that the brand would take a hit if they dropped him.

Across from him, Jisung hasn’t spoken. He picks idly at his food, the straw in his coffee cup rattling against the ice. His silence isn’t hostile, but it carries a weight that Minho can feel even as he avoids looking at him.

He wants to call his name, wants to compliment him on his recent magazine cover, on his ambassadorship with that brand of cologne Minho remembers Jisung loved before, wants to ask how he’s been, if he really wants Minho here, to sing a song with him.

Changbin nudges him with his elbow again. He gives Minho a small, sympathetic smile, and whispers. “Give him time. You know how he is sometimes.”

“He wants you here.” Chan reassures with a quiet voice. “But I can imagine that it’s a lot. For you, too.”

He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’s been holding. He nods, but the knot in his chest doesn’t loosen. But he pushes through it, picking up his chopsticks and stabbing through the food in front of him.

Across from him, Jisung does the same.

And for now, that’s the closest they get.

And that’s okay, because it’s the closest they’ve been in years.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘♡∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

They didn’t rehearse ‘Close’ that day.

It wasn’t in the schedule.

They were just supposed to catch up, get used to being in the same room again.

It sounded absurd. If it was anyone else, Minho would think that it was absurd. He might have even been offended, because his management felt the need to set something like that up.

Micro-managing. Dictating what he did with his time and who he did it with.

But it was Jisung, so he understood.

He understood because he agreed.

He really didn’t know how to be in the same room as Jisung anymore.

Especially now, when there were less restraints. The micro-managing had been handled years ago, and Minho likes to believe that he wasn’t the only one that was granted his freedom. For the sake of Jisung and Chan and Changbin, he wants to believe that they have room to breathe now, too.

It seemed like it yesterday, as their managers tucked themselves away in a corner and talked between themselves, leaving the four of them the space to do as they wished.

Still, that space felt too small. Empty in some aspects, sharp in others, almost suffocating all the same. He weighed his words, gave too much meaning to the silences between sentences, even when he mostly spoke to Chan and Changbin because it was clear that Jisung would be overwhelmed if he was forced to participate more than just sitting there and listening to the conversations.

“Thank you for—” Jisung hesitated. He clutched his cap in his hands like it was the only thing that grounded him. “Thank you for agreeing to do this, Minho-ssi.”

Minho-ssi. The formality stabbed at his heart but he forced a small smile on his face. Jisung refused to look at him, but Minho is sure that if Jisung found the courage to, it was him that would end up looking away.

“I’m just glad you thought of me.” he said, because it was the safest thing he thought to say. He didn’t have time for a spiel or an explanation or something that risked blowing the fuse on this entire thing.

Chan gave him another hug, Changbin playfully threatened Minho not to be a stranger, and then Minho was walking out of the practice room to give 3RACHA the rest of the day to practice for their world tour.

The rest of the day and the following morning were a blur to Minho. He sat in his living room and read through his scripts, jotted down notes on the margins, but he didn’t retain anything. Didn’t memorize a line more than what he already had in his head before he came face-to-face with Han Jisung.

He fell asleep earlier than he usually did, and woke up even earlier than normal. He made a quick breakfast and spent hours at the gym, but even with all that, he found himself dazed by the time noon arrived.

So now, he sits in his car and lets his muscle memory drive him somewhere he knows he won’t have to be alone, but also won’t be burdened with work or a positive attitude. His body is sluggish, but his mind is far from tired.

Jisung kept flashing across his thoughts, but this time the images of him aren’t the ones that he’d held so close to his heart, the ones he remembers so dearly from the years they’ve been together. This time, it’s how Jisung was yesterday: downturned eyes, restless fingers tapping against the condensation of his drink, his comments few and far in between and his volume so low on top of that.

It shouldn’t shake him this much, not after years of building a new life, building his walls back up again, distancing hismelf from the person he was when he was young and naive and so in love he thought he thought he’d be able to endure anything the world threw at him if it meant staying with Jisung.

The car makes a turn and Minho exhales slowly. He makes an effort to feel the air that leaves his lungs. He drives his car into the building’s parking garage and takes several more calming breaths before he steps out of the vehicle and goes to the elevator.

Even with the agitation pulsing in his veins, Minho has the decency to knock. The door unlocks a minute later, swinging open to reveal Seungmin in an oversized sweater and loose shorts, his hair mussed like he hasn’t left his bed all day.

“What are you doing here?” Seungmin asks, but steps aside to let Minho inside. “You could have called. I don’t have food to feed you.”

“I’m not hungry,” Minho mutters as he slips out of his shoes before he continues to pad inside the spacious apartment. It smells faintly of detergent and the half-finished bowl of ramen on the coffee table. The drama Seungmin was watching is paused now, so silence permeates through the area.

Minho sinks into the cushions with a low sigh, tilting his head against the back of it. His neck is craned in a way that will be uncomfortable soon, but he doesn’t move.

Seungmin makes a detour for the kitchen and joins Minho in the living room with two glasses of water. He sits next to Minho but goes on his phone. Minho doesn’t have to peek to know that the younger actor is on a delivery app and in the middle of picking out what to feed Minho.

So fussy. Minho used to tease him for it, when they first began filming the drama that they both starred in. But now, he’s grown to love that about Seungmin. He’s fussy, but only about the things he cares about.

“So, what brings you here on my day off?” Seungmin asks, his head still turned to his phone.

For a moment, Minho simply stares up at Seungmin’s ceiling, wondering if it’s gaia or quinoa or faro. Seungmin doesn’t push him to reply, he simply pulls his leg up on the couch and continues to order food like Minho doesn’t know what he’s doing.

“I met them yesterday. I saw him again.” Minho finally says. Then, even if he knows the younger doesn’t need the clarification, he still lets his mouth form the syllables of his name. “Han Jisung.”

Seungmin lifts his head from his phone and looks at Minho. He leans back and stretches his arm over the back of the couch, forcing Minho to adjust his head so that it lays on the crook of Seungmin’s elbow instead. “And?”

Minho’s throat tightens. “It could have been worse.”

“Was it an ‘okay’ meeting, though?” Seungmin’s tone makes it clear that Minho doesn’t have to talk if he doesn’t want to. “Is it worth it, doing this to yourself for a few viral moments?”

“It’s not that.” Minho sighs. “I know that’s not their goal, asking me to sing that song again. And it’s not why I agreed, either.” he pauses. “That song means something. To me and Jisung, yeah. But it meant something to so many people, too.”

The silence that follows isn’t empty. Seungmin doesn’t press for more details, and he finally moves on to the next step of having food delivered. His phone screen shows Minho that it’ll be here in 30 minutes.

“He changed a lot.” Minho says tentatively, after Seungmin had placed his phone on his lap. “Of course, he changed a lot. It’s been 7 years. But I couldn’t help but feel like there was still something about him that was the same, but I don’t know what it is.”

Seungmin hums softly, looking at him with eyes that Minho can’t read. “Maybe you don’t have to know what it is yet. You’ll be spending a lot of time with him again from now on, if you force yourself to know or not know, it won’t be good for either of you.”

Minho nods, swallowing down the storm inside of him.

“What did you order?” Minho asks.

Seungmin looks down at his phone. “Hotpot. Enough to last until dinner, too.”

Minho chuckles, feeling considerably lighter than he did when he woke up. “Sounds good. What are you watching?”

“A rom-com.” Seungmin reaches for the remote with the arm that Minho is’t resting his head on. “Don’t give me shit about it, you know that it’s my favourite genre.”

Seungmin clicks the remote and the episode continues playing. Minho makes himself comfortable. “I wasn’t planning on saying anything.”

Seungmin flicks his ear in response. The gesture is casual, but somehow steadying, even if Minho fights back by snapping his teeth at the younger’s fingers.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘♡∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

It’s not everyday that there are other people present at 3RACHA vocal rehearsals; but it’s not everyday that the trio let other people in their bubble.

The studio is relatively quiet when Jisung arrives—calm, not silent. Chan and Changbin are already on the long sofa, cups of coffee lined up on the table. Jeongin takes one of the single-seaters, closer to Chan, and he has a notebook perched on his lap with his pen tapping idly against the corner of it.

He’s the one that looks up when Jisung walks into the studio, smiling with that soft eagerness that used to remind Jisung of the way he used to be, until he realized that Jeongin would never lose it the way he did. It was just a part of who the younger was, and Jisung couldn’t bring himself to resent Jeongin for it. Instead, he loved that about Jeongin.

“Nice of you to join us, hyung.” Jeongin teased lightly.

Changbin chuckled, scribbling on his own notebook. A song for him and Jeongin, if Jisung assumes correctly. Halfway done, not quite like the songs that Jeongin usually sings, but they’re all eager to put it on the stage, confident that he and Changbin will shine in it.

“Bbama was clingy this morning, wouldn’t let me go without another cuddle.” Jisung chuckles. He sits between Chan and Changbin so that he could sneak a peek at the stack of papers Chan was working on.

The technical script for their setlist. Or at least, the first draft.

Chan’s handwriting litters the margins, notes and revisions and things to adjust, everything that Jisung doesn’t have the brain capacity to understand, but Chan relishes in the control that he’s given when he plays a hand in stage direction, as well.

“How’s practice for your songs, Jeongin?” Jisung asks. He snatches an untouched cup of iced Americano for himself and takes a big sip.

Jeongin hums, “It’s been a while since I sang ‘Black Hole’. It’s still my favourite.”

Chan coos, even as he’s writing more notes on his script. “You’re too sweet, Jeongin.”

“Wait until we finish this, Jeongin, then you’d have a new favourite.” Changbin snickers good-naturedly, his friendly competitiveness shining through.

Jeongin gestures for Jisung to pass his notebook over to Changbin. “Check over my lyrics before you jump the gun, hyung.”

Jisung wanders over to the computer to play the unfinished track that Jeongin and Changbin will be using. He bops his head along to the beat, already excited to hear the finished product. Changbin talks over the music, tentative lyrics to go with the beat. Chan leans back on his seat and listens intently, nodding along when Jeongin reads off his notebook.

“That’s good.” Chan comments when they finish. He smiles at them. “I can’t believe Changbin got Jeongin to rap.”

“I can’t believe Jeongin can rap.” Jisung snickers light-heartedly.

Jeongin huffs. “I’ll have you know that I am a man of many talents.”

A knock on the door cuts off any response Jisung has on the tip of his tongue. Minho pokes his head inside the room, smiling at them in a way that doesn’t quite reach his eyes but still manages to put light in the room.

“Am I late?” he asks sheepishly, stepping inside the studio. He’s carrying a paper bag with him, which he drops on the floor next to the coffee table.

“Not at all.” Chan shakes his head. He turns to Jeongin. “Have you met Jeongin? He’s singing with me and Changbin.”

Jeongin stands to shake Minho’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I was obsessed with your drama with Kim Seungmin.”

Jisung doesn’t know if he’s imagining it, but he sees a softness overcome Minho’s expression at the mention of the actor.

“I’ll be sure to tell him that.” Minho replies. “I’m a big fan of your’s, Jeongin-ssi. And call me ‘hyung’, we’ll be seeing each other a lot from now on.”

Jeongin nods. “Okay, hyung.”

Chan snickers. “He just wants an excuse to talk to you informally.”

Minho flicks Chan between his brows.

“You brought snacks?” Changbin, ever curious, peeks inside the bag Minho had with him.

Minho nods and begins to take the snacks out and place them between the cups of coffee on the table, where there were more iced Americanos than people in the room, all up for grabs for whoever wanted to drink. “I was told that it would only be us today, and I remember how you three get snacky when you’re in the studio.”

With Minho’s arrival, they start to get serious. Chan brings one of the computer chairs to the table so that Minho can sit, Changbin hands Minho a copy of ‘Close’ and cues up the instrumental with his phone connected to the speakers, and Jeongin revises his own lyrics for ‘Burnin’ Tires’ while they’re focused on a different song.

“So,” Chan says, graciously accepting the cookie that Minho pushes his way. “We’ll start simple today, just vocals to see if there’s anything we need to change up from the original version of the song.”

Minho nods, resting his elbows on his knees. “Sounds good. I’ll have to warn you, though, that I’m out of practice.”

Jeongin makes an excited expression, though he’s quick to mask it with a smile. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this.”

When the intro begins to play, Jisung is plagued by the blinding realization that Minho is sitting right in front of him. Jisung forces himself to breathe evenly as the first line falls from his mouth. He knows this song—he once knew this song better than any other he’s written.

This song, that he wrote when he was 15, convinced that he was one of the lucky people that could have it all: love and fame and ambition, because their managers seemed to be on their side, even before Jisung understood what he was feeling. The agency had been the one to drill into Jisung’s head how Minho looked at him.

This song, that he wrote when he didn’t know it yet. Didn’t know how it felt to be pushed and poked and prodded and to be shoved into the spotlight. Didn’t know how it felt to have every little milestone in a budding relationship be blasted to the entire country because everyone was so invested in something that might not have even been real.

Minho joins in on his verse, and Jisung’s voice dies down immediately. His voice has changed through the years, older and more rounded, but it’s just as painfully familiar. It easily fills the room, smooth and controlled, and it wraps around Jisung like a ghost of something that he held on to like his career depended on it.

It made some part of him furious.

Not at Minho, but at himself, for giving way to Minho to sing the bridge, because he suddenly wanted to hear what it would sound like in the older’s voice, for still remembering the harmony at the last chorus, for how he couldn’t look away from Minho, even as the older had his head turned towards his copy of the lyrics.

He felt like he was being pulled backwards—to being so naive that he thought he and his hyungs ended up at such an accepting agency, because they humoured his silly crush on Minho, and looked for more ways that they could spend time with each other; to that feelings of a couple of cameras pointed at him and Minho on their first date, and their second, and every other time they were outside.

He remembers the anger, the frustration, the feeling of being too much and not enough at the same time. He remembers how Minho made him feel like both, for only short moments, because they’d both be pulled in opposite directions because they had different things to do, until it was once again time for them to shove their relationship down everyone else’s throats.

When the song ends, Jisung keeps his posture relaxed, expression polite when Minho finally tips his head up to look at him.

“I’m still a little rusty,” Minho says, his smile almost sheepish. “It’s been a while since I sang.”

At the back of his mind, Jisung recalls the few instances that his feed is flooded with snippets of Minho singing, on the occasional evenings that the actor posts a cover to a song. Jisung quickly scrolls past them whenever they pop up, but he still has the confidence to assume that Minho’s never lost his heart of singing.

“You did great.” Chan is quick to complement him, nothing short of genuine, like he always is. “A little more practice, and it’d be like you never stopped singing.”

Minho chuckles, flicks the corner of the paper he’s holding. He looks at Jisung. “Your voice has changed. More mature. Sounds great.”

The compliment lands like a thorn in his heart, but Jisung forces a smile. “Yours, too.”

It’s civil. Professional. Exactly what Jisung told himself he has to be.

“It would be best to rerecord the song,” Changbin scratches his chin, deep in thought. “Not necessarily to release, but just so that you two have a guide. Add in some tweaks to the song if you want.”

Minho nods. “I’ll go with anything Jisung wants.”

Long forgotten teenage defiance burns in the back of his mind—ambitious, angry, petty, desperate to put his foot down even if it makes little sense—and he hates how calm Minho looks. Jisung hates that he gets to act like they’re just colleagues now.

No matter how hard Jisung tries to bury it, he can never get to that point. Especially not now, with Minho right in front of him.

“Okay, Changbin, Jeongin, what do you have?” Chan clasps his hands together, side-eyeing Jisung.

Jisung grits his teeth, breathes in through his nose, and takes another sip of his coffee as he listens to Jeongin and Changbin toss lyrics at one another. Minho stays focused on his copy of ‘Close’, and some part of Jisung assumes that the older is doodling a weird little face on the bottom corner of it.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘♡∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Being in the entertainment industry for most of his life, Minho was used to a packed schedule. He’d been up since sunrise, whisked into a final look test, costume fittings, then a table reading after lunch since everyone was already gathered. Filming would start in two weeks, and Minho can admit that he’s missed the rush of being on set, even when it’s only been months since his last project wrapped up.

But still, he found the time to set out in the late afternoon. The building is growing familiar now, even when it’s only been his third time here. It’s the same general sterile lighting, faint scent of polished floors, the same low hum of talent and artistry that most entertainment agencies have within their walls.

He held a cardboard tray of iced drinks, bought from the cafe just around the corner. He hoped that the barista didn’t recognize him, clad in a beanie and mask, because then it’d spoil the surprise if word got out that Minho was lingering around 3RACHA’s company building; it’s safe to assume that the staff there had grown immune to celebrities ordering there, since it’s so close, anyway.

Chan texted him earlier in the morning, asking if he was available for a quick run-through, since they were planning on doing their individual sets today, and it would be nice if he and Jeongin were there to get a feel for it, too.

When the elevator takes him to his desired floor, Minho steps out and walks down the hallway, taking him where he knows the group is practicing. Carefully balancing the cardboard tray of drinks, Minho knocks on the door and waits for someone to open it for him.

“Minho-hyung!” Changbin smiled when he opened the door. He immediately helped him with the drinks, taking two cups out from the tray so that Minho had an easier time balancing the remaining four.

As he stepped into the room, the music was cut, interrupting the instrumental of Chan’s ‘Connected’ which was playing in the speakers when Minho came.

“I wasn’t sure what everyone liked, so I guessed.” Minho started as he set the remaining three drinks on the table by the door. Changbin was already sipping on his own peach-aide with a shot of espresso and giving the other one to Chan, which was just a peach-aide.

Jeongin and Jisung are seated together on the couches, their heads whipped to him when he speaks. Jeongin smiles at him, while Jisung simply nods in acknowledgement.

“Thanks, Minho.” Chan says from the tech booth at the corner of the room. “We already ran through the solo sets once, so we’re taking a break before we start again.”

“That’s too bad, I wanted to hear Jeongin and Changbin’s song.” Minho faux-sulks.

Jeongin stands and goes over to where he’s still standing by the door. He plucks a plain iced Americano from the tray and punctures the lid with a straw. “I was just about to bully Jisung-hyung into making a coffee run downstairs.”

“I’m glad to save you the trouble, then.” Minho chuckles.

There’s only two left: an iced mocha and an iced caramel latte. Something in his stirs when he stares at the iced mocha, some deeply buried part of him that reminded him of how the younger’s sweet tooth permeates even in his caffeine intake.

He loved it when his coffee tasted like chocolate—but Minho wasn’t sure if that was still true.

Still, he took both cups and walked over to the couch, where Jisung was playing a game on his phone. He looked up when he felt Minho standing in front of him.

“Which one do you want?” Minho asks, offering him both.

Jisung blinks at him, then looks at the drinks in his hands. Then, carefully, Jisung reaches for the iced mocha. “Thank you, hyung.”

His fingers brush Minho’s just barely, but it’s enough to make something flicker at the edge of Minho’s chest.

Belatedly, Minho realizes that it’s the first time Jisung has called him ‘hyung’ in years. From the way Jisung’s eyes shake, Minho can deduce that Jisung has had the same realization dawn on him.

Minho makes a point of not making a big deal out of it, not wanting to frazzle the younger; but he still feels the corners of his mouth quirk into a smile. “You still like chocolate in your coffee?”

Jisung nods, stabbing a straw through the lid. “I do. I didn’t think you’d remember.”

Minho remembers too many things about Jisung. For the sake of his dignity, he doesn’t say that out loud.

“You’ve been filming all day, right?” Chan asks, sitting against the mirror that made up an entire wall. There’s a towel slung on the back of his shoulders, sweat dripping down his temples. “You must be tired.”

“Not filming yet.” Minho says, sitting on the farther end of the couch from Jisung, not wanting to make the younger uncomfortable. “Just fittings and a table read for now. Filming isn’t for another two weeks.”

“Are we allowed to ask for spoilers?” Jeongin asks teasingly. “It’s been a while since I’ve watched a good drama. I’m counting on you, hyung!”

Minho chuckles. “Not to be biased, but the plot’s really good.”

Changbin raises a brow. “Oh, now I’m curious, too. What’s the premise?”

“It’s a university drama. You know, secrets and friendships and love triangles, but there’s a mystery plot that I can’t divulge yet so I have to keep my mouth sealed.” Minho wrinkles his nose when Changbin fakes a frown at the withheld information. “Pretty interesting romantic arc, too, actually.”

As he says that, Jisung catches his gaze in the mirror, their eyes meeting for just a heartbeat—before Jisung turns back to his phone and starts up his game.

Minho exhales slowly, grounding himself in the sight of the younger. Whatever this is, it’s fine. It’s more than he expected would become of him and Jisung after their fallout years ago.

“I’m excited to watch it.” Chan grins. “And I hope you won’t tire yourself out going back-and-forth between sets and concerts.”

Minho waves his hand dismissively. “Going home tired is better than not doing anything all day, hyung.”

His manager would have scolded him if she heard him say that. But she’s not here, and Minho knows that Chan cultivates a safe space for freedom of speech, so he can say anything he wants to say.

“You sound like the three of them.” Jeongin snorts. “I can see why you’ve been so close when you were younger. Especially Jisung-hyung, he says the same thing all the time.”

Jisung raises his head from his game to retort. “You make it sound like I’m depressing.”

“Not exactly depressing. Unhealthily ambitious, maybe.” Jeongin points out.

Jisung flares his nostrils before he goes back to his game. His thighs bracket the coffee, his back hunched to take occasional sips.

At the back of his mind, Minho wonders if Jisung had grown into an attitude that tends to shut himself out, or if it’s just his presence that forces Jisung to make himself limited. Either way, it doesn’t sit well with him, because he remembers the younger to shake with energy and the desire to connect with people, to talk and talk and talk until he’s gasping through his laughs.

He shouldn’t feel so dismayed that he hasn’t seen Jisung like that for the past week; in truth, he hasn’t seen Jisung like that in 7 years.

“Jisung, fix your spine.” Chan sighs while pinching the bridge of his nose.

From the corner of his eye, Minho sees Changbin straighten his back, too. He laughs to himself, seeing that not much has changed between the three of them.

After finishing their drinks, they begin practice again. Chan starts with his solo set, which ends with his duet with Jeongin. It’s a seamless transition to Changbin’s solo set, especially with the difference in the songs, since Changbin starts his set with his duet with Jeongin.

Minho has to admit that he’s impressed with how great the song is, considering it was written in such little time. It just goes to show how creative these guys are, how much they love making music and delivering performances that their fans would love.

Jeongin leaves after his song with Changbin, apologetically waving his hand as he gathers his things with a brief explanation of, “I have a meeting with a producer.”

Chan hugs him goodbye and walks him out of the practice room, thanking him for his time.

Then, came Jisung’s set.

From the technical script, Minho can see that his entrance would be at the end of Jisung’s set, a final surprise to tie up all the unreleased songs and Jeongin’s guest appearance in a nice little bow made out of nostalgia.

The song before ‘Close’ is unreleased, and from the first listen, Minho knows that it’s a direct follow-up to ‘Alien’, which Jisung sang before ‘Human’.

And Minho is mesmerized, like he’d always been when it came to Jisung.

The opening notes for ‘Close’ started playing two seconds after ‘Human’ ended. The technical script says that Jisung has 30 seconds of speaking time before Minho has to enter, but they can get the feel for that in future rehearsals.

Jisung starts singing the first verse, and Minho takes his time walking from the sofa to Jisung’s side, because it would take him some time to get to Jisung from backstage. By the time it’s Minho’s turn to sing the second verse, they’re side-by-side, and they find themselves looking at each other through the mirror.

Jisung smiles at him from behind his mic, so small that Minho wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t looking at the younger. He sings the second chorus so effortlessly, like he never stopped singing this song, like he still believes in everything it stood for when he wrote it.

Then, the bridge; an unspoken agreement that it would be given to Minho fully, a difference from their original duet where they sang half each. Jisung sways where he stands an arm’s length away from Minho, tipping his head back to crack the muscles in his neck, distracted but not anxious.

Relaxed. In the zone.

The last chorus stays the same, where their voices bounce off of each other—and Jisung would always lose himself in his performances, no matter if it was a performance in the practice room or on stage in front of thousands of people—so Minho sees the moment Jisung lets go of his inhibitions, just enough for the younger to turn to him as they sing.

All of a sudden, Minho is looking at Jisung, not Jisung in the mirror, and something claws at his chest because it’s so different from how he remembers singing with Jisung, but it’s also so the same that he wouldn’t be surprised if his knees buckled then and there.

When the song ends, Minho notes how Jisung’s shoulders are relaxed, the younger rolling from his toes to the heels of his feet, a little habit that Minho finds himself relieved to know he still does.

“I feel like it’s missing something.” Chan comments from the tech booth. He presses a button and the speakers cut off the instrumental of the first song of the next set.

Jisung shrugs. “Minho-hyung and I have a short ment after the song. It’s not like it’s going to cut off as soon as the song ends.”

Changbin nods, sprawled on the empty couch. “It feels like a shame to only have hyung for one song, though. I feel like by the end of ‘Close’, the audience is still reeling from Minho-hyung’s appearance and they’ll feel disoriented to realize that he’s already leaving. It’s the end of the solo sets, too, so we should think of another element of ‘oomph’ before the audience is occupied with the VCR for the next five minutes.”

Minho hesitates. Bites his tongue, clenches his fingers around the mic in his hand. It’s turned off, just used for the sake of practice, but it’s a grounding weight.

Until Chan asks: “Do you have any ideas, Minho?”

“We could...” Minho looks at Jisung to guage the younger’s reaction. He’s only looking at Minho passively, waiting for what he has to say before he provides a shift in his expression. “We could sing another duet. Maybe ‘OH’.”

They’re already forcing the door open, anyway, nails and hammers and boards bloodied and rusted. They might as well tear the whole wall down.

“Absolutely not.” Jisung intones, voice colder than Minho’s ever heard it. By the way Changbin shoots up to sit properly, he can guess that it’s the same for him and Chan, too.

“Jisung—” Chan tries.

Jisung shakes his head and stamps his foot. He turns away from Minho and looks back in the mirror, his jaw clenched. “One duet is enough. We have three minutes after that to engage with the crowd, it’s not our fault if they feel robbed even after all of that.”

Minho doesn’t flinch, at least not outwardly.

But internally, he feels the tone of Jisung’s words land like a slap he didn’t see coming. Cold and sharp and biting.

“I just thought—” he starts, but the words falter under the tension that’s started to thicken the air in the room, seemingly coming from nowhere.

He thought that it would be a good addition, another song that neither of them ever had the heart to sing again, but knew fans missed. If they could sing ‘Close’ now, then they could sing ‘Mixtape: OH’, too.

Minho doesn’t know how to admit it out loud, but he still holds love for these songs. Every single song that Jisung wrote and dedicated to him. Even the ones that aren’t their’s anymore.

He might be selfish for even entertaining the thought, but wasn’t Jisung selfish when he reached out and asked Minho to sing with him in the first place?

Chan looks like he wants to intervene, but stops himself, not unlike how he usually did when Minho and Jisung fought before. Changbin sits up straighter, phone forgotten on his lap and he looks between them, waiting for the moment where either of them might actually have to intervene.

The sound Jisung makes when he exhales through his nose is tight and uneven. “This isn’t just any tour, hyung—it’s 3RACHA’s tenth anniversary. If you think that this is a good time for you to be nostalgic and attempt to relive your glory days as a singer, then you’re wrong.”

Minho swallows hard, jaw tightening as he looks down at the mic in his hand. He feels frustration bubbling in his chest, a lick of anger and annoyance that’s reminiscent of his own reckless teenage years where his young age made him blow up at everything and treat everything as a personal attack.

Jisung’s has always been more explosive. He’s always been reactive, in both polarities. Blinding when he’s happy and scorching when he’s angry. Minho expected this much when he heard the words leave his own mouth, but a small part of him hoped.

A small part of him stupidly, naively hoped that Jisung would see where he was coming from. That maybe enough time has passed to let them share something without turning it into a fight.

“I wasn’t being nostalgic,” he says carefully, voice even but strained with the effort of keeping himself calm. “I just thought it'd be nice to have an extra surprise for the fans.”

“You don’t have the right to use my fans or your fans as an excuse to decide what’s good for me anymore.” Jisung shoots back, and Minho sees a split second of regret before the younger schools his expression back to anger.

“Jisung.” Chan warns quietly, taking a step away from the tech booth to walk closer to them.

Minho’s frown deepens, buried resentment curling into the bones of his ribs and making it harder to breathe. “I’m not the one that reached out and proposed singing a song with someone they stormed out on and then ghosted. If anything, you’re the one still hiding behind your fans.”

That night haunts him, more than Minho wants to admit. The truth that Jisung would rather walk home in the pouring rain than hear him out. The fact that it was the last time they spoke to each other until this month.

“Minho.” Chan warns next, with the same thread of authority but with a heightened sense of urgency. A strain that let Minho know they were verging on an argument.

He sees it through the mirror—panic, hurt, anger, that flash of memories—before Jisung tips his head down and hides behind the curtain of his hair.

The resentment sinks back down in the hole of his heart where Minho’s been pushing it away. He takes a deep breath, looks away from Jisung, and looks at the two other people in the room. He’s mildly grateful that their managers or Jeongin aren’t here right now, because they’ve never seen how intense the arguments between him and Jisung have been; have no way of knowing that this isn’t the worst it could get.

“Uhm.” Changbin intones, uncharacteristically unsure of how to move forward with the situation.

Minho’s lips part, but no sound comes out. All his ears could pick up are the sounds of the faint hum of the air conditioner and the static hiss of the speakers still on standby.

Chan places a steady hand on his shoulder. “I think that’s enough for the day. Thank you for coming, Minho.”

Jisung scoffs under his breath, shaking his head as if trying to dispel any other words he wants to say. “Yeah, right. Enough for the day.”

There’s a long beat before Minho speaks again, and when he does, his voice is measured and too careful. He looks at Chan and Changbin, but makes a point to avoid even the mirror, in case he gets a glimpse of Jisung there.

“I’ll have my manager send my filming schedule to yours, so that you know when to expect me for rehearsals.” he gives Chan the practice mic with deliberate gentleness, then goes to the sofa to retrieve his bag. “I can see that I upset Jisung, and I didn’t mean to, but I think it’s best that I leave now. I have an early schedule tomorrow and I need to get some sleep, anyway.”

Changbin reaches over and pats Minho’s back. “I’m really about him, hyung. You know he doesn’t mean that.”

Minho nods, but the words hardly process in his head. Still, he means it when he says, “I know.”

Minho is out the door before he can look back at the silhouette of the man that still has the power to break his heart, 7 years later.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘♡∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

After Minho left, Jisung kept his head down, focused on the gap between his shoes, where a polished floor stared back at him.

“I’m sorry.” Jisung muttered thirty seconds too late because only Chan and Changbin were in the room to hear him.

Chan pries Jisung’s fingers open to take his practice mic and put it away. Changbin powers down the tech booth and puts away their things. Chan throws out the drinks Minho bought before he arrived, all in various stages of filled.

Jisung only leaves the spot he cemented himself on when Chan ushers him to the door and guides him to the elevator, Changbin just two steps behind them.

A company car brings them to their apartment building, and Jisung pretends to be asleep the entire drive home. He doesn’t open his eyes even as he feels the car park right in front of their building, and Changbin indulges him by shaking his shoulder and telling him that they’re home.

Jisung rubs his eyes, not as an act, but because when he opens his eyes, he feels the weight behind them, coming from the back of his throat where he’s sure his voice is soft in that broken way instead of that fatigued way it usually is when they practice for days on end.

The silence during the elevator ride doesn’t bother Jisung as much as it should. Changbin leans against the mirrored wall and Chan’s hand hovers awkwardly on the unpressed buttons above Jisung’s floor, which is lit, and in the end, the eldest doesn’t press any of the other buttons.

When the elevator doors slide open, Jisung steps out first, not looking back to know that his hyungs are following behind him.

He taps his passcode with thoughtless muscle memory, then is greeted by the faint scent of cedarwood and fabric softener, reminding Jisung that the cleaning lady came in this morning. He flicks the lights on as he oes his shoes off and leaves them haphazard on the side of the foyer’s shoe rack, knowing Chan will fix it for him (he won’t be bothered if Chan leaves his shoes untouched, too, because he’ll use the same shoes tomorrow).

As soon as Jisung walks past the foyer and leaves his two friends to switch their shoes to Jisung’s guest slippers, he hears a small thud, directly followed by a scrabble of nails on the tile floor.

Jisung kneels half a moment before Bbama is sprinting from the corner, presumably playing in Jisung’d bedroom, and barrels toward him with the unrestrained joy that he never runs out of, tail wagging so fast that it’s just a fluffy blur behind him.

“Hey, Bbama.” Jisung wraps his arms around the poodle, pressing his body into his chest so tightly that Jisung is sure he has some of Bbama’s fur in his mouth. “Did you have a good day, baby? You had a bath, didn’t you?”

Bbama licks his chin insistently, yapping excitedly as if he’s telling Jisung about his day. Jisung continues to pet and tickle Bbama until the poodle is lying on his back on the floor, hind legs twitching as Jisung digs his fingers into his soft fur.

The weight behind his eyes is back, this time with a strain at the back of his throat, like a muted cry waiting to claw itself out. He swallows it down and focuses on the fussy ball of energy in front of him, even when the sight of Bbama’s rounded eyes remind him of the man he snapped at just hours ago.

“You’re gonna sleep so well tonight since you’re so clean.” Jisung teases him, voice pitching higher as he baby-talks his precious fur-baby.

As he does that, Jisung loks over his shoulder and sees Chan disappear into the kitchen, presumably to filter though the pantry Jisung (and Changbin) only keeps stocked on the off chance that Chan feels like cooking in their kitchen. Personally, Jisung just orders food when he’s hungry, but that’s assuming that he’s not eating in either of his other hyung’s apartments.

Jisung lets go of Bbama and stands up, groaning when he feels his muscles ache. He cracks his back with a satisfied sigh, then goes to sit on the sofa and look for something to watch before he goes to wash off the entire day from his skin.

Bbama barks at him, clearly wanting more attention, but the dog is quickly distracted when his automated feeder pushes out two handfuls of kibble into his empty food bowl. He barks at that instead, then rushes to the corner of the living room to receive his snack.

Changbin sits next to him minutes later, distant sounds of Chan cooking in the kitchen, and curls a glass of water in Jisung’s free hand.

Jisung glances at him, but drinks more than half before he sets the glass down on the corner of the coffee table. Wood, because Jisung liked how it looked in his living room. No coaster, because Jisung can’t be bothered to worry about the long-term consequences of condensation settling on mahogany.

“Are you good?” Changbin asks, not prying, but opening up the conversation if Jisung wants to have it.

Jisung shrugs. “I shouldn’t have said that. I was out of line.”

Minho’s face flashes in hsi mind. The way the older lost colour in his cheeks when Jisung said what he did. The split second of hurt before he snapped back with as much bite as Jisung did, before the hurt returned, this time with regret.

“You were,” Changbin agrees, because even if they’re best friends, he won’t blindly support Jisung when he does something wrong. “He was just offering his thoughts.”

“I know.” he sighs, blinking rapidly in a desperate attempt to keep his eyes relatively dry.

‘Mixtape: OH’. To him, it was giddier than ‘Close’, because that was a song written when his curiosity and initial fascination with Minho turned into full-blown affection and the spiraling realization that there was someone that had the ability to wash away all of his unearned aggressiveness and leave him soft and tender.

Fast-paced and singing it left him breathless in the way that Minho often did, no matter if they were alone or under public scrutiny, the latter of which they often were. He debated keeping the song to himself, or just for him and Minho, but he barely had a choice at the time, even when it came to things he wanted to keep private or take slow.

He gifted the song to Minho for their second anniversary, to be added to his upcoming mini album. Just months before Minho’s contract ended with their old entertainment company. Just months before they broke up and never spoke to each other again.

Absent-mindedly. he flicks through the selection of streaming sites his TV has and settles on a random one, then flicks through the selections of movies that the app has, no real genre or type of media in mind.

Clearly done with his kibble, Bbama rushes back to Jisung. He’s more relaxed now that it’s been minutes since Jisung has arrived home, so the dog doesn’t rush to the sofa.

Bbama pounces on the sofa and drops down on Jisung’s lap, already too big to comfortably fit there, but he’ll forever stay Jisung’s baby.

Bbama yips, happy to have Jisung back home. The poodle pads at Jisung’s shirt, excitedly demanding attention, the fur at the bottom of his mouth dripping wet, telling Jisung that he drank water after nibbling on his snack.

Jisung starts crying before he can stop the tears from falling.

Bbama, almost 8 years old. A little puppy when Jisung first got him. A birthday gift from Minho when he turned 18. Months before they broke up. Months before Jisung stormed out of Minho’s apartment and walked home in the pouring rain.

Bbama greeted him when he got home that night, too, and Jisung burst out crying when he saw him, too. At the time, Bbama was too small for Jisung to properly hug, and now, Bbama is too big to fit in his lap.

Changbin doesn’t say anything at first, but Jisung can see his surprise even through the blur of tears in his eyes. The sound of pans from the kitchen pause, and there’s the click of the stove being put out, Bbama’s whines alternating with Chan’s feet.

Jisung buries his face into Bbama’s fur, sparing a moment to mentally apologize to the cleaning lady for getting his dirty when he just bathed. The tears come soundlessly like they always do, but then his shoulders start shaking and the dam finally gives way for his breath to catch in the uneven bursts of someone failing miserably to stop themselves from crying.

“I just—” Jisung chokes on fur, and that’s the only reason he pries his face out of the dog’s neck. “I was looking at him, and I felt—angry and stupid and scared and hurt and—God, I really thought that I was over all of that. I don’t—I don’t know why I said that.”

Changbin’s expression softens, and he leans closer to sling an arm over Jisung’s shoulders in a half hug. “It was a long time ago, yes, but we all still get flashbacks of how harsh it was when we first started. You had it worse, because Chan and I didn’t have the extra responsibility you did.”

Chan kneels in front of Jisung and nods. He reaches up and wipes Jisung’s chin, where his tears have already reached and started dripping down to his lap. Bbama jumps off and settles on the side of the coffee table, giving them space.

“I felt that worst version of myself again, like I couldn’t talk about anything without yelling and saying something that hurts, even when I didn’t really believe it.” Jisung roughly wipes his cheeks with the heel of his hand. “I don’t know why I reacted that way to a song I wrote. And it’s pathetic because what difference does it make when we’re already doing a song together, anyway?”

“It’s not pathetic.” Chan says, squeezing his knee. “All of the songs you write mean something, especially the ones meant for him.”

Even the one I gave away?

He shuts that thought down before he starts crying about something else entirely.

“Minho-hyung still didn’t deserve to have me blow up on him like that.” Jisung mumbles. “He has a point, anyway. This is our only chance to revive the songs that both of us have been avoiding since we broke up.”

“I know.” Chan whispers. “And he knows that you didn’t mean it, too. He snapped back, and that must have hurt you, too.”

Jisung nods, fiddling with his thumbs. “He was right, though. I freaked out on him before, and I freaked out on him now.”

Jisung did do that, didn't he? He stormed out on Minho, blocked his number, never spoke to him again—then reached out to ask if they could revive the song that started it all.

“He knows how you are.” Changbin tries to lighten the mood with a muted chuckle. “And you know he’ll apologize the next time you see him. You’ll apologize, too. We knew there’d be tension when we reached out to him, what’s important is that you two learn how to work around all of that, even if it’s just for a little while.”

Apologize.

Jisung has to apologize.

“Do I still have flour, hyung?” Jisung asks with a sniffle.

Chan nods, a small smile quirking up. “You don’t have eggs, though. I’ll run up to my apartment real quick and grab you some.”

Jisung nods, thankful that Chan seems to understand without him needing to explain. “I have whipped cream in the fridge.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Chan goes back to the kitchen to finish up with dinner. “That’s one thing you never seem to run out of.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘♡∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Minho steps out of the conference room with a quiet sigh, the air-conditioned chill clinging to his skin and making him regret leaving his cardigan in his car. He just sat through three hours of discussing his schedule for the upcoming months and if there are any documents his management doesn’t already have for his VISA applications, since he’ll essentially be an honourary member of 3RACHA for the entirety of their decade-anniversary tour.

It’s been a while since the last time his calendar felt this packed, with almost every single date accounted for. The last time must have been three years ago, when he felt ambitious and decided to juggle two movies and a drama at the same time.

His manager catches up to him before Minho can find his way to the elevator and head on home to continue burying himself in his scripts. “Jisung is waiting for you in Room 504. He got here ten minutes ago.”

Minho stops walking. “Huh?”

Minho blinks once, twice, as his brain takes the time it needs to process the information. The hallway suddenly feels too narrow, the lights too bright.

He didn’t think he’d see Jisung again so soon, especially not in his building. Something confusing tugs at his heart, not knowing what to think about the fact that Jisung sought him out today.

“Why is he here?” Minho asks, even if he has a good idea.

Yesteday still hasn’t left his mind, and while it could have gone worse, he knows that he shouldn’t have snapped back so easily. Jisung always got stressed when it came to concert preparations, and Minho expected that they’d end up in a squabble sooner or later.

His manager shakes her head. “No, just that he wanted to talk to you after your meeting.”

So, Minho nods and turns away, in search of the room that’s apparently been holding Han Jisung for the past ten minutes. When he reaches the door, he hesitates.

He debates turning around and going home, like he originally planned. Truth be told, he’s ahead of his internal schedule for memorizing his script, and he has nothing solid planned for the day. But he could pretend to be busy or running late to something, or make some other type of excuse just to be petty.

But he doesn’t. He exhales sharply through his nose, a half-hearted effort to regulate himself.

He brings his fist up to the door and knocks, but he doesn’t wait for a response before he turns the doorknob and opens the door.

Jisung is sitting in the middle of the long table, hood up and slouched in the wheeled chair. On the table, there’s a non-descript white box and two cups of iced Americano, one of which is already halfway empty. Jisung’s phone lays screen down next to the box, Jisung’s palm on top of it, so Minho assumes that he’s been scrolling through his phone while waiting for him.

He keeps his voice level andcareful. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Jisung straightens in his chair and waits for Minho to close the door behind him before he moves the full cup of coffee in front of the chair next to him. “I got you coffee.”

Minho takes it as a gesture to sit there, so he does. He closes his hand around the cup of coffee but doesn’t take a sip yet. “Thank you.”

The air between them feels suspended, which isn’t a far cry from how it’s been lately, but it’s clear that there’s something heavier now because of what happened yesterday.

“I, uh...” Jisung begins, turning away from Minho to fiddle with his thumbs. The hoodie he’s wearing is oversized, making him look smaller than he actually is, and the hood itself is drawn up so far that Minho can’t even see his face past the trembling curve of his jaw when he swallows.

“Hm?” Minho prompts, hoping that it comes out patiently.

He tries his hardest not to look at the box on the table, but its mere presence taunts him, demanding his attention. He sees it through the corner of his eye, and he desperately wishes that the smell of sugar in the air is because of the coffee.

“I made you something.” Jisung tells him in that kind of tone Minho remembers from the times Jisung didn’t know whether to apologize or to continue pushing him away.

There’s a brief, fragil pause before Jisung reaches forward. His movements are cautious, almost ceremonial, as he presents Minho with what he brought with him. The box sits in front of him, unassuming and blank, nothing on the cardboard to hint at what’s waiting for him inside.

But Minho feels an anxious thump in his chest, deep and persistent. It’s a rhythm that drags him backwards in time, to small apartments and even smaller kitchens, flour and sugar and apologies that were too sweet to taste properly.

He exhales through his nose again, realizing that Jisung wasn’t going to look at him anytime soon, so he brings his attention back to the box on the table.

He doesn’t want to be right, but the dread in his stomach tells him that he is.

Minho’s heart still stops when he opens the lid and sees the mess inside, even when a part of him already expected this.

Inside of the box is a disaster that he knows all too well.

He doesn’t have to check to know that the cake has two layers, slightly bland tasting because it’s mostly just flour, eggs, and a little sugar and milk. The whipped cream messily frosted all over the cake gives it the unbearable sweetness. The chocolate kisses spelling out ‘I’m sorry :(’ in letters drawn with crooked lines.

Different instances of the exact same cake flood in his mind all at once. After every one of the fights that Jisung has started, or even the ones he ended by being brutally cruel, the younger always baked him this cake to apologize.

Minho used to love it, deep down, even when he rolled his eyes. He knows Jisung knows that he loves it, because he always ate the cake and accepted his apology whenever he was presented with the apology cake. The best of 17-year old Jisung’s culinary expertise.

The memories came fast and hot, overlapping one on top of the other so Minho doesn’t have the time to check if every single one of his memories are accounted for.

Their first fight, something petty, ended up with Jisung slamming the door on him. Silence that lasted three whole days before Jisung showed up with the first variation of this ugly little cake, his cheeks still pink frm over heat and timid guilt.

The night they fought over schedules and exhaustion, and Jisung’s trembling hands still managed to whip out two layers of slightly burnt sponge cakes. When they argued over Jisung burning out, in front of Chan and Changbin; when Jisung stood him up on a date they’ve been planning for weeks; when Minho wanted to surprise Jisung with a nice homecooked dinner but the younger locked himself in the studio overnight.

Every single time, without fail, Jisung baked Minho an apology cake.

Every single time, without fail, Minho accepted the apology.

Until Jisung didn’t bake a cake, even as Minho waited for one. The silence between stretched too wide, too long. Minho waited for days, weeks, almost months, pretending like it didn’t matter, even as a dull, empty ache settled where sweetness used to be.

Now, the chocolate kisses stare back at him, almost mockingly, and Minho feels like he’s going to throw up.

He feels something sour rising in his throat, chest tightening and pulse roaring in his ears. His mind races with thoughts of ‘are you serious’ and ‘this isn’t funny’ and ‘finally’ and ‘why now’ and before he could think to voice any of those out, his brain shuts down.

His brain just shuts down.

Minho doesn’t tell Jisung that he doesn’t see all the other apology cakes he received from him, but that he’s seeing the apology cake that never came.

Minho picks up the box, jostling the cake on the side of the box as he stands. The box feels heavier than he remembers it to be, condensation from being stored in the fridge seeping through the thin cardboard.

“Minho-hyung?” he hears Jisung ask, but the younger’s voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater.

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t glance at Jisung before he walks out of the room, not even bothering to close the door as he steps out. He tosses the cake into the waste bin with an unglorified thump and doesn’t look back.

There’s whipped cream on the side of his forefinger, smeared when the cake slipped from his hands. He frowns at his finger the entire elevator ride to the basement parking garage.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘♡∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Jisung always preferred the larger practice rooms, solely because there was more space for them to move around. It makes it easier to pretend like they’re on stage instead of mirrored walls and a controlled environment.

There’s no music coming from the speakers, and their dancers are sprawled in little groups along the walls, scrolling on their phones or drinking water. Chan is filming a tiktok with a pair of dancers in the corner, while Changbin is standing in the middle, working through blockings with Hyunjin.

Jisung sits on the sofa, sipping on his lukewarm coffee that’s mostly melted ice rather than espresso and syrup at this point. He fixes the hem of his shirt with his free hand, listening in on the conversation of the two dancers seated on the floor in front of him. Some drama with a different dance group that’s only interesting to Jisung because he’s entirely removed from it.

Jisung stares at the mirror as the door opens, and Minho walks in.

He freezes.

Minho isn’t supposed to be here for another hour. It was the only reprieve Jisung had since they began rehearsals, knowing that he still had minutes to spare before he’s inevitably confronted with what happened the day before.

But there Minho is, slipping into the room quietly, a tote back slung over his shoulder and his manager trailing behind him.

Changbin is the first to bring attention to Minho’s presence; even as Minho’s eyes have found Jisung’s through the mirror, which means that Minho knows Jisung is the one that noticed him first.

“Hyung, you’re early!” Changbin waves.

“Yeah, my morning was free.” Minho pulls his mask down and starts bowing at the dancers that overlap their greetings for him. “Nice to meet you all, thank you for working well with 3RACHA.”

Hyunjin smiles at Minho. “Fancy seeing you here, Lee Minho-ssi.”

Minho looks at him, and Jisung catches the flash of recognition. “Hyunjin-ssi! I didn’t know you worked with 3RACHA.”

“I choreograph for them a lot.” Hyunjin digs his elbow into Changbin’s shoulder. “I get paid to boss them around and tell them to fix their formations.”

Minho snickers, a sound far-too light for someone that had no qualms tossing an entire cake in the trash. just two days ago. “Sounds like a fitting career for you, I’m going to be honest.”

Chan catches up to them, wrapping an arm over Minho’s shoulders. “Well, Jeongin isn’t here yet, and we’re still polishing choreography adjustments with Hyunjin with the dancers.”

Minho’s eyes flicker, and when their gazes meet in the mirror again, Jisung belatedly realizes that he hasn’t looked away since the older walked in the room.

He forces his eyes down, to the chewed up tip of his straw and what’s left of his vaguely coffee-tasting ice water. His pulse thuds unevenly in his throat, and a part of him knows that it’s less because of the three hours of dancing he’d just endured and more the mere fact that he can feel Minho’s eyes on him.

“I actually wanted to talk to Jisung, if your break isn’t over yet.” Minho’s voice carries softly through the room, calm and hooking right under Jisung’s ribs. The dancers glance up for a moment before returning their own conversations, and Jisung suddenly fears all the rumours that could possibly get out before and during the concerts.

Jisung’s fingers twitch around the plastic cup in his palm, jaw clenching as he wonders how Minho will humiliate him today.

The thought creeps up before he can stop it, but he’s just as quick to force it down. He wants to think that he still knows Minho enough to know that the older doesn’t humiliate people, not even when he’s angry or hurt. And not when there are people watching.

Despite the awkwardness that’s been clawing at them, Minho has been nothing but professional. The best case scenario to this social experiment Jisung decided to subject them to.

Still, the shame sits heavy in his mind.

He’s thought about how to breach the topic ever since Minho got in that elevator two days ago, and Jisung has come up with nothing.

But, of course, Minho would be the one to initiate a talk, even after Jisung has lost sleep thinking of how to tell the older ‘can we talk?’. He’s always been more upfront when it comes to emotional honesty. Jisung often wondered how Minho was able to put up with him and his explosive emotions for so long.

“Yeah, break just started.” so, Jisung accepts the grace with a clipped nod. He stands, excuses himself as he steps over the gossiping dancers’ legs, and walks out of the door without checking to see if Minho is following him.

He only looks back before he enters a smaller practice room at the end of the hall, not wanting to talk in the middle of the hallways or getting in an elevator to look for an empty function room or studio. He keeps the door open as he walks inside, flicks the lights on, and plops down on the corner of the sofa.

“Hey.” Minho says softly as he sits on the other end of the sofa.

Jisung inhales through his nose, still looking at Minho through the mirror. “If this is about what happened the other day, forget about it.”

He doesn’t want to think about it anymore—the blank look on Minho’s face when he walked out of the room, the silence that followed after he disappeared into an elevator. The silence that followed echoed louder than any screaming match Jisung remembers them having.

After he recovered from watching Minho throw the cake out, he went to his fitting appointment with Chan and Changbin. He laughed it off when his friends asked how it went, told them it wasn’t a big deal and he’s just glad that Minho didn’t dump it on him, at the very least.

But it really stung. Jisung could admit that much to himself.

It stung more than he expected it to.

It was the first time Minho rejected an apology cake.

“Look, Jisung. I’m sorry. For what I said the other day and for what I did after that” Minho starts after a minute of stilted silence passes between them. “When I saw the cake, I just blanked.” Minho says, and to his credit, he sounds genuinely remorseful. Through the mirror, Jisung sees that the older has his head tipped down, hands folded on his lap. “It wasn’t my best moment, and I’m sorry. I know how much effort you put into those cakes, and I shouldn’t have thrown it away just like that.”

Jisung forces out a laugh, chest feeling light as he hears what’s being said to him. “I get it. It must have been a cheap shot from me, but it was the only thing I could think of to apologize. It must have been weird, to be given that again.”

He knows that the cake might have been impulsive, might have been stupid. But it was the first time he baked something in years. The only thing he knew how to bake, still burned in his mind after almost a decade of not touching an oven.

It’s not that Jisung expected Minho to be completely receptive to the cake. He knew that there might have been resistance, maybe some sarcasm, but he didn’t expect the older’s reaction to be that bad. The blankness in Minho’s expression haunted Jisung as he rode the same elevator that Minho escaped in, half an hour later.

“I still want to apologize, hyung.” Jisung finds himself saying after a pause, and he finds that he’s telling the truth.

The point of the cake was to apologize. The truth of the matter is, Minho rejected the cake, which means he rejected Jisung’s apology.

He turns his body away from the mirror, looking Minho in the eye. The lights in the practice room are bright, leaving no room for either of their expressions to hide beneath shadows. He curls his fingers between his knees when he feels the urge to reach out for Minho’s hands, not wanting to risk another rejection so soon.

But Minho only smiles at him. Reserved, but it’s a smile. “I accept your apology. At this point, I did worse. I said something mean, then wasted food when you tried to apologize.”

Something in Jisung’s chest unclenches. It’s small but noticeable—the first deep breath he must have taken in days.

“Please humour me?” Jisung asks. He can’t help the way his eyes soften in that way that always made Minho relent, no matter the request. “I’d offer to cook, but we’d both end up regretting it. But I can offer you the advantage of picking out the most expensive restaurant you can think of to have dinner in.”

Minho’s laugh comes out quiet, but surprised. Real.

He nods. “Okay, I’ll think of a place.”

“We can go tonight?” Jisung offers, mentally going through his schedule for the day. “I know you’re only here until 3, but we’re supposed to be done by 8, and we can go to the restaurant together.”

Minho hums, his tone lighter now. “That works. My table reading is at the studio nearby, so it’s not out-of-the-way for either of us.”

Jisung smiles, a soft curve to his lips that feels like a breath of fresh air. “Great.”

“Great.” Minho responds.

Jisung stands, wiping his sweaty palms on his sweats. The awkwardness is back again, but it’s not from the tension that comes after having a fight. It’s just that awkwardness of talking to someone he’s learning to understand again.

“We should probably head back there before Hyunjin has my head for trying to escape.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘♡∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Ten minutes before 8 rolls around, Jisung is exhausted, but there’s the satisfying ache in his bones that tell him that he’s been productive and made the most of the hours they had to practice. Their dancers left an hour ago, which left only the three of them and Hyunjin to make specialized adjustments to their existing choreographies.

Minho and Jeongin only stayed for two hours, just enough time to run through the solo sets a couple of times before they waved goodbye and went on to their schedules for the rest of the day.

Singing ‘Close’ is easier now, more natural rather than forcing a version of himself that doesn’t exist anymore back to the surface. Minho’s presence doesn’t make his heart lurch anymore, or at least, not every time he gets a glimpse of him.

Their talk earlier helped untie something that had been sitting like a knot in his throat since ‘Close’ first crossed his mind as a part of his solo set. By the time their second run through was over, Jisung didn’t need to use the mirror as a buffer to look at Minho anymore.

Hyunjin clasps his hands together. “Good job, losers. Same time again tomorrow.”

Jisung groans, sprawled on the floor, but he raises his hand to give the dancer a thumbs up to show that he understands. “You enjoy bossing us around too much.”

Changbin, seated next to him, downs his bottle of water before he proclaims, “Alright, I’m heading to the gym.”

“The entire day has been a workout, hyung.” Jisung comments, rolling into his side to glare at him half-heartedly. “Aren’t you tired?”

Changbin smirks from where he’s organizing his bag in the corner of the room. “The grind isn’t for everyone, Jisungie.”

“Just be happy that he’s not dragging you with him.” Chan laughs, offering his hand to help Jisung stand. He hauls him up easily, and Jisung wobbles a little before he plants both feet on the ground. “Come on, what do you want to have for dinner?”

Jisung accepts the towel that Chan is offering him, running it through his chest and face.

“Oh, uh, I can’t tonight.” Jisung says, hoping to inject as much nonchalance in his words. His chest tightened in both anticipation and nerves. “I have plans tonight.”

Chan raises a brow. “Plans?”

Jisung uses the towel to scratch the back of his neck, playing it off as him wiping sweat off. “Yeah. With Minho-hyung. We’re... having dinner somewhere, I don’t know yet.”

He pretty much expects Chan’s eyebrows shooting up, Changbin’s ‘huh?’, and Hyunjin freezing mid-sip from his water bottle.

“Dinner?” Changbin echoes. “I can’t say I expected that so soon.”

Jisung narrows his eyes at him, but he can’t bring himself to properly glare. “It’s just dinner. We talked earlier and apologized for what happened the other day. I think we’re fine now, or at least we’re getting there.”

“Fine now,” Hyunjin repeats, tone skeptical but teasing. “You mean you two made up and now you’r’e going to run off to have a little reconciliation dinner date?”

“It’s not a date.” Jisung says quickly, but the warmth creeping up his neck betrays him. For a split second, he’s reminded of saying the same thing to 3RACHA’s first manager, only to be told that it would make for good publicity if it was a date.

He shakes those memories away. Not the time for that.

Chan laughs, shaking his head. “Go on, then, wash up. You wouldn’t want to force Minho to have dinner with you when you’re stinky.”

“I’m not stinky.” Jisung replies nasally, even when his nose wrinkles when he brings the hem of his shirt up his nose to take a sniff. He grabs his bag from the corner of the room, where he has extra clothes and travel-sized toiletries stashed inside, a habit they’ve all formed after years of spending full days dancing. “I’ll rinse off real quick before Minho-hyung gets here.”

Changbin slings his own bag over his shoulder and they walk out of the room together. They hear the tail-end of Chan and Hyunjin’s agreement to have dinner by themselves instead, so Jisung doesn’t feel entirely bad about having other plans tonight.

He makes his way toward the company showers at the end of the corridor, the sound of his sneakers squeaking against the linoleum floor. It’s late enough that there’s no one else in the shower room, which he’s grateful for because that means he doesn’t have to feel rushed, even if he’s not planning to take his time freshening up.

When he’s done, Jisung drags a clean towel over his hair, now changed into fresh clothes and smelling like the random toiletries he took from his stash of complementary hotel amenities. The cold water got rid of the flush of his cheeks, but it’s clear that the ache in his joints will follow him until morning, but he wouldn’t have it any other way at this point in his life.

Before he leaves, he passes by the practice room and sees that Hyunjin and Chan have already left, so Jisung just shoots the older a text to tell him that he’s leaving now, too. When he exits the building, the moon is already high in the sky, the restaurants nearby still bustling with the post-dinner rush clean up.

Just as Jisung goes to text Minho where he is, a car pulls up in front of him, the tinted window of the passenger seat pulled down to show the street that Minho is sitting in the driver’s seat. With a small smile, Minho lifts his hand in a brief wave before he leans over the console to open the passenger door from the inside.

“Hey, hyung.” Jisung greets as he slides into the passenger seat. The cool air from the air conditioner greets him, chasing away the heat that clung to his skin even after his quick shower. “Were you waiting long?”

“No, I just got off about half an hour ago.” Minho shakes his head, pushing a button to roll up the window of the passenger seat. “Seatbelt.”

At the reminder, Jisung reaches behind him to tug at the seatbelt. He buckles himself in, the leather seats somehow smelling like the clean and almost-citrusy scent of Minho’s cologne.

With a quiet gesture, Jisung lets Minho take his bag and put it in the backseat so that he’s not crowded in his seat. Then, Minho pulls out of the sidewalk once he makes sure that Jisung is properly buckled in.

“So, where are we eating?” Jisung asks when they pass the stoplight nearest his company building.

Minho glances at him briefly, the corner of his mouth twitching in a small smile. “I’ve actually been craving dakgalbi, if that’s okay with you. I know a great restaurant not far from here. They have great dumplings, too, and the kind of spicy that doesn’t feel like your tongue is on fire.”

“Ah.” Jisung intones. He hopes that Minho doesn’t see him wince. “Do we have to eat it spicy?”

Minho’s brow quirks, not quite furrowing. “It’s not required. You’re not in the mood for something spicy? We can eat something else if you want.”

Jisung pauses, fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie as he debates how to tell the older the truth. “Dakgalbi sounds good.” He hesitates, then after a moment passes, he sheepishly adds, “But don’t think I ever told you that I’ve never been that fond of spicy food.”

For a split second, Jisung worries that Minho would be upset that he kept something like that for him. It might not be a big deal, but Jisung did make an effort to hide it from Minho while they were dating.

There’s a small, surprised noise from the older. Minho raises a brow at him, only glancing before he returns his eyes to the street. The glance is enough for Jisung to see the genuine surprise etched on his features, but nowhere near hostile.

“Really?” Minho says in disbelief. “I can swear that I’ve seen you eat spicy food before. Multiple times, even.”

Jisung shudders at the memory, his tongue growing numb just from the thought of it. Minho feeding him his favourite cup ramen that so happens to be spicier than Jisung could take, being dragged to the hole-in-the-wall family restaurant near their old agency that always gave them a complementary platter of extra-spicy tteokboki, his first taste of spicy jjajangmyeon.

Jisung shakes his head, half-laughing now that he’s admitted it. “Because you liked it a lot. And it’s not like we had it every week, so when we did end up eating something spicy, I just powered through it and prayed I wouldn’t die on the spot.”

A full laugh bubbles out of Minho at the words, and Jisung is relieved that the older is taking such a trivial thing so well.

“I specifically remember you insisting we get the highest level of spice when we ate curry tonkatsu that one time.” Minho huffs out a quiet laugh, soft and incredulous. “But I think that was also the day you ate more rice than actual tonkatsu. And lots of ebi tempura. That was the most I’ve seen you eat vegetables, actually.”

Jisung smiles, embarrassed. “I still had a good time that day! We went to the arcade after and you got me that funny-looking squirrel keychain you insisted looked like me.”

Jisung thinks he still has that keychain. Somewhere deep in a box of Minho-related things he’s shoved deep in his storage closet.

“It really did, Jisung.” Minho quips. The car stops in front of a red light, so Minho turns to look at him. “You could have just told me that you didn’t like spicy food. I would have adjusted.”

I know, Jisung bites back. He shrugs. “I guess I could have, but you always got excited when you ate something and realized it was spicy, so I thought it wasn’t a big deal.”

The light turns green. Minho starts driving again. “Well, we’re having non-spicy dakgalbi tonight, since I actually want you to enjoy your food.” Minho glances at him, quiet and thoughtful. “I enjoy my food more when the people I eat with enjoy it, too.”

“Thanks, hyung.” Jisung lilts, and it’s far softer than he intended it to be, but he doesn’t particularly hate the way Minho returns his smile.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘♡∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Despite Jisung’s suggestion of eating at the most expensive restaurant Minho could think of, he just really wanted some dakgalbi for tonight. His mouth was practically watering as he turned the engine of the car off and signalled for Jisung to hop off.

The restaurant is quiant, the dinner rush already passed so they’re quickly led to a table. His heart thunders when the waiter does a double-take at them, knowing that tonight won’t end without both their names in online forums. It’s not like they can keep their masks and hats on while eating.

At least the restaurant is vacant, and Minho has eaten here plenty of times with Seungmin to know that the staff don’t make a habit of spilling their celebrity roster to the internet.

They settle on the table at the corner, half-hiiden behind a partition that gives them some semblance of privacy without separating them from the rest of the dining area.

Minho orders for them: a non-spicy dakgalbi set with ramen noodles. He also gets a platter of fried dumplings and a serving of cheese corn, the latter of which he vaguely remembers Jisung liking that side dish. Jisung nods along, looking at the laminated menu that Minho didn’t even glance at, and only lifts his head when the waiter walks off with their order.

“You still like cheesy corn, right?” Minho clarifies, half teasing but also genuinely making sure.

Jisung chuckles, leaning back against the cushioned seats. For some reason, they found themselves seated next to each other instead of across each other. It seems some habits don’t die even after years apart.

“Yes, Minho-hyung, I like cheese corn.” Jisung replies. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

Minho taps his fingers idly on the corner of his placemat. “What do you mean?”

Jisung hums, resting his elbow on the table. “I don’t know. I thought you’d have forgotten things like that by now. Corner tables, what side dishes I like. You know, the unimportant stuff.”

“They’re not unimportant.” Minho says, even if he himself doesn’t know why he remembers those things. “And how could I forget? You’d sulk every time we didn’t get seated at the corner and you’d pretend like you weren’t stealing my side dishes.”

That earns a quiet laugh from Jisung, drawing away more of the tension that still lies stagnant between them. “I don’t sulk about tables anymore, just so you know.”

“I wasn’t going to risk it tonight.” Minho muses.

It doesn’t take long before the waiter brings their food and places the sizable wok of dakgalbi, tteokboki, and ramen noodles on top of the fire burning in the middle of the table. They thank the waiter before they’re left alone to enjoy their food.

Minho picks up the tongs and starts to move the food around, the muted sound of chicken sizzling layering with the soft music from the restaurant speakers.

Beyond that, Jisung’s soft chuckle. “You really can’t sit still when food is in front of you.”

Minho thinks that Jisung also remembers unimportant things about him.

He shrugs and begins to dump food on Jisung’s plate first. “The food will burn if you don’t move it around.”

Jisung is already digging into the bowl of cheese corn placed next to his plate. Minho glances at him as he takes his first bite, smiling despite himself.

Just then, the song changes, the first notes so achingly familiar that Minho drops the food pinched between the tongs.

Jiusng freezes next to him, his body going rigid for two-and-a-half seconds. He puts his chopsticks down and clears his throat. “Whoever is in charge of the music must be a fan.”

Whose fan they must be is left hanging in the air, because this song could point to either of them, even if the voice spilling from the speakers belongs to someone else.

Ever since I first saw you, I felt that it was fate

Minho hums, his heart beating in the uncomfortable way it does when blood rushes to the parts of it that are still cracked and bruised.

As the stars shine in the night sky, stay by my side for a long time

He goes back to moving the food around and transferring small amounts onto their plates, pretending like he doesn’t hear the female voice singing a song he’s only known in Jisung’s voice.

Before Minho can take his first bite, Jisung starts speaking. The younger is moving his food around and taking small bites at a time, a stark difference to how he usually stuffed his cheeks full.

“I’m really sorry about what happened the other day, hyung. I know it wasn’t your fault, that you weren’t in charge.” A pause. The song playing forces its way to Minho’s ears. “You weren’t the one that held our fans against us, or decided what happened between us.”

Minho’s ears block the song out and gives way to the realization that Jisung is apologizing for something deeper than the petty argument they had days ago. Minho puts his chopsticks back down and gives the singer his full attention.

“I just... I don’t know, I was tired and stressed and I can’t stop thinking about what’s going to happen when people see us together again and—I don’t know, I snapped, and you didn’t deserve that.”

Minho places a slice of radish on the side of Jisung’s plate. He pats himself on the back when his response comes out with an air of nonchalance. “I might have deserved it. At least a little. You were right, it’s not my place to overstep and insert myself in a concert that’s not mine.”

Jisung looks at him, and the smile the younger gives him is faint, but it’s genuine. Minho can’t ask for anything more.

“It’s really embarrassing sitting here while listening to this song.” Jisung laughs behind his hand, but there’s a strain on it that borders on uncomfortable. Not enough to warrant leaving or feeling upset, but it certainly means something.

“I have a confession to make.” Minho keeps his expression steady as he waits for the bridge to start before he continues. “This is the first time I’m hearing this song.”

Jisung blinks, understandably surprised. “This song?”

“This version of it.” Minho clarifies. “I—I haven’t listened to it after you sold it. Taeyeon-sunbaenim did a good job.”

This used to be one of those songs that Jisung would whisper when they were truly alone, just the two of them. Some snippets have found themselves out in the world, with how public their relationship had been, but Jisung has always kept this song for the two of them, with no intention of having either of them release it for streaming.

That was, until that one afternoon where a popular fantasy drama announced it as part of their OST line-up.

Jisung breathes out a shaky laugh and reaches for his cup of water. “I couldn’t bring myself to listen to it, either. It’s also my first time hearing it.”

Taeyeon’s voice, lilting and pure, weaves through the restaurant, where they’re the only customers here. The lyrics and melody fill every corner of the restaurant, weaving through the quaint space.

Minho doesn’t know what hurts more—that he recognizes every word because he’s heard them from Jisung’s mouth first, or that this is also Jisung’s first time hearing this song again.

Do you hear my heart?

He looks at Jisung, his chopsticks raised to his mouth even as he chews his food. The younger’s lashes are lowered, slowly bringing another piece of chicken to his mouth. His shoulders are relaxed, but Minho is sitting close enough to tell that it’s a practiced habit rather than a natural posture.

Minho closes his eyes, lets himself enjoy the song, even if a part of him argues that it’s not the same. Jisung hums next to him, the mark of an artist that will always hold love for their creations, and Minho thinks this is close enough to how this song lives in his mind.

“Hyung?” Jisung mumbles as the song reaches its final verse.

Minho takes a sip of water. “Yeah?”

“Since I let go of this song, I think it’s only right that I make space for the songs that you haven’t let go of yet. As an apology, because I gave away what used to be a gift for you.”

The song ends, the final notes giving way to a different song, this time with no direct or indirect relation to either of them.

Jisung reaches out, touches his fingers against Minho’s wrist so delicately that he would have thought that he imagined the contact if he wasn’t looking directly at it.

“I thought about it. ‘Mixtape: OH’.” Jisung continues, then his voice takes on a lighter tone, almost playful. “If the original singer gives us permission to use it, then Channie-hyung and Binnie-hyung have agreed to keep their solos as 4 songs and let me have 5 for mine.”

Minho feels the tightness in his chest loosen, looking at Jisung and feeling like they’re slowly coming back to how they were before, only now they’re older, more free, they understand their place in the world a little more.

The previous song still rings in his ears, but Taeyeon’s voice is replaced by Jisung’s. Timid, so soft in that way whispered lyrics are. Jisung smiles at him, hopeful, but he’s not pushing, even if Minho was the one that proposed the idea in the first place.

So, Minho nods. “I don’t think that would be a problem.”

Jisung’s smile widens, even as he tries to hide it by lowering his head and busying himself with rolling up a piece of chicken in lettuce.

“That’s great.” Jisung says quietly, voice lighter now. “I’m sure that extra surprise would make a lot of people happy.”

“I, for one, am very happy to sing that song again.” Minho mumbles, his words laced with tentative sincerity. “I’m just very happy to sing at all. I didn’t realize that I missed it until now.”

Jisung’s eyes soften. “I’m sure the stage has missed you as much as you missed it. You’ve always been a natural performer.”

Minho feels the tips of his ears heat up and chalks it up to the stove in front of them. “Don’t compliment me yet. I wasn’t lying when I said that I was rusty. All my time has gone to acting, after all, and it’s different from being on stage.”

“I’m sure you’ll do great. You’ve always done great.” Jisung insists. “And I know you won’t agree to do something you’re not confident about, even if you’re a little hesitant about it.”

Jisung beams, a little bashful, and his eyes are bright in a way that makes Minho forget, for a brief moment, all the years that weighed between them.