Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Wild Geese, Mary Oliver

Seungmin hops onto the first available flight as soon as his doctor clears him for travel. The layover is a mess, and he needs help with his luggage and getting in and out of the plane, but he lands in Incheon on a sunny July afternoon nonetheless.

Hyunjin is waiting for him at the pickup area, and she’s quick to take over his luggage trolley from the airport staff, sending him off with a smile much sweeter than the one Seungmin is able to muster. She envelops him in a tight, warm embrace, whispering a welcome back into his ear before marching towards the exit. She bullies his two suitcases into the small trunk of her car and then bullies him into the backseat, because he can’t really bend his leg.

It’s only when she’s in the car that she stops, looking at him through the rearview mirror. “I don’t want to talk about it,” Seungmin says before she can open her mouth.

Hyunjin shrugs, starting the car. “Alright.” She clicks something on her phone, and a slow, angsty bass line filters through the speakers. “Are any other conversation topics forbidden, or just that?”

Seungmin sighs, resting his head against the window. He should have asked someone else to pick him up—Jisung, maybe, or even his mom. “I don’t want to talk about me. Tell me how things have been.”

Hyunjin clicks her teeth, maneuvering around some taxis blocking the way. “I don’t know what you know,” she says once she’s managed to pass through. “You suck at keeping in touch.”

“I know,” Seungmin says. Then, because he doesn’t want Hyunjin to be truly upset, “I’m sorry. It’s just. Difficult.”

She hums, turning up the AC. “Well, let’s see. Jisung’s riding one of my parents’ colts now. Truman has, like, crazy speed, but Jisung’s been managing to pace him well. They’ve been having a really good year. They won Minister’s Cup by, like, two lengths.”

“The horse is called Truman?”

“Yongbok finally got that job at the racecourse, I swear, the interview process took like five million years. I think she started seeing some guy, but she’s being real secretive about it. Anyways, I broke things off with Beomgyu, cause he was kind of annoying, and now my parents are trying to—”

Seungmin’s leg is starting to ache, but his meds are in the trunk, so he closes his eyes and lets Hyunjin’s bubbly voice wash over him. He comes to again when the car stops; he blinks awake slowly, mouth tasting of sleep.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Hyunjin says, turning around to face him. “You left me talking to myself, how rude.”

“Sorry,” Seungmin says, voice rough. He clears his throat, looking out the window. They’re parked in his parents’ driveway. The sky’s starting to bleed a little orange. “I’ll call and let them know I’m here.”

“Already did.” Hyunjin bites her lip for a moment, her gaze searching. She’s changed in many ways over the past couple of years—her hair’s longer, her face softer, but she still possesses the uncanny ability to stare at him as if she’s seeing through his soul. “I’ll give you a week. We’re having brunch on Monday.”

“Do I have a choice in this?”

“Not really.” The garage door opens before Seungmin has a chance to reply. “Let’s not keep your parents waiting.”

🏇

Seungmin spends most of the weekend in bed, sleeping off his jet lag and avoiding his parents. They let him be for the most part, although he hears pacing outside his room more than once.

He knows they won’t give him grace for much longer, though. Monday is a quiet affair, with his father off to the racecourse and his mom out with Hyunjin’s mother all day. Tuesday is similarly peaceful, but their patience comes to an end on Wednesday.

They’re in the middle of lunch when his mom clears her throat, setting down her chopsticks. “Seungminnie,” she starts, very carefully, “I arranged for you to meet with Dr. Shin on Friday. We need to see about getting that cast off.”

It’s psychological, of course, but Seungmin’s leg starts to ache as soon as his mom finishes her sentence. He finishes chewing his rice slowly, and it feels like sandpaper going down—it’s the first full portion of white rice that he’s had in a decade. “Alright,” he says when the silence grows too deafening. Even his father has stopped eating to pay attention to the conversation. “Thank you.”

“I also set up a meeting with Lee Minhyuk-ssi for physiotherapy. He guided Kim Doyoung to a miraculous recovery after that fall at the Derby last year. I’m sure he’ll patch you up in no time.”

Lee Minhyuk is the best physiotherapist for athletes in the country, notable for his work alongside elite jockeys. Seungmin’s been to his clinic once before, though not for himself—none of the injuries he sustained while racing for Korea had been grievous enough to warrant intense recovery. He remembers leaving that day with a heavy stomach. It makes him shift in his seat now, throat dry.

“Wouldn’t it have been best to wait for Dr. Shin’s verdict?”

“Whatever do you mean, honey?”

“His thoughts on recovery.” He licks his lips. His heart hammers in his ribcage the way it does before a race, the way it did when he was being wheeled into the surgical ward a month ago. “I don’t know.”

“Dr. Torres made it clear that you have a full shot at recovery,” his father says, voice severe. “The faster we start the process, the sooner you can be back at the racecourse.”

Seungmin takes a deep breath in, hoping neither of his parents can hear the way he shudders. “I know.”

“Oh, darling,” his mom coos, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “Don’t worry. Everything will be okay. Before you know it, it’ll be like nothing happened.”

“Yeah.” Seungmin reaches for his glass of water, taking a long sip. “Like nothing happened.”

He spends the rest of lunch in silence, tuning out his parents as they start discussing the auction his father’s set to attend on the weekend. His mom insists on helping him to his bedroom after they’re finished, but she doesn’t linger. He’s grateful for the reprieve.

Someone cleaned his room while he was eating—the scent of citrus permeates the air, and the blinds have been raised, allowing sunlight to stream in. He pulls them down again, shrouding the room in darkness. He lies down on his back on top of the fresh sheets, staring at the decades-old stars glued to the ceiling. He used to count them before sleeping.

Seungmin’s on the seventh star when his phone buzzes on top of his chest. A message from Hyunjin, something about her mom. It’s only one notification in the midst of hundreds—texts from his friends, Instagram likes and message requests, dozens of unread e-mails. Amidst all of those, a shiny headline catches his attention: a notification update from a racing YouTube channel, a video that has a well-crafted thumbnail with his face in the dead center. Even if he didn’t recognize the day it was from immediately, the title is a dead giveaway: ‘SEUNGMIN KIM’S POSSIBLE CAREER ENDING INJURY AT BELMONT STAKES: EVERYTHING YOU NEED TO KNOW’.

Seungmin’s thumb hovers over the screen for a moment before pressing against the YouTube app icon; he holds it steady until the ‘delete this app’ message appears, and he clicks it without hesitation. He does the same for Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Gmail. He considers disabling his search engines, but that would be too much even for him.

He sighs, turning his phone off. He has the urge to throw it across the room, but it wouldn’t solve any of his problems. Not for the first time, he wishes that everyone would just shut up about him. Naively, he’d thought that leaving America would make it easier.

He goes back to counting his stars, hoping that at least this time, he dreams of something happy.

🏇

“That’s disgusting,” Yongbok says, watching with mild horror as Jisung drowns his waffles in syrup.

“It’s delicious,” Jisung retorts, taking a sip of his mimosa. It’s his third one. “You should try it.”

“I’d rather not.”

Seungmin’s content to watch them bicker in silence, taking in the small ways in which they’ve changed—Yongbok’s hair is a light blonde now, making her look more ethereal than ever. Jisung’s leaner, his chin pointier. Even their voices sound different somehow, but that’s probably because Seungmin hasn’t heard them speak without the metallic distortion of a speaker for years now.

He’s missed them dearly.

“I don’t know how you’re able to eat like that and meet the requirements,” Hyunjin says, stabbing her fork into her salad with vengeance.

“Fast metabolism, baby.” Jisung winks at her. Hyunjin pretends to gag into her plate.

“It used to make me want to murder you when we were younger,” Seungmin says. It’s the first thing he says since they’d all placed their orders, and all head whip towards him. “I couldn’t eat anything other than spinach and chicken.”

“Aw, I always knew you were jealous of me,” Jisung coos. Seungmin kicks his shin with his good leg. “Ow! That hurt.”

“Jeonginnie’s always complaining about his diet too,” Yongbok says absentmindedly. “I swear, he whines about it way more than Seungminnie ever did.”

Seungmin frowns. “Jeonginnie?”

“Yang Jeongin?” Yongbok says, frowning back at him. “He was in Jeju at the same time as you guys, wasn’t he?”

Seungmin does remember a Yang Jeongin from jockey school, a scrawny-looking kid with braces who had arrived at the farm just as he and Jisung were about to set off to Busan for their apprenticeships. He remembers thinking that Jeongin had some talent for such a late starter, but he didn’t really hear much about him after that. “Yeah, I think I remember him. How do you know him?”

Yongbok laughs, sounding flabbergasted. “Because he’s training under my brother? And I’m working at the racecourse?”

Seungmin’s heart twists in his ribcage. “What? Minho’s training?”

Next to him, Hyunjin straightens in her seat. “Uhm.”

“Didn’t we agree you’d talk to him about it?” Yongbok whips her head towards Hyunjin, voice significantly higher. Jisung chuckles awkwardly.

“I didn’t know how,” Hyunjin says weakly. “It didn’t seem like a good time.”

Seungmin clears his throat. “Tell me now,” he demands.

Hyunjin takes a deep breath. “Minho-oppa got his trainer license at the start of the year,” she starts, looking down at her salad. “He, uhm, got assigned some stalls. Yang Jeongin’s his first affiliated jockey.”

The words take a moment to register in his brain. He finishes his mimosa in one go once they do. A thousand thoughts are racing inside his brain, a new one arising every second. “How did he even manage to get licensed so quickly?”

“Some lobbying from dad and Hyunjin’s parents, his reputation, a new opening at the right time,” Yongbok says, very cautiously. “He only has a couple of horses under him. They’re still testing him out.”

“You didn’t say anything.”

Yongbok winces. “He started the process a little after you left.”

“Oh.” After Seungmin all but ran from Korea and the shadow of Minho’s presence. “Alright.”

“We didn’t say anything back then because, well. And then you started doing better, and things were going so well, so we didn’t see a reason to bring it up,” Hyunjin says weakly. “We thought you’d never come back. And when I picked you up at the airport, you looked so defeated, I didn’t want to make things worse for you.”

“I’m not mad,” Seungmin says. He knows that’s probably what Hyunjin’s afraid of. “I’m just. Processing.”

“Take your time, man,” says Jisung. He flags a waitress for another round of margaritas. “I honestly thought you already knew and just didn’t want to talk about him.”

Seungmin didn’t. He has Minho’s name muted on every social media app he has an account on, and he’d stopped keeping tabs on Korean racing as soon as he’d managed to sort out his American license. He made a very conscious effort to erase all traces of Minho from his life, and it seems it worked out too well. It’s fitting, in a way, that all his efforts blow up right in his face as soon as he comes back home—Minho’s presence has always been inescapable.

The table grows awfully quiet. He knows they’re giving him time, but it’s stifling. He can feel the heat of their gazes, the way the air around them has grown thick. “Is—Does he enjoy it? Is he…” He can’t finish the sentence. Doesn’t know how to. Is Minho satisfied? Is he happy?

Yongbok reaches forward, taking his hand in hers. “He’s doing alright,” she says. “He always had this uncanny ability to understand a horse. He’s just using it differently now.”

“He’s good,” Jisung adds. “He’s really good. He’s got this insane filly that he’s trying to make Jeongin ride.”

“A filly?” Seungmin frowns. “That’s an unusual risk for such an early career.”

Yongbok smiles softly. “That’s why he’s doing it.”

Seungmin can’t help the chuckle that comes out of his mouth. Three years and some months later, the bastard’s still the same. Everyone seems to deflate with his laughter, the tension that was keeping their spines upright evaporating. “Yeah. That sounds like him.”

Hyunjin clears her throat. “We don’t have to keep talking about it.”

“It’s fine,” Seungmin says. “Tell me about the filly.”

🏇

Seungmin tries not to let it linger.

He comes home after brunch, takes a very long shower with his leg wrapped in plastic, watches some films in the home theater instead of holing himself up in his bedroom. He has dinner with his parents and asks about their days. He even tries going to bed early.

It doesn’t work. He lies under the covers and tosses and turns and stares at his stars in the ceiling and fails to sleep. In the end, after hours of this, he takes his phone from the bedside table, opens Naver, and types in Lee Minho. The results come flooding in, article after article, all of them accompanied by a picture of Minho. Some of them use old photos from his jockey days, but most use the same updated picture: Minho, in a dress shirt and jeans, smiling at the camera.

Seungmin’s heart does something at the sight. Minho looks good. His face is fuller, his eye bags gone, his skin healthy. He looks so unlike the last memory Seungmin has of him—thin, white as paper, lips chapped. This Minho looks alive.

Seungmin can’t help it. He clicks on the first article his eyes are drawn to.

It’s strange, reading Minho’s quotes. He can almost hear his voice, the inflection on each word. He imagines which expressions colored Minho’s face when he answered the questions, what he looked like when he led the reporters through the stables. Minho, now, is more corporeal than he was in the last three years. Seungmin doesn’t know what to do with it.

He’s glad that Minho’s better. That he’s doing well. It’s all Seungmin has ever wanted for him. The pain in his chest is still there, the open wound he’d ignored for so long starting to bleed again.

He wants to call Minho. He wants to go back to Lexington, injury be damned. He wants to be nineteen and in love again, before any of it happened.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, ignoring the pressure building behind his eyes. He won’t cry. He didn’t cry back then, and he didn’t cry before surgery, and he won’t cry now. He squeezes his eyes shut, jaw tight, and forces himself to sleep.

🏇

The cast comes off a week later. He sits in Dr. Shin’s office and watches as he takes a saw to the monstrosity enclosing his leg, unable to tear his eyes from it. Some part of him that he pretends not to hear wishes, if only for a moment, for something bad to happen. A freak accident, the saw ripping into his muscle.

Nothing happens. The plaster cracks in half, and fresh air kisses his skin. The only thing out of the ordinary is the gnarly scar on the side of his leg, spanning from mid-thigh to his knee. It’s healing well, Dr. Shin says. The surgeon had very neat stitches. He runs a finger over the tender skin, goosebumps erupting in his wake. It’s just another scar to his vast collection, but it feels different somehow. He wishes it weren’t there. He wishes it were worse.

Dr. Shin tells him the future looks promising. He writes a note to the physiotherapist and sends him off with a slap to the back and well-wishes.

Seungmin soaks in the tub when he gets home. He stays inside until his skin turns pruny and the water grows cold, running his fingers over the scar. He thinks about Minho. He thinks about Belmont Stakes. He thinks about that time in jockey school when he fell in a mock race for the first time and Minho helped him up.

He starts physiotherapy the next day. Minhyuk is calm, guiding him through exercises with a soothing voice and firm hands. He talks to Seungmin at the end of each session, discussing the progress he’s making and his thoughts on a recovery timeline. Seungmin goes home aching all over every day. At the end of the week, Minhyuk says he’ll be walking on his own before September.

His agent calls him and asks how his recovery’s going, if he has decided what he’ll do next year. She wants to put out a statement, both to appease his sponsors and to make it clear he’s coming back. Seungmin says he’ll get back to her. He never does.

He goes out with Hyunjin, gets dinner with Yongbok, invites Jisung over when he’s free. They talk about everything and nothing. They ask him how physio is going. Seungmin says it’s going alright. They ask him if he wants to talk about the accident. Seungmin says there’s nothing to talk about. They ask him if he’s been to the racepark yet. That one he never answers.

His parents start asking about it, too. His father asks if Seungmin wants to tag along every time he goes to Gwacheon, but Seungmin always has an excuse. Physiotherapy. His leg hurting from physiotherapy. A headache, one time.

It’s easier to make excuses for his absence than it is to try to explain the truth. He doesn’t know how to put the fear into words. Doesn’t know how to look any of them in the eye and tell them about the rotten, slimy thing brewing inside of him. That he stares at the scar on his leg and swallows down vomit.

So he lies, and he avoids the racecourse, and he thinks about many things.

His mom tells him he’s grown quiet.

🏇

Seungmin sees Minho for the first time in three years on the first Sunday of September, almost two months after he comes home.

Try as he might, the Korea Cup is unavoidable. He’s been walking on his own for a week, his parents have three horses racing, and all of his excuses are ignored. Seungmin sits in the back of the car on the drive to Gwacheon, stomach turning as LetsRun comes into view.

Irrationally, he had half-expected the park to look different, to have metamorphosed in his absence. It didn’t—everything looks the same as it did before, even the trees. He feels nauseous as he follows his parents inside, his steps tentative. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, clenching and unclenching his fists as they approach the stands.

He remembers every single inch of this place, the architecture etched into his neurons from a lifetime spent here. The race track comes into view, the scoring board empty in the back. Chatter fills his ears from all around, discussing betting and odds and the weather. Nothing that should be so familiar has ever felt this foreign before. He shouldn’t be here. He doesn’t belong, not anymore.

“Seungminnie!” Hyunjin’s voice breaks him out of his reverie. She saunters over to him, her parents in her trail. She’s wearing a lovely floral dress, sunglasses perched on the tip of her nose, her lips shiny and pink. She always puts effort into her outfits for racing days. “You’re finally here!”

She’s quick to wrap her arm around him, whisking him away as their parents talk. Her kitten heels tap against the floors as she walks them to their seats, carefully and wordlessly matching his stilted pace. They’re on the top floor, front row, best seats in the house. It’s been a while since Seungmin’s been this high up. He takes a deep breath, biting the inside of his cheeks as he watches the horses on the field.

“You look like you’re about to throw up,” Hyunjin says. She rests a hand on his thigh.

“I feel like I am.”

“Do you want to talk about it? It must be a lot. Being back here.”

“It’s fine.”

“You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not,” Seungmin says. Hyunjin raises an eyebrow. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You’ve been saying that a lot lately.”

“It’s complicated.”

Hyunjin sighs, pushing her sunglasses up. She looks at him, really looks at him, the brown of her eyes shining under the sun. “I’m not going to force you into doing anything. But know that I’m worried, and that I’ll be here when the dam finally breaks. Because it will, eventually.”

Seungmin swallows dry, averting his eyes. He knows. He really does. He just won’t do anything about it. “I know. That you’re here for me. I appreciate it.”

Hyunjin sighs again. “You can be so difficult sometimes. A stubborn asshole, that’s what you are, Kim Seungmin.” She takes his hand in hers, squeezing hard. “But I love that thick skull of yours anyway.”

“I love you too,” he says. He really does. She’s his best friend in the world. It’s why he can’t bring himself to taint her with all the wrongness he feels. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, dummy.” She lets his hand go, smiling softly at him. “We don’t have to keep talking about this if you don’t want to.”

He doesn’t. Not right now. He smiles, thankful for the way out. “Tell me about the prospects for today. Is Truman a favorite?”

He lets Hyunjin reacquaint him with Korean racing, staring out into the racetrack as she talks about the stars of the day, what the field has looked like this year. The horses are gorgeous—shiny coats, trimmed manes, wild and ready to burst. Seungmin hasn’t been this close to a horse since June, hasn’t heard a neigh in months.

His heart twists in grief and longing and fear. He’s still nauseous when the first race of the day starts. The horses burst out of the barriers like lightning, galloping across the course. He keeps his eyes on the jockeys on their backs, tracks their movements, the way their bodies lean forward, gripping the reins. It’s only when the winner crosses the finish line and he releases his breath that he realizes what he’d been watching out for—a fall.

He drinks beer with Hyunjin in the break between races, hums and answers politely when her parents ask him about his recovery, pretends not to notice the inquiring looks his parents shoot his way. The next two races go about the same way. He holds his breath until they’re over, until the winners are taking pictures and nothing bad has happened.

Hyunjin taps his shoulder when the fourth race is about to start. “Minho’s filly is racing this one.”

“Oh.” Yongbok had told him two weeks ago that the filly would be racing this weekend, but the information had evaded his mind the entire day. He’s thankful for the three glasses of beer he’s had, for the buzzing in his fingertips and the warmth in his body. “Which one is she?”

“Number 10.”

Seungmin taps his fingers on his thighs as he watches the horses file into the paddock. Number 2 is a red chestnut who looks way too thin. Number 7 is a dark bay who seems unsettled, fighting the lead shank. His breath hitches when the commentator finally announces her—Number 10, Chollima, Jockey Yang Jeongin, Trainer Lee Minho, Owner Bahng Christopher.

Chollima is regal as she walks into the paddock, her coat onyx black, shiny beneath the sun. She’s taller than all the horses in front of her, hindquarters rounded and large. She follows the groom smoothly, head steady, looking almost relaxed.

“She’s beautiful,” Seungmin whispers.

“She is,” Hyunjin echoes. He can feel the weight of her gaze, but he refuses to look away from the field.

His lungs feel as if they're about to burst when the paddock time comes to an end, and it’s time for the jockeys to mount. Yang Jeongin strides into the field with his head held high, dressed in blue and white. He’s taller than Seungmin remembered, his face stripped of the roundness of adolescence. His form is good when he mounts Chollima. Seungmin watches the flex of his thighs, the way his hands grip the reins.

Chollima hesitates at the back of the line before being loaded. Her ears flicker once, twice, before Jeongin shifts, murmuring something. Seungmin leans forward in his seat, eyes glued to Chollima’s stall. For the first time today, his mind’s not clouded with fear. He’s curious.

The bell splits the air, and away the horses go. It’s a clean break for most of them—Blue Jade and Moonlight Serenade lunge forward in a line—but Chollima is a half-beat slow on the outside. The early pace snaps into place, the front runners already stretching out, jockeys low and driving.

“Sunny Outside straight to the lead, joined quickly by Moonlight Serenade on the rail, Chollima being urged forward—”

Yang Jeongin’s hands are busy, pushing, asking, trying to bring her into position before the field settles. Chollima’s head comes up, just a fraction, as if in question. He can see her confusion in the way her stride shortens and lengthens again, uneven.

“Approaching the six hundred, Sunny Outside still in the lead, The Balladeer right behind—Chollima three lengths off the lead, being asked to improve—”

She shouldn’t be asked yet, Seungmin thinks. Jeongin urges her again, hands working harder, but she resists with a quiet, stubborn lift of the neck. The pack tightens, horses slotting into place, each finding a pocket, a line, a rhythm. Jeongin manages to move her into the line, but it seems to unsettle her further. Her stride is tense, ears flickering. Seungmin exhales slowly, on the edge of his seat, gripping the railing.

“They straighten for home, Sunny Outside kicks clear, The Balladeer chasing, Chollima still searching for daylight—”

Then, on the final curve, Jeongin shifts Chollima out. The switch is immediate—there’s a heartbeat of stillness, and then, she runs. Her body lengthens, stride opening in a way it hasn’t all race, all the tension vanishing.

Seungmin inhales sharply as Chollima devours the ground, each stride eating into the distance with terrifying efficiency. She passes one horse, then another, but the surge came too late, and Jeongin’s too unsteady on top of her, his grip on the reins faltering.

Sunny Outside crosses the line, The Balladeer and Moonlight Serenade on his tail. The ambience dissolves into noise—applause, commentary, the shuffle of the crowd already turning away. Seungmin doesn’t move.

On the track, Chollima slows gradually, her stride still large, still carrying more energy than she was allowed to use. Her head lowers, then lifts again, ears flickering like she’s still searching for something.

His stomach twists as he watches Jeongin unmount her. They’d trained together for less than a year, but Seungmin remembers his riding style. Conservative, efficient, always breaking sharply, pushing early to gain position. This filly couldn’t be further away from that.

The scar on his leg twinges, eyes still glued to the filly as the handler leads her away, the last of her energy still flickering under her skin. On the field, Jeongin walks to the edge of the fence, taking off his helmet. He grimaces, gesticulating wildly to someone still out of view.

Seungmin knows Jeongin can only be talking to one person, but he still sucks in a breath when Minho steps out of the stands. After three years, there Lee Minho is, in the flesh. His hair is shiny, longer than before, and he’s wearing a dress shirt and jeans, a cap on his head. Seungmin feels bile creeping up his throat.

He wants to—

Minho claps Jeongin’s shoulder, starts to lead him away, deep in conversation. He doesn’t look up. He doesn’t even know Seungmin is here. But as he watches Minho and Jeongin, the thought that had been itching in the back of his mind during the race finally takes shape: Chollima doesn’t fit Jeongin’s riding style, no, but she is a perfect match for Seungmin.

He doesn’t know what that means.

🏇

Seungmin had known of Minho’s existence for quite some time before they met. Hyunjin went to the same high school as Yongbok, and she had wasted no time in introducing her newest friend to Seungmin, the three of them sharing the background of growing up around racing. Back then, Yongbok used to always talk about her talented older brother and how well he was doing in jockey school.

Seungmin officially met Minho for the first time in the stables at the Jeju Jockey Academy, in his first week there. He had snuck out in the dark of the night to ride, because they weren’t allowed to yet, and Minho was right there at the stables when Seungmin got back, sweaty and euphoric. Minho laughed, helped Seungmin off the gelding, and told him his form was terrible.

They were friends, at first. Minho was his senior, his friends’ older brother, and somewhat of a mentor. It was only natural that they grew closer as the years went by. Minho graduated and went back to Seoul for his apprenticeship, but he didn’t leave Seungmin behind even as his reputation as the country’s biggest promise started to take shape. No matter what, he always had time for Seungmin.

It was only logical, then, that Seungmin chased after him once he graduated, settling for an apprenticeship in Seoul as well. Those were good years. They spent almost every day together at the stables, racing and working together, and so, love grew between them.

It was good. Seungmin was happy. Minho was happy.

Then came the accident. Then came the failed surgeries, and the awful news, and Minho’s world crumbling in front of him. Then came the distance, the impenetrable wall Minho put up around himself, shying away from Seungmin and everyone and everything. Then came the end, and a one-way ticket to the other side of the world.

🏇

Seungmin would rather be anywhere but here, wandering the stables of the racecourse, searching for Yongbok.

She had texted the group chat asking if any of them could pick up her prescription because her back was flaring up, but her brother was stuck in a meeting, and she was assisting a birth. He was the only one with a free schedule, and so, here he is. She had said that she would meet him in the parking lot, but half an hour passed, and she hadn’t shown up or answered his calls, so Seungmin had taken a deep breath and gone inside.

It was one thing to be in the crowd, watching the races from afar. Being back in the stables is a whole different beast.

He keeps his head straight as he walks past the stable blocks, fingernails digging into his palm. He knows this place as well as his own home—once upon a time, he spent every waking hour here, from sunrise to sunset. The veterinary facility is at the end of the corridor of stables, next to the quarantine zone.

She’ll be there, and he’ll give her her meds and make sure she’s alright, and then he’ll go back home, back to the safety of his bedroom. He’s so focused on not paying attention to his surroundings that it’s no surprise when he almost bumps straight into someone.

“Oh, pardon me,” he mutters, bowing in apology.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry! Hold on, Kim Seungmin, is that you?”

Seungmin rights his back, coming face to face with his old trainer. “Kochinim,” he says, bowing again. “Forgive me.”

“Aiya, it’s no problem, Seungmin,” Yongsun says, tone already slipping back into the nagging one she always used on him when he was her apprentice. He hasn’t really seen her since he finished his apprenticeship, but she still looks exactly the same: brown hair pulled into a ponytail, lips painted red, and a big smile on her face. “I didn’t know you were back home.”

Seungmin wets his lips. “Ah, yes. I returned a couple of months ago. After the accident.”

Yongsun coos, furrowing her brows. “I heard about it. How have you been holding up? Is everything healing alright?”

“Yes, kochinim.” He doesn’t really want to talk about it. He really doesn’t, but he can’t be rude to Yongsun. She’s his senior, his former mentor, the one who helped shape him into the athlete he is. Was. “Physiotherapy is going well.”

“That's great news, Seungminnie,” she says, patting his shoulder. “Did you come here to take a look at your parents’ horses? Scouting something for your return?”

Seungmin forces out a chuckle, forces himself to act as if everything’s fine, as if he doesn’t want to crawl out of his skin. “Ah, no. I came to bring my friend her meds. She said she was assisting a birth, I was just on my way to the med bay.”

“Oh, Yongbokkie?” Yongsun asks, her smile fading into concern. “I didn’t know she was having health issues. The mare she was helping is one of mine, actually.”

“Ah, really? What a coincidence.” He clears his throat. “It was nice seeing you, kochinim. But I should really get these to Yongbok.”

“Tell you what, why don’t I get those meds to her, and then we can catch up some more? You shouldn’t be walking too much on that leg, isn’t that right?”

“Ah, kochinim, I wouldn’t want to bother you.”

“Nonsense,” Yongsun says. “I was heading there anyway. You just stay put, I’ll be right back.”

She’s gone in the blink of an eye, before Seungmin has the chance to react. He sighs as he watches her back, his now empty hands flexing around thin air. The last thing he wants to do right now is talk about racing, or about the accident, or about himself.

He’s genuinely considering running away and apologizing to Yongsun later when he hears the sound of hoofs against the ground and soft whinnying. He looks up to find a groom guiding Chollima out of the stable block behind him.

The groom walks her to the paddock right ahead, taking off the lead once she’s inside. It’s the middle of the day, and Chollima must have had a busy morning, but she takes off as soon as the groom lets her go, running around the paddock like she’s never been tired in her life.

Seungmin just. Stares at her. He can’t help it. She’s taller up close, her coat glossier and even darker. It’s rare, to find a true black Thoroughbred. Chollima looks like she’s made of the night itself, like a constellation had grown tired of hanging in the sky and jumped down to earth. She’s beautiful, one of the most beautiful horses he’s ever seen. He doesn’t even notice he’s moving until he’s at the fence, fingers brushing against the painted wood.

Chollima comes to a stop in the center of the paddock, ears flickering as she turns to look at him. She turns her head, tail swishing. She’s smart, he thinks, incredibly aware of her surroundings. She reminds him of Wise Heart. They have the same eyes. His heart clenches in his chest, fingers tightening around the top of the fence.

“She’s a special one, isn’t she?”

Seungmin’s spine goes ramrod straight as Minho stops by his side, leaning against the fence. He works his jaw, taking a deep, deep breath. “Minho,” he says. He’s not brave enough to look to the side. He keeps staring straight ahead, deep into Chollima’s eyes.

“Kim Seungmin,” Minho echoes. His voice is slightly rougher, a little deeper. He still wears the same cologne, though, the one Seungmin had given to him as an anniversary gift. It permeates his nostrils, more familiar than the scent of his own shampoo. “I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

Me neither, Seungmin thinks. He doesn’t know if Minho means he wasn’t expecting to see Seungmin here or at all. The answer’s the same either way. “I brought Yongbok’s meds,” he says, aiming for casual. It comes out shaky. “She said you were both busy.”

“She said a friend was bringing it. I assumed it would be Hyunjinnie. Is she feeling better?”

“I bumped into Yongsun-ssaem, and she said she would give it to her. Because of my—” He trails off. Swallows around nothing. In the paddock, Chollima has gone back to frolicking

“Your leg?”

Seungmin hums. He feels about to burst. Minho is close enough that he can feel the warmth emanating from his body. He doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“How’s it healing?”

“Just fine,” Seungmin says dryly. The part of him that’s still hurt, the part of him that’s petty and mean and resentful, wants to lash out. To hit Minho where it would hurt. He clenches his jaw so hard his teeth grind.

“I didn’t mean to intrude.”

There was once a time when they knew everything about one another, when the concept of intruding was unimaginable. It shouldn’t hurt to hear Minho say it, but it does. It seems all Seungmin feels these days is hurt. He’s tired of it. He’s tired of being tired.

“She’s good,” he decides to say. “Really good, for a two-year-old. But she needs a better rider.”

“Jeongin’s working on it.”

“They don’t match,” Seungmin says. He doesn’t know why he’s talking about racing with Minho. Three years of radio silence, of pretending he mended his broken heart, and here they are, back where they started, talking about the same thing Seungmin has been avoiding like the plague for months.

“I know,” Minho concedes. Doesn’t elaborate any further. He seems to be content to stay in silence, watching Chollima rolling around on the ground.

Seungmin can’t stand the quiet. He can’t stand it coming from Minho. He can’t stand Minho. He can’t stand this. “Do you enjoy it? Training?”

Minho doesn’t answer him immediately. He considers the question for a long moment, stretching it so much that Seungmin considers just leaving. “I do,” Minho says. “A lot, actually. I’m happy. If that’s what you’re asking.”

It is. It isn’t. Seungmin doesn’t know what he’s asking. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He doesn’t know what it means to be here, with Minho, whom he can’t look in the eye, who he misses more than anything in the world.

He opens his mouth. Nothing comes out. The silence stretches, unbearable, suffocating, smothering him like a wool blanket in the summer heat.

“Seungminnie!” He and Minho turn at the same time, fingers brushing. It sends a jolt of electricity through his entire body, a shudder that rocks his very soul. Yongbok’s walking toward them, her hair in an intricate braid, the front of her uniform covered in fluids. “Yongsun-unnie said you’d be here.”

Seungmin steps forward, curling his fingers. He can still feel the ghost of Minho’s touch. “Bokkie,” he says, “are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry I didn’t show up. We ran into some complications with the birth, it was awful. We’re gonna have to send the mare to the hospital, Yongsun-unnie had to go with her. She said she’ll call you later.” She grimaces. “Thank you so much for coming all the way here, though. I’d hug you if I weren’t all nasty.”

“It’s nothing,” Seungmin answers. “Is the pain better?”

“Oh, yeah, these meds kick in faster than that beauty over there,” she says, nodding towards Chollima. Her eyes widen. “Oh, oppa. I literally didn’t even see you there.”

“Hi, Bokkie,” Minho says tonelessly. “I love you too.”

“Uhmmmmm,” Yongbok says. She narrows her eyes. “Were you two talking?”

“I was just saying hi,” Minho answers, raising his hands. He and Yongbok seem to be having a silent conversation with their eyes. Yongbok sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I should go. I have another meeting with admin. I’ll see you at home, Bokkie. It was good seeing you, Kim Seungmin. Take care.”

And then Minho’s off, disappearing into the stable block without looking back. Yongbok sighs again, reaching over to squeeze Seungmin’s shoulder. “I won’t ask about it,” she says. “We can pretend it never happened, if that’s what you want.”

“I—Alright. Alright.”

🏇

The seasons turn, the leaves fall, and nothing changes.

He goes to physiotherapy, he lies in bed staring at the ceiling, he ignores his conversation with Minho and the calls from his agent and the therapist referral Minhyuk-ssi had suggested. His leg hurts less each day, the muscles growing stronger. The scar fades from an angry red to puckered white. Seungmin watches it all happen from afar.

His friends try to help. They force him out of the house, take him to the movies, gossip about people he vaguely remembers from school, stuff him with hearthy and healthy foods. They’ve been very graceful. He knows that there is a limit to how much they’ll let this go on. He’s been expecting it.

Hyunjin, of course, is the first to run out of patience. In mid-October, she picks him up from physio by herself, without a car, and orders him to follow along. It’s a nice afternoon out, and she takes him to Hangang. She buys ramen and boba and rents a picnic blanket for them to sit by the river.

Seungmin knows it’s an intervention. He sits down on the blanket, eats his ramen, and waits for her to do what she’s gotta do.

“So,” Hyunjin says around a mouthful of ramen, “you’ve been cleared for physical exercise for a while now. When are you going to get around to it?”

“I don’t know.”

“You can go to pilates with Bokkie and me. It’s fun.”

Seungmin shrugs. “Maybe.”

Hyunjin sighs, setting down her ramen. “Seungmin-ah, can I be honest with you?”

“Yeah.”

Hyunjin worries her bottom lip for a moment. “It’s been a while since the accident. I thought, at first, that you’d come home to heal, to get better. But I don’t think you’re getting better.”

“I’m going to physio,” Seungmin argues. “My injury’s getting better. You just said it yourself. I can exercise again.”

“But you’re not doing it. You’re not doing anything. You’re just, I don’t know, letting time pass by. You’re not gonna get back into racing like this.” Seungmin doesn’t say anything. He just stares at Hyunjin, waiting for her to say it herself. He’s not brave enough to do it himself. “Do you not… Do you not want to race again?”

“I don’t know,” Seungmin says. Suddenly, he feels very heavy. “I really don’t know, Hyunjinnie.”

“Seungminnie,” she says softly, reaching out to him. Her dainty fingers brush his hair out of his face, cup his cheek. “Why? Talk to me. Please.”

“I don’t know,” he repeats. “Maybe I don’t want to do that anymore. Maybe I’ve grown tired of it. Maybe I’ve been tired for a long time, and the fucking fall was just what finally put the nail in the coffin.”

“But you love racing.”

And he does. He does love racing. No feeling in the world can compare to being on top of a horse, the wild power of an animal ready to burst. The wind on his face, the tight muscles beneath him, becoming one with his mount. There’s nothing like it, and that’s the problem. He doesn’t know if he’s still able to do that. He’s scared. He’s scared that he’s going to mount a horse and not feel anything but fear or apathy or guilt. He’s scared that the part of him that’s able to race died with Wise Heart.

“It’s complicated,” he says. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

“You don’t have to. But. Seungminnie. You don’t have to race if you don’t want to. You don’t have to go back to America. But you have to do something.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Come to pilates with me. Get a new hobby. Call that therapist. Go to college, for fuck’s sake. But you can’t stay like this, Seungmin, you really can’t. You’re going to fade away, and I can’t keep watching it. Not again.” She chokes on a sob, face crumpling. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Seungmin swallows around nothing. Carefully, he wraps his arms around Hyunjin, tucking her wet face into the crook of his neck. “I’m sorry, Hyunjinnie. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“It’s not your fault,” she sobs into his neck, “it really isn’t. But let us help you. Please. Talk to us. Any of us.”

He runs his hands through her hair, throat tight. “Okay. Okay, Hyunjinnie. I will try. I promise.”

🏇

The house is empty when he gets home, but he locks himself in his bathroom anyway, turning on the shower. He sits on top of the toilet lid and opens up YouTube. Types in the words 2026 Belmont Stakes Seungmin Kim. Turns down the volume. Clicks on the video.

Watches as the bell rings and he and Wise Heart burst from the gate, dressed in yellow, the sun high in the sky. Watches as he takes a gap, as Wise Heart gets clipped. Watches Wise Heart’s leg folds beneath him, as his beautiful stride shatters, as the two of them come crashing down, as they don’t get up. Watches the paramedics rushing in, the veterinarians rushing in. Watches himself being lifted onto a stretcher, blood soaking his pants. Watches as Wise Heart kicks out in agony, struggling, trying to get up. The video ends with the paramedics rushing off with him.

His lungs grow tight, constricting, pressure building behind his eyes, a tightness in his throat. He sucks in a sharp, wet breath. Then another. Then another, until he can’t stop, until tears are streaming down his face and not even the sound of the shower can cover his gasping breaths, the sobs rocking his entire body.

He didn’t cry when it happened, didn’t cry when he woke up at the hospital, didn’t cry when he watched Wise Heart being put to sleep. He didn’t cry then, but he can’t seem to stop now. His head pounds with the force of his sobs, his chest so tight he feels about to burst. He can’t breathe. He can’t see. He can’t do anything but cry and cry and cry, hands buried in his hair, grasping for any kind of purchase.

It was easier burying it all down. He doesn’t know what to do with all this pain, all this grief, all this guilt. He doesn’t know where to put it, how not to drown in it. It feels like he’s going to die choking on his sorrow.

He doesn’t know how long he cries for. Long enough for the water to grow cold, for his parents to come home. His mom knocks on the door before coming in.

“Oh, honey,” she says when he looks up at her, face puffy and red, hiccuping. She kneels before him, carefully pulls his hands away from his hair, brushes his tears with her thumb. “I’m here. I’m here. It’s going to be alright. I’ve got you.”

He sags against her, exhausted. He’s so tired. He’s so, so tired.

🏇

He wakes up late the next day. He’s tucked under the comfort, in his favorite pajamas. He doesn’t really remember getting into them. His head hurts like a bitch, and his eyes are swollen and dry. There’s a bottle of water and an aspirin on his bedside table, and he files a note to thank his mom before swallowing the pill.

He sits up in bed, running a hand through his eyes. The shutters are half-open, and little rays of sunlight cast shadows on the wall.

He feels lighter, somehow. There’s still a pit in his stomach, but it doesn’t feel like it’s going to swallow him whole anymore. He finishes his water. Goes to the bathroom, washes his face, changes out of his pajamas. The house is quiet when he goes downstairs, but there’s kimchi stew for him in the oven. It tastes like his mother’s—she made it herself. He can’t help tearing up a little.

He’s washing the dishes when the doorbell rings. He dries his hands before going to check it out—he’s not expecting anyone, and his parents aren’t home. He goes down the garden in his slippers, expecting the mailman, and opens the gate to Lee Minho.

“Oh,” Seungmin says, standing in the doorway. “Minho.”

“Seungmin. Hi.” Minho smiles, a little awkwardly. His hands are in his pockets. He stares at Seungmin expectantly, as if Seungmin’s supposed to know why he’s here.

“Sorry,” Seungmin says. “What are you doing here?”

“I have a meeting with your father about a colt. Is he not home?”

Seungmin scratches his neck. “Uhm, no. Sorry?”

“That’s weird,” Minho says. Seungmin nods. He doesn’t really know what to say. Minho’s phone buzzes in his pocket. “Hold up, sorry. Hello, yes? Ah, Seungwoo-ssi, don’t worry, I understand. In half an hour? That’s perfect, of course. See you soon.”

Seungmin raises his eyebrows. “Was that my father?”

“Ah, yes. He got caught up in traffic, but he’ll be here soon. Sorry for disturbing you, Seungmin. I’ll come back later.” Minho bows quickly and turns around, almost as if running away.

“Wait.” Minho stops. Turns around. Seungmin takes a deep, fortifying breath. “He said he’ll be back in half an hour. You can wait inside. There’s no need for you to leave. You’re already here.”

Minho works his jaw. “I wouldn’t want to bother you.”

“It’s fine. Really, it is.” He doesn’t know if he’s convincing himself or Minho. It doesn’t really matter. “Come on.”

Wordlessly, Minho follows him inside. He carefully takes off his shoes and slips into the guest slippers, and then he just. Stands. Waiting. It’s weird. Minho hasn’t been inside his home in years, and here he is again, acting like a stranger. Which maybe he is.

“You can wait in the living room.”

“Alright. Thank you, Seungmin.”

Seungmin leaves Minho in the living room and goes to the kitchen. Closes the door. Lee Minho is in his living room. The same Lee Minho who he upended his entire life to avoid, the same Lee Minho who haunts his dreams, the same Lee Minho who he misses and hates and loves and wishes to never see again.

His head starts to hurt again. He’s still so tender.

He fills a jar with boricha, puts it on a tray with some dried persimmons and honey butter almonds. He takes a deep breath before going out to the living room, carefully balancing the tray in his hands. Minho’s on the sofa, fingers tapping rapidly against his phone screen. He freezes once Seungmin steps in, following his movements like a prey animal.

“For you,” Seungmin says, gesturing at the tray. “There’s kimchi stew. If you’re hungry.”

“This is fine,” Minho says. His voice is weird. “Thank you, Seungmin.”

“It’s no problem.” He stares at Minho, quickly averts his gaze when Minho stares back. “I’ll be upstairs. You know your way around. Feel free to grab anything you need.”

Minho nods. Seungmin nods back. He waits a beat, then he turns around, walking towards the stairs. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. He’ll just go to his bedroom and stay there until his father comes home, and then he’ll go to Hyunjin’s and cry some more in her lap.

He’s got one foot on the steps when Minho speaks up. “Seungmin-ah,” he says, “can we talk?”

Seungmin stops. Clenches his fists, digs his nails so deep into his skin it stings. He takes a deep breath in, feels the oxygen filling his lungs, traveling through his veins. He turns around. Goes down the one step he’d climbed. Walks towards the couch. Stands in front of Minho, looking at his big, beautiful eyes, the strands of hair framing his forehead, the fullness of his face.

His stupid, soft heart twists in his ribcage. He sits down on the couch, inches away from Minho. “Alright,” he says. “Let’s talk.”

Minho clears his throat. “Yongbok’s been worried about you. Really worried.”

“Did she tell you to come talk to me?”

“No. Quite the opposite, actually. She’s forbidden me from talking to you. Been really strict about it, too. She didn’t tell me anything. Don’t be mad at her. But I can tell she’s worried sick, and I can also tell that she’s got reasons to be.”

“You haven’t talked to me since I left,” Seungmin says. “You stopped talking to me long before that, in fact. How can you possibly think you know anything about me?”

“Seungmin-ah,” Minho exhales, almost nagging. The way he used to talk to him. “Just listen, alright? Then, if you want, you can be mad.”

Seungmin counts down from ten. Nods.

“I can’t know what you’re going through, but I do know what it’s like to go through a devastating injury, and I do know what it’s like to feel like the whole world’s crashing down on your shoulders. It was very hard for me when I got injured. Really, really hard. I felt like I didn’t have anything left. I felt like my life was over. I was angry, and I was sad, and I was so fucking scared.”

Seungmin remembers those days. He remembers watching Minho retreat more into himself every day, closing the door inch by inch until, one day, it was locked and barricaded.

“I was terrible to you, and I was terrible to my friends, and I was terrible to my sister, because I thought it was so fucking unfair that I was hurting so badly, and I felt like no one could ever understand what I was going through. I chased you all away. I refused to go to PT, I refused to leave my room, I refused to do anything other than stare at the ceiling and be angry. Then one day, Yongbok barged into my room, opened the curtains, and said: It fucking sucks what happened. It’s shitty, and it’s depressing, and I understand that you’re sad. But you’re still here, and you’re still breathing, and I’m not going to let you decide that your life is over. Get your head out of your ass, and let me fucking help you.”

“So I let her fucking help me. It was the scariest thing I’ve ever done. PT was terrible, the pain was terrible, therapy was terrible, missing you was terrible. But it got better. There were a lot of ups and downs, and honestly, there still are. I miss racing every single day. I have a lot of regrets. I get very scared sometimes. But it’s not all I feel.”

Seungmin sniffs discreetly. Minho’s face softens; his hand twitches on top of his thigh.

“So, I might sound like a hypocrite, but that’s what I’m here to tell you. Your life’s not over. Don’t let it be. I know it’s been a while, and I know I don’t have the right to say any of this, but I do know you. I know you only came back because you’re running away from what happened. If you truly don’t want to race anymore, it’s fine. You can do whatever you want with your life. But I don’t think that’s it. I think you’re avoiding it because you’re terrified. But you still have a future. Don’t throw it away. If you’re scared, do it scared. It’s the only way.”

Seungmin stares at Minho. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes a little red. He wants to reach out to him. He wants to touch his hand. He wants to stop running away. From Minho. From everything. He wets his lips, mulling over what to say.

“Minho-hyung,” he starts. Minho’s eyes widen. “I—”

The electronic lock comes to life as his father opens the door. Seungmin freezes, mouth hanging open, heart thumping against his ribcage.

“Ah, Minho-ssi, forgive me for the delay,” his father says as he enters the living room. If he notices anything off, he doesn’t mention it. He just smiles and says, “I trust Seungmin’s been keeping you good company?”

Minho blinks. He stands up, bowing profoundly. “Seungwoo-ssi, it’s no problem at all. Seungmin was a great host, of course.”

“It’s good that you two are talking again,” his father says. “Should we get to business?”

“Of course.” Minho turns to look at Seungmin, something shining in his eyes. “Bye, Seungmin. We’ll see each other around, yeah?”

Seungmin can only nod, dazed as he watches Minho follow his father down the corridor, his words still echoing in his mind.

🏇

He does end up going to pilates with Hyunjin and Yongbok the next week. It’s hard, and he can’t do a lot of the exercises, and his leg ends up hurting a lot on Wednesday, but it’s also nice. Hyunjin’s clearly head over heels for the instructor, a thirty-something butch that clearly keeps staring back at her the entire time. It’s fun, laughing with Yongbok about it as they stretch after class.

He doesn’t text the therapist, but he does save her number on his phone. For later.

On Thursday, he downloads all the apps he had deleted and logs back into his accounts. He doesn’t post anything, but he unmutes Minho’s name and starts following him again. Minho follows him back on Friday morning. It’s strange. Seungmin spends the morning going through his Instagram account, scrolling through all the posts. Minho never deleted anything—all his posts from his racing career and with Seungmin are still up. He ends up skipping pilates with the girls to spend the afternoon crying into his pillow, but he does go out to a bar with Jisung on Saturday, and they drink soju and laugh and reminisce about their teenage years.

It’s the first truly okay week he’s had since June.

On Sunday, he opens up the box he’d shoved all the way back in his closet when he’d arrived back in the summer. Wise Heart’s urn is smaller than he would have expected, golden and round. It’s got his name engraved in the front, the dates of birth and death. It’s a heavy weight in his hands. Seungmin holds it until the metal grows warm, until he’s shaking. He places it on the top shelf, next to the framed picture of him in his first-ever race.

It hurts, seeing it. He doesn’t think it will ever stop hurting. But it does feel a little more manageable, and that’s all he can ask for.

🏇

On the first Monday of November, Seungmin wakes up from a nightmare shivering and nauseous. The sound of his bone cracking echoes in his mind, Wise Heart’s scream of agony in his ears as he empties his dinner into the toilet bowl.

The nausea goes away when he’s done, but the restlessness sits heavy in his bones. He feels like a wild animal, thrumming with barely restrained madness. He goes to pilates, he has lunch with the girls and Jisung, he even tries to run the treadmill at the home gym, but the feeling lingers, insistent like a leech.

He’s all wrong. The discomfort borders on physical, like his skin is stretched too thin over his bones. He’s about to burst. He needs to do something. He needs to—

He’s in the car before he overthinks it too much, feet in the pedal, fingers dancing against the steering wheel, radio turned all the way up. The colors of the city bleed as he races through the highway, windows rolled down, the threat of the winter chill dawning with the evening.

The parking lot’s almost empty when he arrives. He flies out of the car, feet on autopilot as he walks to the stable zone through the staff gate. His breathing’s loud and heavy, his heartbeat frantic. He rushes past the concrete buildings, the sounds of neighing and nickering coming from inside each of them.

He finally reaches the next-to-last block. The wash bay is empty when he steps inside, no grooms or stable hands in sight. He inhales, breathing in the scent of hay and leather. His footsteps echo as he walks further inside, into the central aisle. He hasn’t been in here in so long. The fluorescent lights hum above the aisle, reflected dully in the concrete floor. He turns left, passing stall five, then six. A horse stamps. Seungmin stops in front of the last stall, right next to the feed room.

Moon Dancer wakes up from her slumber when he approaches. She used to be as scaredy as a cat as a young filly, overly sensitive and cautious. She doesn’t startle away now, just fixes him with a curious stare. Seungmin clicks his teeth, urging her to come to him.

“Hey,” he says as softly as he can. “Hey, sweet girl. You’re so grown now, aren’t you?”

Maybe it’s because he’s quiet, maybe it’s because she didn’t forget him, but Moon Dancer walks to the door, sticking her head out. She noses his hand, nipping experimentally at his skin. Seungmin clicks his teeth again, pulling his hand back until she puts her teeth away.

“Still a biter, huh? Didn’t Yongsun-ssaem teach you to stop that?”

“Oh, she’s incorrigible.” Minho comes out of the feeding room holding a bucket. He doesn’t seem surprised to see Seungmin here, unannounced. He puts the bucket down, crossing the aisle to stand next to Seungmin. “I think you’re the only one who was ever able to keep her from it.”

Seungmin scratches her nose, chuckling when she leans into the touch. “She’s grown well,” he says. She’s five, now, almost at the end of her career. She was born on his first year of apprenticeship under Yongsun. He remembers the way she used to stumble around the stall on her long legs, clinging to her mom, one of his parents’ bloodmares. He’d been the only jockey to race her on her debut season. They’d won almost all Juvenile races. “Who’s been riding her?”

“Kim Jeongseob. She’s good with her. Not as good as you, though.”

Seungmin laughs, still petting Moon Dancer. She’s warm, her neck muscled and arched, her white coat shiny and smooth. Now that the initial curiosity has faded, she’s docile, probably exhausted from a full day of training. He rests his hand on her neck, feeling the pulsing of her blood.

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” Minho says.

Seungmin looks at him. “When? Not if?”

Minho shrugs. “I told you. I know you.”

“You’re full of yourself, that’s what you are,” Seungmin says without thinking. It just rolls off his tongue, the banter they used to have. He freezes, shoulders tense.

A beat. Then, “And you’re a brat,” Minho says, voice light and airy. “I must confess that I am curious as to what brought you here today, though.”

Seungmin keeps petting Moon Dancer, scratching beneath her chin. He could lie. He could make something up. “I had a nightmare,” he says. “About the accident. And Wise Heart. And there was just this ball of restless energy inside of me that wouldn’t go away, no matter what. I don’t know. I just felt like I needed to come here.”

“That makes sense. Is it helping?”

“A little,” Seungmin says. He still feels the tight coil of wildness in his gut threatening to snap, but the smell of the stables and Moon Dancer’s pulse make him feel more settled.

Minho hums. “Come with me.” He picks the feeding bucket back up, starting towards the other end of the aisle. Seungmin gives Moon Dancer one final scratch before following him. They move together, boots echoing in counterpoint.

They stop at stall four—Ground Zero, the nameplate reads—for Minho to hang the feeding bucket, giving the stallion a quick scratch behind his ear before moving forward. Minho stops again at the tack room, unlocking the door. The smell of leather and oil floats out, intimate and familiar. He gestures inside with his chin.

The saddles and bridles hang in neat rows inside, the other racing gear stacked in the shelves in the corner. Seungmin eyes Minho with suspicion as he walks to the wall and reaches for a training saddle.

“Mount Chollima.”

Seungmin stares at Minho as if he’s grown a second head. “What?”

Minho raises his eyebrows. “Mount Chollima,” he repeats.

“I’m not—I’m not doing that. I’m not ready. I’m not—”

“I’m not telling you to ride her. You can’t even do that yet. Just get on top of her. Reacquaint yourself with the saddle, with the height, with the feel of it.”

Seungmin swallows around nothing. “Minho, I can’t. I can’t.”

“Seungmin,” Minho says, suddenly very serious. “Tell me what you’re feeling. Tell me what you’re afraid of.”

“At the Belmont Stakes,” Seungmin starts, “Wise Heart was a little off at the beginning. Breathing a little early. I tried to adjust, to give him space, to not push too hard. And it seemed to work. We were still in contention, and I decided to take a gap, but our timing was off. My timing was off. It’s—It’s my fault. Everything’s my fault.”

Minho frowns, stepping closer to him. “That’s just not true.”

“I watched the video,” Seungmin insists, feeling his throat tighten. “I took the gap too early, and Wise Heart never liked being crowded, and then he got clipped, and then he fucking died. He died, and I’m here.”

“I watched the video too,” Minho says softly. “Many, many times. I don’t think you took the gap too early. I would have done the same. It was the logical decision.”

Seungmin blinks back the tears threatening to spill. “You know better than anyone that racing is about connection. It’s about listening to the fucking horse, becoming one with it. I don’t know if I can do that. I knew better. I should have known better. He trusted me, and I failed him, and I don’t ever want to do that again.”

“You couldn’t have predicted it. No one could. That doesn’t mean you’re incapable of connecting with a horse. I’ve raced with you. I’ve trained with you. I know what you’re capable of.”

“Maybe I just can’t do it anymore, then.”

“Maybe you’re just scared,” Minho says. “And there’s only one way of knowing.”

“I don’t want to hurt Chollima.”

“You’re not going to. You wouldn’t even if you galloped, but you’re not doing that. I’m just asking you to mount her. I’ll be there.”

Seungmin runs a hand over his eyes, pretends not to notice that it comes back wet. “I don’t know. I can’t trust myself.”

“Trust me, then,” Minho says. “I’ve got you.”

Maybe it’s because he’s tired. Maybe it’s because of the years of memories they have inside this very tack room. Maybe it’s because it took less than two conversations for Minho to shatter all of Seungmin’s walls. He doesn’t really know why, doesn’t really bother trying to figure it out, but he does trust Minho. Even after all this time, even after everything.

So he gives in and changes into a spare pair of riding gear, the pants tight around his legs, the boots a tad too small. His own riding gear was left behind in Lexington, shoved deep inside his wardrobe. It’s strange, wearing training gear again. It almost feels like he’s playing pretend.

Minho’s already got Chollima saddled when he steps out of the tack room. Seungmin approaches them carefully, letting her scent him and see him properly. Her ears flick back, then forward again, eyes following him as he gets closer—not defensive, just attentive.

“Hey there,” Seungmin whispers, running a hand down her neck, fingers light. She shifts once, and he almost pulls back, but she settles afterward, nickering softly. “Good girl.”

Content with the introduction, Minho guides them out. The track is quiet and empty, the surface dark and soft. The sky’s starting to bleed orange, a thin mist hovering low. Chollima’s stride is long and purposeful, her ears always alert.

They pause at the mounting block. Minho looks at him and nods once. Seungmin takes a deep, deep breath. It’s just mounting. They’re not racing. He swings up more smoothly than he’d expected with his leg, settling into the saddle without jostling Chollima’s mouth.

She tenses beneath him for a second, muscles tightening, her ears flickering—not resisting, not really. Just paying attention. Feeling him out. The leather of the saddle is soft beneath him, her flank firm. Seungmin takes in a shuddering breath, hands tight on the rein. Too tight, maybe, because she stomps her leg, jostling him.

He grows tenser by the second. He knows, just from watching her once, that she’s sensitive and defensive. That she doesn’t like feeling controlled. Seungmin is doing the exact opposite of what she needs.

“You’re working her up,” Minho says. He doesn’t sound worried. He’s just making an observation.

“I know,” Seungmin says, a little desperately. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.”

Seungmin squirms on top of Chollima. He has never, ever, felt afraid on top of a horse. Not even when he was little. Now, though, he’s terrified. He can’t stop thinking about Wise Heart. He can’t stop his hands from shaking. This was a terrible idea. He should never have let Minho talk him into it.

His distress, and hers, must grow obvious by the second, because Minho sighs, stepping forward. He places one hand on Seungmin’s thigh and another on Chollima’s back, running a soothing hand over her coat.

“Alright. Let’s do an exercise, alright? Close your eyes.”

“Why?” Seungmin asks. His muscles, whatever’s left of them, tense underneath Minho’s touch. Even through the leather, it burns.

“Just do it,” Minho says, like an order.

Seungmin has half a mind to refuse, to jump down and drive home and give up. But he’s trying. He’d promised Hyunjin he’d try. So he does obey, closing his eyes, ignoring the pit in his stomach as the world goes black.

“Now breathe,” Minho commands. “Slow down your thoughts, narrow down everything that isn’t Chollima. Find her breathing, the drumming of her heart, and follow it. I’ll hold her reins, don’t worry about that. Don’t worry about anything other than her.”

Seungmin’s heart is a wild thing. He exhales, willing himself to breathe in slower, more carefully. Chollima shifts beneath him, almost imperceptible, an ephemeral tremor in her hind leg. Seungmin zeroes in on that—the way it travels up her leg, echoing throughout her body, how she kicks softly to get rid of it. How she carries herself, all her power barely restrained, as she adjusts her posture to carry him. Her breathing’s calm, almost soothing. In and out, in and out. He follows her rhythm. Breathes in, breathes out.

He feels as his muscles start to uncoil, as his heart rate slows. The tension in his spine melts with each breath he takes, until he’s all soft on top of Chollima. Until he’s breathing just the same as her, until there’s nothing but him and her, the echo of her heartbeat and the pulsing of his veins, her warmth bleeding into him. Minho, feather-light, runs a soothing thumb over Seungmin’s thigh. It’s the only thing tethering him to the world.

He doesn’t know how much time passes before he opens his eyes. He looks at Minho, at the soft brown of his eyes, reflecting the setting sun. Everything around them is quiet. There is only Seungmin on top of Chollima and Minho’s hand on his thigh, the two of them staring into each other’s eyes. Seungmin breathes in alongside Chollima, and Minho follows, the three of them as one.

It feels right. It feels like, finally, Seungmin’s back where he belongs.

Minho smiles, private and honest. “Good job, brat,” he says, almost a whisper.

“Thank you, hyung.”

🏇

Minho keeps talking to him. Asking him his opinion on training regimens, sending him videos of Jeongin on Chollima. Seungmin never sends the first text, but he does always answer. He knows that his friends know, but they very carefully don’t mention it. Don’t act as if anything’s out of the ordinary when Seungmin offhandedly mentions something Minho had said in a message.

It’s nice. Different, but nice. Some days, he finds himself wishing nothing had ever changed. Others, he looks fondly out his window and smiles. The leaves keep falling, the temperature drops, but Seungmin grows warm. He lets himself grow warm.

When the final competition weekend of the year arrives, he’s almost excited. He drives there with his parents, but he goes down to the stands when they arrive, forgoing their usual reserved seats. He pretends not to notice the look they exchange.

Hyunjin’s already there when he steps into the deck, leaning back on the railing as she talks to Minho. Seungmin feels the smallest sense of apprehension as he approaches them. “Hey.”

Minho turns to look at him with a smile on his face. “Kim Seungmin, you’re late.”

“Traffic,” he says, smiling back at him. “You know how it is.”

Hyunjin clears her throat. “Hi to you too, Seungmin, I’m fine, thanks, and you?”

Seungmin rolls his eyes. “Hi, Hyunjinnie.”

She humphs, but loops her arm around his, leaning her head on his shoulder as she picks her conversation with Minho back up, filling him in. It’s typical pre-race talk—the weather, the track conditions, how the horses are faring.

Minho leaves shortly before the races start, going to check in on the horses he has running today. It’s just him and Hyunjin for the first couple of races. Seungmin watches them and doesn’t feel like throwing up. It’s a nice day out, the sun high up in the sky despite the cold, and all the horses’ coats shine brightly as they race, a sea of brown and black and grey. He even makes bets with Hyunjin.

Minho trails back onto the stands with Yongbok when the horses are cantering before the Breeder’s Cup Rookie, Chollima wild on the field. He sits between Seungmin and Yongbok, worrying his bottom lip as he watches her, eyes razor-sharp.

“She looks good,” Seungmin says. “She’s not grabbing the bit as much.”

Minho hums, eyes glued forward. “I made Jeongin watch some of your old racing videos.”

Seungmin’s breath hitches. “What?”

The bell rings before Minho can answer. Seungmin turns to look at the big screen, but his head’s still swimming. He had thought, back in September, that he would have been able to ride Chollima well. But he never thought—he didn’t think that was on Minho’s mind as well. He doesn’t know what that means.

The break goes well. Chollima lingers a length behind the rest, but Jeongin’s hands are down, letting her pace herself, looking infinitely more relaxed than before. They pass the first six hundred, and now Jeongin does tighten the rein, but Chollima goes with it, neck lowering, stride lengthening.

Her surge is beautiful. She speeds like a current, closing in the distance, racing past the other horses. She goes from last to fifth to third, and then she’s fighting for the lead. Yongbok and Hyunjin are cheering in the background, urging her on. Seungmin’s breathless as he watches the storm that is Chollima.

He’s on the edge of his seat. Stomach on his throat. He grabs the edge of his seat, squeezing hard as Chollima closes in, as she gets a head of advantage, as she—

Chollima crosses the finish line with a half-length separating her from the rest. The crowd erupts in thunderous applause, euphoria spreading through the stands. Yongbok, smiling like crazy, pulls Minho into her arms, jumping up and down.

“You did it, oppa! She did it! They did it!” Her voice is pure happiness. “You did it!”

Seungmin turns to look at them. Minho’s cheeks are flushed, his eyes misty. He’s smiling back at Yongbok, full teeth on display, and it’s the happiest Seungmin has seen him since he left. His heart pangs in his chest.

“I knew you could do it,” Yongbok says wetly, “I really did. I’m so proud.”

“Thank you, Bokkie,” Minho says, ruffling her hair. His voice is tight. “Thank you.”

“Minho-oppa!” Hyunjin shrieks, squeezing past Seungmin to pull Minho into another hug, lanky arms around his neck. “Congrats, oh my God.”

Minho laughs as she swings them from side to side. “Thank you, Hyunjinnie. I need to go down there, will you let me?”

He kisses Hyunjin’s cheek when she lets him go, raking a hand through his hair before starting towards the stairs, down into the field. Seungmin’s hand itches, his tongue burns. His feet move without thinking, chasing after Minho, shouldering past the crowd.

He stops at the end of the staircase, feet sinking into the grass. “Minho-hyung,” he calls out.

Minho stops in his tracks. Looks back. His cheeks are wet, tears streaming down his face like rain. His chin quivers. Seungmin doesn’t know what to say. He wants to hug him. He wants to kiss him. He wants Minho to be this happy all the time.

“Minho-hyung,” he repeats.

Minho smiles, and it’s blinding. “I know. I know, Seungminnie.”

He starts toward the paddock again. Seungmin watches him go.

🏇

Hyunjin hosts a dinner party at her penthouse later that week, both to celebrate Minho’s win and to formally introduce them all to Chaebin, the pilates instructor turned girlfriend, who’s the sweetest person Seungmin has ever met. She looks at Hyunjin like she hung up the moon.

Yongbok also uses the event as an opportunity to introduce her secret boyfriend, arriving fashionably late with none other than Yang Jeongin in tow, who seems equally thrilled and terrified to be here.

Dinner’s courtesy of Minho, because Hyunjin can’t cook to save her life. He serves them galbi jjim and marinated crab, with more side dishes than Seungmin can count. He sits between Jisung and Hyunjin and dutifully eats everything they pile onto his plate, complaining that he needs to fatten up to get stronger again. He missed Minho’s cooking.

After dinner, they all pile onto the couch and armchairs in the living room, passing bottles of alcohol around like they’re teenagers. Seungmin sits in the corner of the couch, nursing his glass as he watches everyone mingle. Minho’s in an armchair across from him, deep in conversation with Jisung and Jeongin. Yongbok’s not-so-subtly giving Chaebin the shovel talk. Hyunjin’s got her feet in his lap, sipping from her peach soju and piping up occasionally.

Seungmin grows soft as the night goes on, fuzzy with alcohol and the sound of laughter. He never thought he’d get to experience this again. When he left for Lexington, he never intended to look back. When he came back, it was with the intention to fade away quietly.

But he’s still here. They all are.

His heart swells in his chest. He stands up before he does something stupid, like start crying in front of everyone, and says he’s going to get some air. He crosses the room, stepping onto the balcony, closing his eyes when the night air kisses his skin.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“Seungmin-ah?”

Seungmin startles, looking to the side. Minho’s perched on a stool in the corner, hidden in the shadows, a cigarette between his lips. Seungmin hadn’t even noticed that Minho hadn’t come back from the bathroom earlier.

“You’re smoking,” he says dumbly. He hasn’t talked directly to Minho all night. They haven’t really talked since the Grand Prix, not even through text. It’s like they both knew, somehow, that their next conversation would be a big one.

“I am,” Minho agrees, blowing out smoke.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

Minho shrugs. “I started after you left.”

“Right.” Seungmin stares at him, tapping his fingers against his thigh. The air hangs heavy between them, the silence way too loud. He can’t stand it. Has never been able to. “Hyung—”

“Seungmin—”

Seungmin clears his throat. “You can go first.”

Minho nods. Puts out his cigarette and stands up. “I’m sorry.”

Seungmin sucks in a sharp breath. Smoke and the citrus of Minho’s cologne waft into his nostrils. “What for?”

“For back then,” Minho says. “For everything.”

“You don’t have to apologize. You were hurting.”

“I was,” Minho concedes. “But I was awful to you. To everyone, but especially to you. And when I got my head out of my ass, I’d already pushed you to the other side of the globe. I’m sorry. I really am.”

Seungmin works his jaw. For a long, long time, he thought that that was all he wanted to hear. That Minho was sorry, that he regretted it, that he hadn’t meant to let him go. But he’s older now, rougher around the edges, carrying some scars of his own. He doesn’t think he can shoulder any more guilt.

“It’s alright,” he says. “I think I forgave you a long time ago.”

“Why did you leave, then?” Minho says it almost petulantly, like a wronged child.

“I just—I couldn’t handle being here and not having you. It was eating me alive. So when Yongsun-ssaem got me that offer, I just took it. Figured I had nothing else to lose.”

Minho’s quiet for a while after that. He leans back against the railing, the skyline of Seoul framing his back, the cold wind sweeping through his hair. “I bought her for you, you know.”

“What?”

“Chollima,” Minho says, all pretend-casualness.

“But you’re not her owner.” Seungmin’s brain’s swimming. “You can’t be.”

“Christopher Banhg’s a friend of mine.” Minho’s eyes soften as he looks at him. “The name on the paper is his. But that’s all.”

Seungmin thinks back to the first time he saw her racing. To Minho insisting he mount her. To Minho telling him he had Jeongin watch his racing videos. “I don’t—Hyung. I don’t understand. Why?”

“I missed you,” Minho answers, as if it’s that simple. As if that’s all there is to it. “She reminded me of you.”

Seungmin does the math. Chollima is in her two-year-old season. She must have gone to auction as a yearling. So, early last year. He had already been gone for two years. Minho had been thinking of him. Minho had missed him. “You bought her. For me.”

Minho nods. “In case you ever came home.”

His throat’s dry, all the fuzziness from the alcohol gone from his brain. Seungmin’s home now. Minho bought him a filly and named her after a horse no mortal could ever mount. Minho missed him. Minho, Minho, Minho.

Seungmin takes one step forward. Then another. Until he’s a breath away from Minho, until he’s surrounded by the smell of tangerines, the heath emanating from Minho’s body fighting off the chill of the night. “Hyung,” he whispers. Inside, Hyunjin laughs. “Minho-hyung.”

“Seungmin,” Minho whispers back. “My Seungmin.”

Then he kisses him. Everything else becomes background noise—there’s nothing but Minho’s lips on his and Minho’s callused hands cradling his face, so tenderly it aches. Seungmin melts into him, and they slot into place perfectly, overwhelmingly familiar, despite how much they’ve changed, how much they’ve been hurt.

Seungmin kisses Minho, and he hopes.

🏇

In the days between that night and the end of the year, Seungmin considers.

Ponders.

He talks to Minho a lot. About before, about the accidents, about Wise Heart and Chollima and the future.

He goes to Gwacheon and mounts Chollima under Minho’s watchful eye and doesn’t ride her at all. Minho lets him. There’s time, he says, hand on Seungmin’s thigh.

Seungmin feels Chollima’s muscles tensing and relaxing beneath him, and considers.

🏇

The cold seeps into his bones as he walks out of the stables, a dull ache reverberating through his leg. The snow-covered dirt crunches beneath his feet outside, his slightly uneven gait making his steps sound weird.

Chollima’s already impatient when he gets to the training track, her breath fogging in front of her as she huffs. Minho turns to look at him, bathed in moonlight, raising an eyebrow. “Thought you’d given up.”

“As if,” Seungmin says, kicking his shin when he walks past him. “Leg’s hurting a little.”

“We can go back inside,” Minho offers. Seungmin ignores him, climbing onto the mounting block and then swinging on top of Chollima. “Stubborn brat.”

It’s the middle of the night of the first day of the year. There’s no one on the track but them—Seungmin feels tucked into a pocket of time that could stretch on forever, just him and Minho and Chollima.

He had sneaked out of his parents’ New Year’s party shortly after the turn of the clock, and he hadn’t really been planning on meeting Minho here, hadn’t texted him on the way, but he’d walked into the stables to find him already there, running a hand over Chollima’s neck and talking softly to her.

Minho hadn’t looked the slightest bit surprised to see him there. Had only smiled in greeting and walked toward the tack room, no question in his mind about what Seungmin had come here for.

“I was thinking,” Seungmin starts, hands loose on Chollima’s reins. He feels brave, for the first time in forever. He feels at home on top of her, this gorgeous and wild horse Minho bought because she reminded him of Seungmin. “I’m not going back. To America.”

Minho hums. Waits for him to elaborate.

“It wasn’t all bad there. I grew a lot. I’m only the person I am today because of that.”

“I do like the person you are today,” Minho says, because he’s been very adamant about not hiding how terribly smitten he is.

Seungmin ignores him. “But I was running when I went there, and I was running when I came back. I’m done with running. I want to be, at least.”

“That’s brave of you.” Minho, horrible person that he is, sounds equally smug and fond.

“Well, someone once told me to be. To do it scared.”

“Sounds like a wise guy. You should kiss him in thanks.”

Seungmin shifts on top of Chollima, biting his lips. “There’s one more thing. I’m transferring my racing license back. I already started the process.”

“Really?”

Seungmin nods. “It shouldn’t take long. I called in some favors.”

“That’s good, Seungminnie. Hyung’s proud of you.”

“Hyung,” Seungmin starts. “I want to try racing again this year. I already have the horse, right? I’m hoping she comes with the trainer.”

“Someone’s full of themselves,” Minho drawls. “I think I’m going to need a test-drive. To see if it’s a match, you know how it is. You’re going to need to ride, so I can see.”

Minho raises his eyebrows in challenge. Seungmin knows it’s just for show—he could unmount Chollima right now, take years to actually ride again, and Minho would still wait for him. Would still love him. His eyes are warm and soft, brimming with the same hope Seungmin feels swelling in his chest.

He doesn’t offer Minho an answer. He kicks Chollima’s flank, leaning forward, closing his eyes as she explodes into a gallop, the wildness of her finally unleashed.

The wind ripples through his hair, the moonlight kisses his skin, and he feels Minho’s eyes on his back as he and Chollima sprint across the track, a blur in the middle of the night.

Seungmin laughs.