Archive of Our Own

Karma is, like, this idea that everything you do in life has long-term consequences down the line.

And this can be either a good or a bad thing, entirely depending on the type of person you are. Though if you’re some heaven-sent angel who is willing to clean public spaces out of the goodness of your heart or something, the concept of karma would be like a gold mine to you. It would give you hope that maybe the unnoticed good deeds you’ve done in your life actually mean something.

Then there’s the opposite side of karma, which is the bad kind. Whereas good karma is all sunshine, hopes, and rainbows, the alternative is scary as hell. It’s giving the bad people who walk this earth what’s coming to them in some kind of righteously served justice way. 

In Thanos’s case, there’s no denying that he’s just objectively a bad person.

At least he’s self-aware of the fact. That has to count for something, right? 

This isn’t a new revelation to him either—his track record of good deeds falls short by a landslide compared to his bad ones. Such as him cheating on his long-term (on and off) girlfriend, who’s also just as established in the music industry as he is, blowing up on said girlfriend’s brother, who confronted him about the fact, and then doing the same to his label when they announced the termination of his contract. All of that combined probably didn’t earn him a lot of good karma, which is fair enough.

Losing practically everything he’s ever worked for was something he never thought he would have to prepare himself for. He knows that he’s been unhappy for a while, with the eventual end of his contract looming near, brands slowly becoming disinterested in him, and not being able to produce music the same way as when he debuted. Maybe retiring a few years early was his divine intervention. It still blows that his reputation had to be practically dragged through the mud, but look at it from an optimist viewpoint: at least all of his controversies have somewhat solidified his relevance in the music industry.

Thing is, though, relevancy isn’t bringing in any money. And that’s a problem, especially for the number of rentals he likes to splurge on. Between his designer shoes, cars and art collection, all of that actually adds up to be... a lot of money. Money that he wasn’t earning now.

His solution to this was to follow the advice of another rapper he had collaborated with years ago, who quit music to invest solely in different cryptocurrencies. Now, Thanos has never really considered himself one of those crypto bros he’ll see on podcasts that he occasionally comes across. But if it managed to retire that guy, who probably didn’t even finish high school, he has zero doubt that it would work for him, too.

That’s until the day he opens his laptop to see that—

Everything he has is gone. 

There’s no denying it, he’s staring at the result of his investment in a stilled state of shock-horror. 

‘Dalmatian’ was made by the same guy who made the coin that his industry friend had bought and had blown up. This had been his last thread of hope, after all the shit he’s been through: the scandal about his drug problem, forgetting his lyrics on the biggest stage of Seoul, the whole situation after he was caught cheating on his girlfriend, his label dropping him, he thought his last chance of earning enough money to keep him retired would be this.

Fuck MGCoin. Fuck. Him. 

Thanos slams his laptop shut and keels over in his chair, trying his hardest not to puke. Why the fuck was this happening to him? Okay, sure—he’s established that he’s not a saint by any means, and that he’s done some pretty fucked up things in his life that make him see the pearly gates debatable. But surely that all can’t add up to be the complete destruction of his entire life? What about the assholes who are worse than him and end up fine? Where’s their karma? 

There has to be a way to get his money refunded—he’s Thanos. Even with his reputation having been dragged through the dirt, people still look at him and see the legend that debuted 8 years ago and made Korea’s music industry into what it is. If he just finds a way to contact the guy who promoted all this, MGCoin, he’s gotta apologise to and give him his money back in full. 

Except, when he clicks onto YouTuber and scrolls through his subscriptions, MGCoin’s name is missing. 

Weird. 

Instead, he goes to the search and types in the same name. All that comes up are videos of people freaking out, and cursing out MGCoin, who convinced them to put money into his scam, and then cowardly deleted his account—

Wait, what?

Deleted?  

That fucking bastard deleted his account. 

That—that can’t be right—because if that was true, then he’d be really fucked thanks to the fact that this scamming asshole was too pussy to show his face on his channel. He would have no way to find this motherfucker.

Frustration builds up in him so rapidly that he feels his throat getting clogged up as rapid breaths try hard to make their way out. The slow, inevitable realisation that he’s running out of options here hits him, and it hits him hard. 

The only upside here is that it’s somewhat okay; he didn’t invest enough to get him into debt—he’s just flat out broke. With his career basically being dragged to hell, if he sold what’s left, he’d have enough to see him out a couple of years. 

But, selling everything also means selling the very penthouse in which he lives. 

He groans into the palm that’s covering his own face. Fuck. The thought of just... selling everything? See, accepting that he was eventually going to fade into the ambience was a completely different thing from losing everything he had worked for alongside that. Every designer item he bought was his own trophy of what had come out of his music career; it wasn’t just about the price or exclusivity. It was about the fact that the money he used to buy that had come from his life’s work.

But the emotional, philosophical or whatever’s going on with him can come later. The more pressing issue he’s faced with is what will happen if he needs to sell his penthouse.

Being homeless would be a pretty big problem. Even without the normal issues that come from that shit situation, there’s also the headlines that would follow about the ‘washed-up legend Thanos sleeping on the streets like a bum’, fuck, he can practically picture it now.

Sighing heavily in defeat, he closes YouTube from his phone as well and opens his contacts instead. If he’s gonna be homeless for a bit, he needs to crash with someone. Someone who he hasn’t fucked over recently, and would do a solid for him out of the kindness of their heart.

Huh.

He briefly considers the first name at the top of his list, Minjin, who had been one of the main reasons why Thanos had reached so high in his career, whilst it lasted. They had met on an off-chance, right place, right time, in some high-end club he managed to sneak into. They had been lifting each other in the industry since, introducing the other to new faces.

One of those faces was Minjin’s sister, Younghee, whose contact was sitting just under his—a decently pretty chick, with a short dark bob and sharp features.

If he hadn’t been blocked by both after (drunkenly!) ending up in bed with another girl (whilst they were on another break!), then they would’ve been pretty good options to go to. Shit’s unfair, mistakes happen, why is he being thrown to the curb over the tiniest accident? In case you didn’t pick up, there were also a ton of important factors to consider there.

It’s whatever, though. Even the air in their homes is probably infested with STDs anyway.

Next is his ex-manager, Eunwoo, who was also a decent guy looking out for him over the years. Kinda overbearing and definitely has some underlying control issues that should be addressed sooner or later—but Thanos isn’t all that different himself, so it worked out.

Until it didn’t, and their differences on how to handle controversies clashed against each other. When he eventually got the phone call about being dropped from the agency, he didn’t bother censoring himself. At least he went out with a bang.

As he scrolls further down, he grimaces as he realises that every other contact is someone he had screwed over in some way over his brief 8 years of fame. Half of them either have him blocked or have a wall of texts cursing him out waiting.

That’s when he chokes up as he reaches the very end of his list, where one contact remains buried under the others.

Namgyu.

The name stares at him through his screen, almost tauntingly, as if it subconsciously knows how the reminder instantly worms a flood of repressed memories back into his mind.

His contact’s photo remains unchanged since the day it was first taken, a blurry selfie of them both under the dim LED lights of his old room back home, with Subong cropped out. 16-year-old Namgyu in this picture had the tip of his tongue sticking out—probably without realising—whilst half-leaning on Subong’s shoulder, wearing a loosely fitting dark shirt.

That day, he had called Namgyu over to listen to a demo of one of his first songs ever. He remembers carefully studying the way his expression slightly shifted as the demo went on, trying to decipher a reaction before it was over. In the end, he was told that the song was good—really good, and out of celebration, they had spent the rest of the night binge-watching shitty movies.

He coughs up a bitter laugh that scrapes his throat at the idea of him calling Namgyu out of the blue after 10 years of absolute radio silence. Assuming he hadn’t been blocked, and on the chance that he would answer the call, his ears would probably bleed out from the sound of Namgyu cursing him out.

What’s almost pathetic about the fact is that he wouldn’t be the one to hang up in that case. He would stay, just to remember what Namgyu sounded like, since it had been so long that the memory of his voice had been reduced to a blurry recollection of his general pitch range.

Thanos has done a lot of shit in his life that he knows he’s a bad person for. Things he knows he’ll never be able to atone for, and for the most part, he doesn’t care. If anything, he’d probably do it again.

But what happened with Namgyu? With what Thanos did to him? That secured his spot in hell, and everything else he feels regretful over is nothing to the way he felt after that night. 

So, he scrolls past Namgyu, and the name under his is what catches his eye. 

Mom. 

Unlike Namgyu, he’s actually kept somewhat in contact with his mom. Admittedly, not as much as he should have, because her texts always find a way to bring back memories he’d rather not remember, and especially after all of his recent controversies, he’s made a point of not responding to her out of shame. What kind of son is he?

Reluctantly, he opens her contact and is greeted by the rows of unopened texts from her that await. 

13/07/2025

Mom: I saw Namgyu today! You remember him, don’t you? He seems well. When are you coming back? We should all catch up! 

Of course, the very first text he sees is about Namgyu. His mom fawned over him like a second son. It’s part of what makes him so guilty when messaging her, knowing he failed, again and again.

21/11/25

Mom: Subong? Baby? Are you okay? 

November, the month that his coke addiction had gotten out to the media. A shock received by few, especially after he massively fucked up on stage prior to that.

01/12/25 

Mom: Subong!!!! Answer me!!!

December first, his break-up with Younghee. Again, the media had seriously made it out to be worse than it actually was.

It’s sad, really, that the last person he has left is his own blood. His mom. And that’s only because he had barely spoken to her at all since moving to the other side of Korea, which could be a way of screwing her over, but he’ll selectively choose to ignore the fact.

His thumb hovers over the call button until it falls to the side of the screen because he can’t stand watching it shake. He’s shaking because he has to call his mom. It sounds pathetic to his own ears that he’s afraid of something so simple and easy.

His mom doesn’t hate him.

...

Probably.

She’s mad, definitely, what mom wouldn’t be? But his mom’s a forgiving person. Way too forgiving, there’s no reason for him to be so pussy about doing this.

Fuck it. There’s barely any chance that she’ll even answer the call anyway—

“Subong? Is that you?”

-`♡´-

Assuming that his mom would be mad about him coming home is, in retrospect, stupid.

If anything, he can’t tell whether her holding a grudge about not him not bothering to visit in person would’ve been a better alternative to... this.

‘This’ being his mom swinging the door open the second he stepped onto her porch, and eagerly ushering him inside with a smile that surely hurt her face to keep. It’s a welcome surprise, don’t get him wrong, but... like, completely different to how he expected her to be after witnessing everything that had gone down online. He thought she would’ve been more concerned? Scared? But she’s acting like nothing is wrong, and as if everything’s normal.

When he attempts an apology, he’s bluntly cut off— “Don’t worry,” his mom shushes, “I know how hard you’ve worked. You don’t have to explain anything to me.” She smiles down at him kindly, as she practically forces him down on one of the kitchen’s chairs.

“Right, still, mom, I’m—”

“Tea?” She interrupts again, with a sterner expression that leaves no room for disagreement. Okay. Tea, it is.

He nods stiffly whilst staring at his hands under the table, which still bear the evidence of his former career tattooed onto his skin. The knowledge that it’s going to be there forever now is... “Mom?” Subong’s voice breaks through the silence that had sort of fallen upon them, and he waits until his mom pauses in pouring water from the kettle until he continues, “I...I don’t know—I don’t have a plan. At all.”

He doesn’t know what he’s doing here.

Everything happened so fast. At one moment, he was on top of the industry, and now he’s been reset to square zero, sitting in his mom’s house.

Before, the desperation of frantically trying to figure out the logistics of where he was going to go with so little credibility to his name was so fucking stressful that now that he’s finally somewhat secure, he's left feeling empty.

A delicate ceramic mug with a pink-and-purple flower decorated on the side is placed in front of him. He glances up to see his mom already staring down at him.

"Subong... you don't have to have one right now," she says softly, raising a hand to brush through his hair. Her fingers easily get stuck on a knot that's been there for a few days, yet he doesn't complain, "I know. Just relax, baby, do you hear me?"

Subong has to swallow down his own self-deprecating pity laugh. Here he is, 28-years-old and being comforted by his mom like a child. Probably with the same advice that she gave him as a kid.

At the very least, she's not pissed even though she has every right to be.

"Besides," she continues with a steadier voice, unlike the softer one she had been using with him, "ever since your sister became pregnant with Jiwoo, I've not had any help around the house. It'll be good to have you doing that for now."

Sounds harder than it is, because his mom's always been a neat person who never dares to let anything go out of place, so the house is always spotless. But sure, anything for her. "Course."

The heavy tension that was lingering in the air vanished within a few moments as the kettle began to stir again, prompting his mom to pour another herbal tea for herself.

He gradually relaxes enough to breathe in the smell of ginseng tea that floats in the air surrounding him and lets it fill his lungs. It's nostalgic. A real fucking blast to the past where he's hurled 15 years earlier, sitting at this exact same wooden table with the same detailed floral tablecloth covering the entirety of it. Nothing about the room has changed slightly except for the pictures hanging on the wall opposite the table. Now, there's a display of Yeonsil, her husband and their daughter crowded into one group family photo. The satisfaction on his sister's pixilated face is instantly recognisable; she's happy. Content.

Sitting next to the family portrait is, unbelievably, a clear image of him. Not just him, like a picture of his high-school graduation, as in a framed photo of Thanos on stage.

Fuck.

It's recent, too, because he easily recognises the stage that he's on. It was a massive—probably the biggest stage in Busan, when he was invited to perform before some sport game. He knows that only because he also made some extra cash on a random bet he made on the outcome.

Subong doesn't know how his mom found this and managed to print it out on her own, but the fact that it's there, along with his sister's achievements, is… a lot to take in.

Warmth floods within him. Maybe still, even if he hadn't been the best son or brother, his actions aren't completely disgusting and irredeemable. Maybe he's not the worst piece of shit alive.

Until his line of sight wanders further across the row of portraits that go back years and years, and all the fluster lying beneath his skin instantly goes cold.

At the very end is a small Polaroid of him and... Namgyu plastered onto the corner of another frame, as it's wallet-size, it almost goes unnoticed by him, and he probably wouldn't have even noticed it if it weren't for the sight of Namgyu catching him off guard.

If Subong's back here, in his hometown—

Then, holy fuck.

Namgyu is somewhere out there. Near him. Right now. Like, he could be less than half an hour away, probably chain-smoking on the balcony, if he has one. The thought of him being in realistic reach is terrifying. If he went out somewhere, there's an actual chance of seeing him.

He must've been staring too openly, as his mom took notice of the direction where he was staring, "Ah, you've seen Jiwoo, haven't you? Here, look—" she coos, holding up another framed photo of a baby smiling widely, showing off her toothless gums. Like his mom, he hadn't been the most consistent in keeping in contact with his sister, okay? He appeared discreetly at her wedding and had sent a 'Congratulations' text in response to a picture of an ultrasound, but they both had lives.

It's hard to wrap his head around that baby being his niece, shit.

"Yeah," he chokes, "She's beautiful." She's a spitting image of his sister; it's unsettling.

"Isn't she? I don't think I told you, they moved about an hour away a few months ago, but she said she'd be visiting soon—oh, to have both of you here at the same time—"

Her voice starts to become muffled to his ears as his line of sight hollows to the image of Namgyu that seems so close. Different scenarios begin to flash through his mind of different ways he could run into Namgyu again: on the street, in a liquor store, in a dim-lit nightclub. Each situation ended in the same way, with Namgyu's expression being torn between anger, pain and hate. The mental image makes his head pound with guilt, knowing that his reaction is completely justified.

"—and you could catch up with Namgyu, too, do you remember him?"

At first, he assumed that his thoughts had been so consumed that he was also hearing things.

Until he looks across the table to where his mom is now sitting, to see her awaiting a response, and he feels his face inevitably flushing darker. It feels strange to hear the name that no one apart from his own voice has said out loud; it's a concrete reminder that Namgyu wasn't just an illusion he had dreamed of one night. "Yeah." The single word is answered with a heavy weight behind it.

"I see him occasionally, though he's not really a talker, is he?" His mom obliviously continues.

A laugh that lasts for no longer than a second uncontrollably escapes his throat on instinct, which ends up sounding like an awkward cough. 'Not really a talker', Namgyu, given the right situation, could talk about anything with him for days. Sharing a bed with him meant that whatever plans he had the next morning to afternoon would have to be cancelled because they couldn't fall asleep until literally passing out from bouncing between different topics all night. He was the voice loud enough to drown out the thoughts he was having, doubting the worth of his life.

"How is he?" It's incomprehensible how badly he needs to know.

"He seems to be doing very well for himself. I can't remember what he said he was working as, but it was very fancy-sounding."

He exhales from his nose in relief. Good. That's good.

Not that he had any doubt that Namgyu would be successful—it's just nice to hear the confirmation.

His mom takes the half-empty mug that lies forgotten and cold in front of him and brings it to the sink, where she begins washing.

Namgyu was one of the smartest people he had ever known. Not only in like an academic way with math, and shit—but with the way he talked and carried himself. Every aspect of him was so undeniably perfect that it didn't seem fair. If he were to guess, he's probably working as a high-end model, happily supplied with the endless amount of heroin or cocaine that the industry comes with, too.

No—Namgyu can't be famous. At least not publicly, or else there's no way he wouldn't have heard or seen him.

"He misses you."

Subong almost snaps his neck from how fast he looks up at the words that were spoken so out of place. His mom still has her back turned from him, with no signs that she actually did speak, and he can do nothing but pray that what he had heard was from his lack of sleep.

Of course, again, he's wrong. "When you left, he didn't take it very well. Poor boy."

You can imagine a million scenarios and 'what ifs' in preparation for what you think will come, and you'll hope that it'll be enough to stop the shock from hitting you so harshly when it does happen.

In the end, though—or, at least in this situation with who Subong is, it was never going to work.

If he felt guilty before, he wants to die now, and it's not even an exaggeration. "What do you mean?" He doesn't know why he's asking—he doesn't want to know, but he deserves to hear it as some form of karma.

"He came here first, demanding to know where you were." Her voice trails off in an almost whisper. Probably because he knows she couldn't have told him where exactly, "Then he seemed upset. For the first few years, he would ask me about how you were doing if I saw him."

'For the first few years' replays in his head. Meaning that Namgyu had moved on, right?

As much as he wants to keep listening as a way to torture himself, Subong doesn't think he can sit here for much longer without vomiting on the table. Fuck. He might be the worst piece of shit to ever walk the planet. "I'm going to bed." He suddenly announces, his voice cracking mid-sentence.

His mom turns to look over her shoulder with concern, "Oh, I'm so sorry, Subong. I won't talk—"

"It's fine. 'M tired." He's not fine. He feels like he's either going to be sick or start crying, and he can't tell which would be a better outcome. "Goodnight, mom."

Without another word, he flees upstairs and slams open the door he remembers to be the entrance to his childhood room. Thankfully, his memory still serves him correctly, even after 10 years, as he's welcomed by the familiar sight.

Nothing in his room has been touched since he left. His bed is still crumpled and unmade, some of the clothes that weren't taken with him are strewn across the floor, and there are still empty cans lined up on his old desk.

He might as well have stepped through a whole time machine with how memories start flooding back to him the further he steps into the room. From the way his shoeless feet feel walking across the rugged carpet, to how his room will forever be stained with the faint smell of weed, everything was so…vivid.

The only thing that was missing was the not-so-discreet box next to his bed that had once been used as his stash for vapes, weed, and an extra pack of cigarettes that he never smoked was gone. That was weird. It was definitely there when he had left; he hadn’t taken it with him. 

Maybe his mom had found it? Fuck. But she would’ve said something before, wouldn’t she have? 

The thought leaves him when he collapses on his bed, the springs creak loudly under him, just as they did 10 years ago.

It's not until he pulls off his shirt and lets his body hit the mattress that he realises how tired he is. All the travelling from Busan back to this tiny area of Seoul sucked all of the energy out of him—he just needs a long, long nap. If, maybe, he conveniently sleeps off the memory of the conversation he just had, that also wouldn't be too bad.

Fuck, he's so tired—he's already passing out as his eyes begin to droop shut within seconds—

"Hyung, shit, this sounds amazing!"

And he's wide awake again, scrambling to sit straight and ends up banging his head against the bed frame in the process, which makes him yelp in pain.

He swears on his life; he just heard Namgyu right in his fucking ear. His voice, even though he had thought the memory of it had faded from his mind, sounded so right. That was him. He's here.

But when he turns to see where the sound was supposed to have come from, there's nothing but empty space lying next to him.

Namgyu isn't here.

Okay. Alright. That's fine. It's not like this is his first time thinking he's there when he's not, though it hasn't happened in… a while.

Subong gulps as he brings a hand down to where Namgyu would've been lying, and feels how the mattress stays permanently dented from a weight that's not there anymore.

Maybe he really is going crazy, because he hadn't realised just how much the mattress was dipped. It's—like, a perfect outline. Namgyu may as well have materialised out of the shape of him imprinted.

Enough. Fuck. How is he going to live like this until he finds somewhere else to go?

It's fine. Fine. He'll stay here for what, a week at most? However long it takes for the media to get off his ass and for him to emotionally recover, then he'll actually disappear somewhere nice. He'll fuck off to some small state in America and hope to be left alone.

He lies back down and tries to hold the half of the pillow that he's not sleeping on over his ear to block out the imaginary voice of Namgyu in his head, feeding him memories that are long behind him.

Just before he's consumed by sleep, somewhere outside, he hears loud shuffling and movement. Must be his mom going to bed, he guesses. Hopefully, she'll have the same attitude towards him when morning comes without realising how royally he screwed up, and not kick him out.

Please, let him have a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

Please.

-`♡´-

Deep down, Subong knows that there's something unspoken going on with him and Namgyu.

When you've been friends for so long—7 years—it's definitely noticeable. It's... hard to explain, even to himself, but there's suddenly been this newfound awkwardness between them, not all the time—it's been happening mostly whenever they're comfortable, and resting against the other, or something. It'll feel like the slightest brush against his skin is wrong, which it shouldn't be when they've been doing this throughout their entire friendship.

And then, there's also the other thing.

Which is him, like, noticing everything.

He's not trying to say he was blind before, right? Yeah, for a guy, Namgyu's arguably the most gorgeous person to have ever existed, sure. But that was always kind of in the back of his mind, you know? That distinct acknowledgement that: 'fuck, he's pretty.' Now, it's all the way at the front, and it's started to become the only thing he thinks of when he zones out, staring at every freckle that kisses his skin, or the way his nose slopes when he turns to the side, or how his lips seem to be stuck in this permanent—beautiful—pout. He saw this movie when he was a kid with his sister, some Western princessy shit, about a baby that was blessed by these fairies that gave her beauty and talent. Realistically, that's probably what happened to Namgyu when he was born.

It's hard to imagine he was so casual about this before.

But, hey! The positive side is that it doesn't look like he's alone in this. Namgyu's also been going through the same thing he has—well, he thinks so, anyway. The most evidence he has is that he recognises the same look that he catches Namgyu giving him when he turns to face him too fast.

It's not like whatever they've developed into is bad, is it? Nothings going wrong, but also nothings going better, because they're not really doing anything about it. That phrase that people say, about not touching something that's not broken? Yeah, they're pretty into that theory.

'S a pretty weird situation, to put it bluntly. Neither of them knows whether they want more.

…

Between you and him, though, he does. Want more, he means.

But not too much, because he still wants to be friends! Namgyu, unlike him, is pretty much celibate as far as he knows—so modest, he could've been a nun if he were a chick, so he has no clue how he treats his hookups. Subong, though? None of his past fucks has ever ended well. Since the last one slashed his tyres, he's been joining Namgyu's celibate lifestyle too, out of solidarity, of course.

Maybe that's why all this is happening; he'll never know.

The point of all this is that it's gradually getting harder to hide how his heart feels like it's going to thud its way out of his ribcage, as Namgyu lazily lies against him. Right on top of where he's awkwardly trying to angle his chest away from his ear as much as he can. It's a useless attempt; his mom from downstairs could probably hear it. Fuck.

He also can't do much when they're sharing wired earphones, needing to be close enough for each bud to reach their ears, thus their position.

And only for—and only, okay? He means it—comfort, he idly has one arm swung around Namgyu's neck.

Maybe he's absentmindedly feeling the ends of his hair that lie there too—but are you seriously gonna press him for details?

At least if Namgyu comments on his dangerously rapid heartbeat, he can blame it on the anxiety of letting someone hear the track he worked really hard on. The track he sent off to a music label last night, with his social media attached, which has thousands of followers dedicated to his music.

Obviously, Subong really cares about music. Duh. It's been an instinct ingrained in him since he was a kid. Namgyu likes music as well, but on a more surface level, rather than knowing all the technical shit behind the scenes. Why he values his opinion more than his own, or any other prodigy at music, he doesn't know.

That's a lie. He does know, but the truth is embarrassing, so he'll pretend not to.

After 1 minute and 24 seconds of feeling for the slightest shift in Namgyu's movement, as his face is shielded out of view from him, trying to predict a reaction before it comes. The song comes to a close, and he's left with the soundless buzz echoing in his ears, which is easily drowned out by his own heartbeat.

He swears the long, exaggerated pause is done on purpose to torture him. Eventually, he hears Namgyu hum, "Hyung, shit, this sounds amazing."

Thank fuck, "You think so?" There's a tiny freckle on the side of Namgyu's neck where his hair usually covers; his touch is drawn to it without a thought.

He feels Namgyu tense slightly, but makes no complaint, "Yeah. Probably my favourite so far."

That makes him swell with satisfaction; he knew that he'd really like it. Half of it was made with Namgyu stuck in his mind, and he used a sample from a video of them talking in the background. It was easier than finding some randoms on the internet for it, anyway.

"What a compliment," he whistles lowly. It really is, though, knowing how hard Namgyu is to please? "I feel like I'm guaranteed to make it now."

"Fuck off," Namgyu says with little bite to his voice, as he shifts to face Subong, making his arm fall from around his neck. Damn. "Are you trying to fish for compliments? You have, like, a million followers who tell you that every day." Not a million! He's only at 50k.

Subong scoffs, "Yeah, well, they're not as smart as my boy, are they?" He grins. Any argument is over in easily 5 seconds when he pulls a compliment out; it's almost unfair.

"'s no difference," Namgyu mutters with a shrug. "Guess I'm less likely to lie to your face, though."

Less likely? What a fucking snake! "You trying to say my followers are all liars? I don't take that lightly, man. I ride for my fan base."

"I think it's the other way around, dude." He wonders if the snake tattoo that Namgyu's dad has got passed down genetically to him as well. "I swear all your followers are fucking gay."

Huh. “All my followers? Is this you trying to come out? Hey, I don't judge, my boy."

"No—fuck—" expectantly, his face goes slightly pink, and he looks pissed. If you're asking Subong, he doesn't look any better than when he's like this: "You begged me to follow you when you first created that shit-ass account." He argued.

"Begged?" He didn't beg, "No, I didn't—you were the one all like, 'oh please, Subong, let me listen to your awesome music' don't be a liar." At most, he had asked politely.

"Too late, you already asked me what I thought of your song." Namgyu smiles wickedly and all-knowingly.

Because he knows that, "Are you serious?" Subong will take anything about his music to heart. Motherfucker really pulled the dirtiest card out of his sleeve.

But! Don't give up on him yet on this—because he also knows that Namgyu goes weak at the sight of his face falling dramatically, which he does, and makes sure to play up as much as he can without making it seem fake. "I—" he sees Namgyu debate for a split second whether it's worth continuing the bit, "No, man. You—You know that I like it."

"Like?" Subong repeats, "You don't love it?"

"Oh my god, whatever, yes, I love it, Subong." Oh. Wow. He hadn't actually expected him to claim it.

He had meant to throw that out as a way to piss Namgyu off—but somehow, it gets flipped on him, instead. It's too easy to imagine the last word of 'I love it' with something else, and his heart stops working for a split second as he pictures what Namgyu's voice would sound like saying those words to him.

Namgyu rolls his eyes and takes his end of the earbud out of his ear. "Speaking of love, is that what you were supposed to be going for in the song?"

"What do you mean?"

"I dunno. Some of the lyrics, the beat, and stuff all seemed weird. Romantic, kinda? Were you trying to do that, or…?" Namgyu's tone is light and sounds barely interested, but Subong has never felt more interrogated in his life.

Was he trying to do that? No. Did he know that's how it sounded when it came out? Yeah. Shit happens when you let your body run on autopilot when making music; you don't think, and before you know it, you're staring at a 1-minute and 24-second testimony of feeling. Most of his music is made when he's pissed off, or the opposite, when his ego peaks, thus his trademark theme.

This one was different. He couldn't bring himself to feel pissed or egotistic. All he could think of was Namgyu.

Listening to it back, he had been flooded with this guilt, like he shouldn't have done that. It was too much. Too raw.

But... it was also genuine, and one of his perfected works. So, hearing Namgyu say this is worrying. He can either go down the path of denying that the song is entirely a sap fest, or— "Kinda. I guess."

Namgyu pauses, and he hears his breath catch slightly, "Oh. New... bitch, or something?"

Definitely not new, and only a bitch sometimes. "Don't call 'em a bitch, c'mon. You're so rude to people who fuck with me, man." It's like Namgyu's only happy if he's the only person in his world. "Anyways, what do you mean? What's up with the song?"

"Sounds weird," he shrugged honestly, "like you don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

Excuse him? You know how long he's been dealing with this shit for now? A year. Yeah. So, he thinks he would have some clue of how he feels about Namgyu, thanks. "You don't know what you're talking about, boy. When's the last time you got with a girl?" Never is the answer.

"I don't need to be a chef to know the food is bad." Namgyu points out in return, "I'm not trying to shit on you, you told me you wanted 'honest' feedback."

Well…yeah, but he thought it would be good feedback, "Yeah, okay. Just tell me what your issue is, and I'll fix it."

"It doesn't sound real, like your songs usually do. You care if I smoke?" He interrupts himself by digging a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

"Go for it."

As Namgyu proceeds to light the cigarette brought to his lips, Subong thinks to himself about the implication made, about it not sounding real. Admittedly, he can kind of hear it. It's honest, but not quite as authentic as his other tracks. He can't exactly do anything about it.

His music-making process has a strict routine. Before he starts writing lyrics or recording, he needs to feel whatever the theme is, and he'll do that. He'll purposefully get into a fight or buy a new pair of designer shoes to feel something to convey. The problem here is that he couldn't really do that outside of his thoughts, "I know." Subong groans, tilting his head back until it hits the headboard, "I wasn't going off something real, that's probably why."

"So there isn't a new bitch?" Namgyu's response comes quickly through a cloud of smoke.

They're getting too into the details here, which is normal for them in literally any other case, but right now he needs to be careful about what he says: "I haven't made a move or anything," he explains slowly, hyper-focused on Namgyu's expression for the lightest sign of recognition.

"Why? Because she has a boyfriend?"

He's still being careful about his wording here, but he can't fight against the way his line of sight dips down to where he's taking slow drags from the cigarette's filter. It feels more addictive to watch than the nicotine in the cigarettes themselves, "No. I just can't." Because it's you.

A tense silence follows after his short and final answer. There's not much more to say when it sounds like he's being purposefully secretive. Shit. It's annoying too, that he can't just talk about this with Namgyu, the only person who would—who has ever understood him.

Subong wraps his wired headphones around his old, beaten-up phone and sighs, "Thanks for the advice, man. Sucks I can't get the full effect, but I'll make do." He just hopes it's enough.

"That's…the song you sent to that label, right?" Namgyu ventures, avoiding looking at him entirely, "Shouldn't it be perfect?"

It should be, but what can he do? "I sent it this morning, man. I'm not gonna be able to go out and find a chick to make out with, and still have time to come back and redo the track before they look at the original."

"But this shit is a big deal," he tries to stress as if Subong doesn't know that already.

He shrugs, "Well, I dunno, just pray for me."

Namgyu doesn't say anything in return and instead shifts away from him on the bed as he leans over to flick the charred ash from his cigarette onto the ashtray that Subong keeps for him on his bedside table.

Whilst he's still angled away, he hears, "What…if like—we, if we tried it."

Pause.

What?

Subong's brain stops working in that very second, as he tries to think of sentences that he could've misheard as, or some different underlying meaning that's not what he's thinking of. That can't mean what he thinks that suggests.

Even though his entire body and mind froze up, time is very much still moving at a normal pace, and his delayed reaction made Namgyu— "No—I'm joking. Sorry, man, I—"

"What?" Subong eventually manages to get out with the highest-pitched voice crack of his life. He wants to die. Or, he would if he registered anything through his mind, repeating Namgyu's words in his head.

Subong lied. He does that a lot; it's in his nature. He lied about thinking Namgyu looks best when he's riled up—this look, when he's flushed down to his neck from humiliation, is arguably better, "It was just—you know I don't mean it like that, I mean if it has to be right now, and there's no one else to do it—"

"Yeah." He blurts out, "Like—" Don't say it. Shut the fuck up, Subong, "Like you want to make out?" Fuck. Why would he say it like that? Is he 12?

Discussing a kiss beforehand has to be up there for the worst conversations of all time. You don't say, 'I wanna kiss you,' it just happens in the moment. He wasn't planning on actually moving in on Namgyu or anything, but if he were, it wasn't supposed to happen like this. This is the worst thing that has ever happened to him.

"If it helps," Namgyu mutters lowly, sounding somewhat more confident, "think of the bitch you wrote the song for instead of me."

Right.

Okay.

Except it's not that easy, is it? "Thought I told you to stop calling 'em a bitch?" Subong clicks his tongue in feigned annoyance, "Come here." Namgyu's still haphazardly placed on the other side of the bed as if he'd be in danger for edging too close.

With a small nod, he starts to crawl closer, and Subong feels his throat going dry in anticipation. At any second, he feels like Namgyu will jump away and cry, 'Hyung? What the fuck is wrong with you? I'm joking!'

But, he doesn't.

Namgyu continues until he's sitting up on his knees, looming over where Subong is leisurely leaning back on the headboard with wide, likely blown eyes. Namgyu's eyes dart in every direction before coming to a rest on the lower half of his face. They're both equally shocked by how whatever they had been talking about before evolved into this, kind of comforting in a way.

They sit in complete stillness, neither of them daring to do anything further than stare and take in the other's presence. It’s right there when he realises that Namgyu is, undeniably, beautiful. It almost irritates him how much he can't deny the blatant fact. That can turn into a problem when there's a risk that if what he thinks is about to happen does, it’ll change everything between them. 

Not that he's ever been told by a chick that he kisses badly, but he's never kissed a guy before this. Are there different rules he's supposed to be aware of? Well, either way, Namgyu probably wouldn't know them, so would it matter?

One thing Subong's always been good at—especially in these situations—is deflection. So, that's exactly what he does, "Scared? I don't bite, my boy." It's hypocritical if he's being honest. He knows he's way more scared being shadowed under Namgyu like this.

It's honestly meant as some form of comfort to Namgyu, but he responds defensively, "I'm not scared of you."

As the words leave his mouth, Namgyu reaches out a hand that's shaking uncontrollably to steady the side of Subong's face, as if he'll decide to turn away at the last second.

Liar.

He can't bring himself to seriously care, though, not when he feels Namgyu's lips carefully brushing over his. It's barely anything more than a gentle press before it's quickly ripped away from him, like it was accidental. 

Namgyu lingers a half-inch away from his face, and he can easily feel their laboured pants mixing in the small space between them. They’re mirroring each other  as they stare at the spot on the other's lip where they had kissed, in a state of ‘what was that?’ 

Despite that, Subong finds himself to be the one to recover first as he pulls Namgyu in by the back of his head, firmer this time, none of that 'testing the waters' bullshit. Unlike a few seconds ago, Namgyu enthusiastically reciprocates by almost throwing himself at him, securing his arms around Subong's neck.

It's not exactly tender, or orthodox, the way they attempt to clumsily try to align with each other's pace, but to their credit, firsts are rarely ever not messy. It feels exactly like it is, them trying to figure it out. 

He's never felt more…euphoric in his life than right here. The rush of fulfilment he gets from buying new designer items goes to shame compared to this.

And… it also makes him realise that a part of him doesn't think he'll be able to walk away from this moment without ever reliving it again. That's a problem. Thinking his dilemma through fucking sucks, because at the end of the day, he knows things like this don't just sit forever without boiling over.

He’s already here, though. He might as well enjoy it whilst it lasts.

Namgyu tastes heavily of the cigarette he had just been smoking, which is now forgotten as it burns away on the ashtray like a worse-smelling incense. Even though Subong had always hated the smell of tobacco, always preferring to vape instead, it's entirely different whenever it comes to Namgyu. It's familiar.

Eventually, they finally pull away.

Shit.

That actually happened.

There’s a moment where Subong blinks dumbly, still transfixed on Namgyu’s flushed lips, as he attempts to think what to do next. High-five? Thank him for the help—

Wait—the song.

Maybe it's dickheadish of him to trip out of bed without a word and run to his laptop, but at this point, Namgyu knows fully well how his creative process works. In fact, he gives out a snort, and Subong sees him shake his head slightly in his laptop's reflection.

The more important point is that the perfect inspiration hit him at that moment, just the same as any other instance where he needs emotion to convey into the song, and he needs to act fast. Or slow, if it meant Namgyu wouldn't be opposed to helping him again. 

After nearly an hour of him glancing between his notepad and his laptop, where his production software is pulled up, he thinks he's finally got it. "Okay. Come listen, man."

"You finished it?" Namgyu puts out the cigarette he'd been smoking out the window—because his room fucking stank, and walked directly behind Subong's chair.

He nods, "Yeah. Fuck, I think so." Please, let this be the draft.

Subong hits play and reads out his lyrics that are yet to be recorded. About 10 seconds into the track, Namgyu's arms drop from resting on top of the chair's headrest, placing his hands flat onto Subong's chest in a comforting way.

He managed to stretch the track out into being 2 minutes and 30 seconds long, with more depth, which it had lacked before, with his new…knowledge. About certain things.

As the song reaches the midway point, he realises that maybe…it might've been too obvious. Especially after slightly amplifying the sound of them talking in the background to be audible.

By the end, it's practically a love confession. An unintentional, nameless love confession.

And he's showing it thoughtlessly to Namgyu.

Maybe, by some divine luck, he won't read too much into the song and take it on a surface level. Yeah, he would do that, right? Namgyu doesn't care much for analysing songs past what's blatantly obvious.

He risks a glance up, feeling even more terrified than he did the first time.

Namgyu is smiling.

Not too noticeably, as only the corner of his lips was slightly upturned, but that's still a good sign, isn't it? "I like it." He comments as the end fades into silence.

"Yeah? You think it was worth it?" Definitely bordering on dangerous territory here, but oh well. He might as well try to make a joke out of it, so nothing weird or awkward arises.

"If the song came out like this, then it was, yeah." He's...safe? He thinks? He doesn't look like he realised anything?

Finally being able to breathe a sigh of relief, he flips to the tab where a Busan record company's website is open, and resends his edited version. With Namgyu's absolute approval, he feels better about sending it this time around.

Whilst he's occupied doing that, Namgyu coughs from behind him as he returns to sitting on the bed, "Are you doing anything tomorrow?"

Tomorrow? "Don't think so, my boy."

A pause, and then Subong whirls around on his chair to see why he fell so quiet. No…obvious signs are showing, as Namgyu seems more fixated on picking at his fingernails, "Do you...I dunno, do you wanna go out?"

He grimaces, the weather in February is always so ass for going out. Yesterday, it had been raining nonstop, and it probably will tomorrow. "What's the date? I'll search up how cold it's gonna be."

"The 14th."

Subong stills. The date sends off signals in his brain that make him feel like he should know—"Isn't that Valentine's Day?"

Namgyu raises an eyebrow disinterestedly, "Is it?"

He's pretty sure it is. Exactly 2 years ago tomorrow, his ex-girlfriend trashed his mom's car for not getting her anything. Is Namgyu purposefully trying to ask him out on Valentine's Day or...

"Unless you're doing something with whoever you wrote the track for, it's whatever." The way in which Namgyu says it is so airy and ambiguous? There's also this look on his face that—

Oh. Fuck, he knows.

He definitely knows.

"Nah, let's go out somewhere," Subong confirms, hardly thinking about it. He's been reduced to a simple man, when he wants something that's right in front of him—why wouldn't he take it? "I'll be your Valentine, my boy, it's no big deal."

It's so worth it, too, when Namgyu's face visibly lights up.

Except, they never do. Because on February 14th, Subong gets a call from the music company he had reached out to, and receives the offer that he either goes down that same day for an audition, or they'll give his chance to someone else.

He hurriedly packs a bag and doesn't come back.

-`♡´-

Thanos wakes, opening his eyes slowly, covered in a cold sweat that sends goosebumps covering his entire body. It's pitch dark outside the window, which feels unsettling for the dream that had felt like gone for years.

The dream— fuck.

It's not like he hadn't expected to relive certain memories, considering where he's at, but to see it happen in his mind so vividly like that? Shit, and of course, he would be forced to dream about that day, where everything both fell apart, and came together. He learned then that life just simply isn't that fair or equal. You can't have everything.

Okay—maybe he's also, majorly, at fault, too. He's not trying to blame this entirely on how life made things unfold by chance, but he's also had 10 years to wallow in guilt and shame, grasping at any distraction he could find.

It couldn't be a coincidence that he happened to dream of that moment specifically, no. This was a sign fueled by some kind of divine intervention, preparing him for the chance he could come across Namgyu again. It was a reminder of his betrayal, a reminder that Namgyu should probably kick his fucking ass if they meet.

Suddenly, his heart started thudding in uneven, rapid beats, and saliva started collecting in his otherwise dry mouth.

Oh, fuck—

By some miracle, he manages to make it to the bowl of his toilet before finally emptying his entire stomach into it. He hangs his head over, like he's preparing for a guillotine to come striking down on him. Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad fate for someone like him.

Ever since he saw the result of his investment, he's been plagued with the looming feeling that at some point, he was going to hurl. He thought that once it actually happened, he'd be relieved, but somehow, he only feels worse. He feels empty.

After checking his phone, which was still stuffed in his pants' pocket, the occurrence of the dream suddenly makes a lot more sense.

11:21 pm, February 12th.

The day before it had happened.

It's not like he's never had this same dream before. At least in Busan, he could cope by drinking, or if it was that bad, drugging himself to a lull—

Oh. Wait.

-`♡´-

Drinking at home is immediately out of the question; he's not gonna even risk his mom seeing him in that kind of state, and also, something about getting drunk alone is so fucking depressing. It's some alcoholic shit only people like his dad would do. He's long since passed that; the last time he got shit-faced in the solace of his penthouse was a whole 3 months ago. Please, don't applaud.

However, the other problem is the fact that there isn't a single nightclub in a 9-mile radius that doesn't carry some bittersweet memory of him going there with Namgyu. Does it even matter anymore? This entire city is a reminder that he's still living—existing somewhere, probably having completely forgotten about Subong's existence.

So, that's pretty much how he ends up hunched over the bar, visibly moping, which is most definitely a sore sight for anyone else to see. What-the-fuck-ever at this point. His reputation is already a shit-stain; he thinks he can handle the additional humiliation of being stuck back in the same club he would frequent with Namgyu, blitzed out of his mind.

The first section of his night had actually been amazing, exactly what he had needed after everything that had happened.

First was the bartender, a scrawny kid, whom he actually vaguely recognised? Maybe from high school, but it turned out he was some super-fan who didn't switch up on him after all his scandals. No clue why, he is a fucked up person, but that's pretty cool, there's still some kid out there praising his music. What a real one. On top of that, he even offered to put all of his drinks on the house, for free.

Right now, that's probably not a completely safe offer considering his state, but, hey, he's not gonna complain.

After ordering enough plain shots of vodka to get him fuzzy-headed enough to somewhat enjoy himself, he even managed to find a group of chicks lingering between the outskirts of the dance floor and bar, who were attempting to ask if it was really Thanos. Had none of his scandals reached Seoul yet or something? There's no way he's this well celebrated.

So, for about 3 hours, he had been finally basking in what was left of the legend Thanos. Drunkenly performing, as he stays by the DJ's set, recommending song after song, and watching the crowd get more excited after a clean transition plays. It's a fucking euphoric sight to see. Then, he also found out that the woman he had been talking to from before had actually come with her boyfriend. He narrowly avoided getting into an actual fight by retreating to a more secluded section of the bar.

And then came the comedown: the less enjoyable part of his night, and where he's currently at. By this time, it's probably somewhere around 2 am—fuck if he knows, but the alcohol starts to hit him differently. Compared to before, where the vodka flooding through his system had made him feel practically unstoppable, all the mania had started to become overwhelming for him. It sent him spiralling into this state where he can only feel numb.

Now, he's stuck slumped over the bar with a pounding headache, patiently waiting for the bartender to come back from wherever he fucked off to.

Under the strain of the nightclub's dim LED lights, it kind of occurs to him that it's almost too easy to imagine anyone with grown-out dark hair could possibly be Namgyu. What's scary for him to think is, would he even recognise what Namgyu looked like anymore? Like—he looks nothing like he did as an 18-year-old anymore, with his dyed hair and tattoos.

A part of him wants to believe that, of course, he'd instantly be able to recognise Namgyu at first glance, even if he looked slightly different. A bigger part of him wants to believe that Namgyu wouldn't have changed at all. Whether that selfish wish of his was because it'd be easier to pretend that nothing had happened or not, he doesn't know. After all this time of hearing his voice in silent spaces or seeing his face when he closes his eyes, he had never really thought of adding subtly older, more mature features to him.

Something like that takes too much brainpower, which he doesn't have at the moment, so he doesn't try.

Besides, he senses the presence of the bartender returning—finally—and he looks up from where his face was buried in his crossed arms to see—

Water? Placed in front of him in a tall glass. The bottle that it came from was sitting next to it.

Fucking new-hires, don't they know their customers' limits? Thanos is nowhere near his limit right now. He can outdrink anyone in this club. "Hey, man, I didn't ask for—"

There are a lot of things in this world that can cause a man to sober up within seconds. Sometimes it can be finding your girlfriend in bed with another dude—maybe vice versa in his case—or opening your crypto wallet to find yourself flat out broke, or getting a call announcing the end of your contract.

All of that goes to absolute shame when he miserably glances up to not see the bartender from before, who had been serving him. It was someone else. A chillingly familiar someone else, who's sending down a sharp glare at him.

Maybe he's actually hallucinating this time—or this might be fucking Namgyu standing right in front of him.

At least, he thinks? It almost looks exactly like him, except with slightly longer hair that frames his somewhat slimmer face with clearly defined cheekbones, and a completely blank face, void of visible emotion.

This isn't him. This can't be him. It's not him.

It would be pretty fucking pathetic for Thanos if—on the slightest chance—it was him. This is exactly the type of thing you'd see on a soap opera TV show, except this isn't one. This is real life; therefore, this can't actually be Namgyu. He's still drunk, after all, maybe someone slipped some shit into his drink and caused—

"You need to tell your mom to stop bothering me," the new bartender states flatly. There's an edge of grit to his generally soft-sounding voice. The sound rings through his ears until it turns into static noise.

He stares dumbly with his mouth slightly gaped open, before realising the words that had been spoken to him, "What?"

"Your mom," he repeats, "she keeps coming up to me in public, and can't take a hint. If you're putting her up to it, or some shit, stop doing that."

This has to be Namgyu. Namgyu is standing on the opposite side of the bar, already moving away as he starts to serve another drink to a waiting customer.

Subong follows his every movement in complete fixation. He studies every inch of his face, which has now taken on an expression of practised professionalism as he continues to serve. Trying to believe that this is really him is both unbelievable and the easiest thing to imagine, somehow. Everything about this man seems so familiar, in the way he moves, talks, and looks. It's almost uncanny.

"The water's ₩1,500, do you have a tab?" He asks when he returns.

The indifference here is really throwing him off. He was almost fully convinced this was Namgyu, but now he's not sure because of the causality he's being given. Is he not even surprised to see him? "What are you?"

Ouch. He had meant to ask either 'What are you doing here' or 'Who are you', and it only ended up being an incomprehensible mix of both questions.

He raises an eyebrow and manages to make the look he's giving Subong even flatter, "Tired? Because I come into work, and the first thing I had to deal with was our regular clients bitching to me about the washed-up purple ghost of Christmas past bothering their girlfriends."

"Work?" Subong echoes, the rest of his statement going through his head, "You—you work here?"

Namgyu ignores his admittedly obvious question and continues, "How are you paying for all your shit?"

Fuck, he's doing all of this completely wrong. In his defence, out of every possible situation he imagined, nothing even remotely close to this seemed like a possibility. There's so much he wants to say, but whatever pathway connecting his brain and mouth is refusing to work, as his thoughts—if he even has any—get stuck in his throat. Embarrassingly, he's reduced to this non-responsive state.

And because of that, Namgyu gets more and more annoyed, "Do you have a tab or not? Hello? Thanos?"

He manages to blink out of whatever trance he had been in at the name that had been used.

Thanos?

"Namgyu?" Subong manages to choke out. Maybe it's stupid, but hearing the confirmation would be reassuring right now.

"Oh? Wow, so you do remember my name. That's shocking, I'm really proud of you, man, seriously."

The sarcasm is laid on thick. It's definitely not unwarranted. "Tab," he says, as the question finally processes to him, even if he's still consumed by confusion, "the—there was another bartender here, who said he'd cover me?"

"What—" Namgyu grits out with furrowed eyebrows before something clicks in his head, "Oh. Fucking Gyeongsu," The name of his fan, he assumes. "Whatever, starting from ₩1,500 for now. I'll figure out the rest from Gyeongsu."

"Did you know I was here?" Subong blurts out, "Before—"

"Your mom sent me a text." What the fuck? "Thought it was bullshit, until I walked in."

His mom sent a text? Is he serious? That's some next-level betrayal. He's pretty sure Anakin Skywalker had something similar to happen to him, and look what he turned into. Though Thanos is technically already a villain, which is what makes it so fitting for Subong's character.

"I thought maybe you put her up to it, as some joke." Namgyu shrugged.

Okay, he'll think about the whole text thing later. Right now, he's more focused on the fact that, "I can't believe you're here. Shit."

"I know. It's crazy, some people can't run off and become 'legends' and have to work actual jobs."

The hostility in his tone almost makes him flinch. Yeah, he's mad, despite how controlled his face seems to be. It's because he's at work and can't risk getting a complaint.

Realistically, he owes an apology. A huge one, but what is he even supposed to say? 'Sorry for dipping on you, after you sort of asked me to be your Valentine. Are we cool?' "When did you start working here?" He asks instead, desperately latching onto some other topic.

It's not taken well. "Are you seriously trying to make conversation right now?" At all.

"I—maybe?" He's trying his best, despite being at a loss.

"You're a fucking asshole, Thanos. You're taking up space in my bar, pretending like nothing's wrong with you being here." Namgyu practically snarls at him. It feels so wrong to hear the name Thanos come from his voice.

It's not like he came here knowing that this was Namgyu's workplace, "I know. It's just crazy seeing—"

"Fuck you." Is spat in his face, before he turns away again to take someone else's order.

Subong bites the inside of his cheek, trying to mentally calculate the chances of the ground beneath him swallowing him whole. At the same time, he also tries to create an estimate of how likely Namgyu is to... talk to him? At least?

0% is the answer to both. Not very favourable odds.

"I know I've been a dick," he tries when Namgyu comes back into earshot of him, "and I'm not trying to get you to forgive me, or anything. I just wanna talk, please?"

He's visibly able to see Namgyu consider his options in his head whilst he pours a shot glass (not for him, since he's still stuck with water) "I started working here a few weeks after you left." He eventually answers.

Okay! Progress! "You've been here the whole time?"

"Yeah. It worked out fine, it's been one of the only clubs that hasn't played your shitty music, so it's good enough." He's going to ignore the way he's catching strays left and right; at least he's talking. And it's almost comforting in a way that reminds him of how Namgyu would go off on other people when they used to be friends.

It's weird for him to be on the receiving end, but he'll take anything he can. "Fair enough, I don't think anywhere's playing my stuff anymore, though."

"Because of the stuff the media's been saying?" Namgyu correctly guesses, "That's why you're back, right?"

That, and the fact that he's almost out of money because of that fucking coin, "Yeah, pretty much."

There was something in Namgyu's eyes that he had almost missed, before it vanished within an instant after his words. He's not sure what exactly it was, but it was replaced by something colder.

He's more distracted by the information that Namgyu had apparently been keeping up with what's been said about him? "Did my mom seriously text you?"

Namgyu snorts and pulls his phone from his pocket to display the screen to him.

Ms Choi [18:21]

Hello, Namgyu! This is Subong's mom. I thought I would let you know that Subong came home earlier, and he said he's planning to stay for a few days!

I remember how close you used to be. He was actually asking about you when we were talking!

I hope you're doing well 😊

Well, that's great.

"What were you asking about me?" Namgyu asks with genuine curiosity.

The lump in his throat that's stuck from guilt grows bigger at his confusion why Subong would care, "To see how you were doing," Subong answers honestly. There's not much left he has to lose at this point.

He gets a loud scoff before the phone is snatched back, "Yeah? I'm doing fine, I'm probably doing better, actually."

His clipped tone makes it sound like he's being sarcastic or petty, but it's really not. He is doing a whole lot better than Subong. Physically, mentally, basically in every single way, "You look it."

"I do."

Subong nods in defeat and stares down to where he can see his own blurry reflection in the water, "I want an actual drink."

Namgyu gives him another bored look that fails to hide the slightest hint of a smile playing at his lips, "You can have that first, or you're going to pass out, and I'm not dragging your ass out onto the street."

For some reason, that comment managed to pull a hoarse laugh from his throat. Maybe it's because of the distant memories of Namgyu actually having to drag his limp body out of bars they weren't supposed to be in. There was a familiarity embedded in the statement that could almost suggest that there's a chance Namgyu's memories of him weren't in complete ruins.

Realistically, there's probably not a way for them—for him—to come back from his mistake. Things won't ever be the same again, but...this could be nice.

He decides to take the advice and begins to gradually start sipping from the glass's rim, whilst maintaining eye contact as a way of saying, 'Here, happy?'

Plus...he was beginning to feel light-headed. Not his fault that he's turned into a tired drunk over the years. 

Subong sets down his half-empty glass and remains on his stool, and Namgyu leaves for the other end of the bar again to serve an impatient customer. Now, with something other than a copious amount of alcohol flooding his system, thoughts begin to flood into his clearer mind.

Thoughts, such as the words from his conversation with his mom re-entering his head.

"He misses you."

"He came here first, demanding to know where you were."

The dream he had before he came here really put shit into perspective. On the occasion when he would wake up haunted by the same memory in Busan, it was easier to pretend that it was nothing more than a dream when he could roll over to face Younghee instead. He hadn't actually let himself consider the fact that:

Subong technically asked him to be Valentine. Or, Namgyu asked him? The point being, was that he dipped not only on just a 'date', but on this corny, idealistic concept?

He's never been overly romantic; that's just a fact. His knowledge of these chick-commercial holidays is limited based on the few girlfriends he entertained in high school. From what he knows, it's just a day where you're supposed to get the girl you're seeing gifts and attention to show that you're not only here for sex, or whatever. It's more of a social thing to him. After high school, you don't see shit like that happen because everyone actually has lives. Sure, he took Younghee out on a date once on Valentine's on the one year they liked each other during February, but that's been it.

Namgyu's not the romantic type either. He probably wouldn’t care for stupid shit like that.

Still, realising that there was some symbolic holiday (if that's what it is?) on top of him leaving makes him feel uneasy.

But—obviously, it's not…like, an excuse for him running away just because he didn't understand that, but it's not a big deal, right? It would've been the same as he left on any other day that they were planning to go out on.

Right?

Trying to imagine Namgyu after he left, confused and totally lost on where he had disappeared to—was he thinking about the date as well, considering he had brought it up first? Or did it not matter to him?

"Done?" Namgyu's voice finally returns as he reaches to take Subong's glass of water.

Subong looks up at him wearily. It's weird how he's not had the shit beaten out of him yet. Namgyu's so gorgeous and merciful.

As his hand takes the drink, he notices a glittery piece of jewellery sticking out from his setup like a sore thumb.

For as long as he's known Namgyu, back 10 years ago, he's always had a taste for jewellery. The pieces he bought (occasionally, if he didn't slip a few metallic rings off the hands of strangers) always had to be designer and expensive.

More than that, Namgyu is silver. He wears silver metal, like he wears dark clothes, although his favourite colour is green, like his favourite meal is Sundubu Jjigae, like his favourite movie is The Avengers. He's a silver person.

Which is why it doesn't make sense that the ring sitting on his finger is gold, clashing harshly with his other silver rings and thin chain.

It's not some cheap junk either. In fact, it somehow looks more expensive than all his designer rings put together.

He's not gonna just outwardly ask why such an…ugly ring is sitting on the fourth finger of his left hand, though, "Nice ring. Where'd you get it from?" Not when things are already as tense as they could be between them.

Namgyu pauses and looks down on the ring he's referring to, "This?" He asks, "I dunno. My fiancé bought the rings, not me."

Fiancé

Subong chokes on nothing but air as he splutters, trying to breathe after his lungs decided to stop working. 

Fiancé?

Over the sound of his ears ringing again, he distantly hears Namgyu attempting to speak over him.

Fiancé?

And if he's gonna be honest? Subong doesn't remember anything that happened after that. There are times when a man needs to trust his drunkenness to take control over his body and mind for a while, and this is one of those instances. It's easier to slip into a state of black out than whatever would happen if he were still present.

-`♡´-

Hangovers have never been generous to him.

Every night, such as the one he just had, apparently, he silently hopes that the next day he'll wake up without the presence of his head feeling like it's about to split open. No amount of hoping has ever proven him successful yet, as he grudgingly sits up with a numb pain that eats at his spine and an agonising headache. Not exactly the type of thing you'd want to wake up to.

It's not helping that the main light hanging above him is turned on with the curtains pulled shut, showering his freshly woken self with blinding fluorescent light.

Fuck.

With what brainpower he has, he curses his past self for treating shit as 'a problem for later', knowing that he's still definitely going to find himself in the same position the next time it happens.

Now that he's sitting up on the couch he had been sleeping on, he finally manages to take in his surroundings, and that’s when he realises— 

He has no fucking clue where he is right now. 

Nothing about his surroundings is even remotely familiar. Normally, he’d assume he had gotten lucky with some chick who brought him back to her place, but that wouldn’t explain why he’s on a couch, and why he’s still fully dressed. 

Seeing that his clothes hadn’t been changed also makes him notice how fucking disgusting he feels. Sweaty, sore, and in need of a full reset. From the look of it, last night hadn’t been great. 

Speaking of, what the fuck did happen? 

Seoul. He’s in Seoul now, not Busan; he knows that. He knows he went to his mom’s house. Then… there was the club? That’s definitely where he got drinks from—

A loud crash coming from somewhere else in the apartment he’s in interrupts his mental recap. That’s kind of scary to realise he’s not alone right now, and has to actually face whoever brought him to their home. 

Whatever, he’s got this. He’s been through this so much that it’s hardly even awkward anymore. 

He winces as standing up from the uncomfortable-as-hell leather couch, forcefully making him realise that his knees also hurt. Now that’s weird. Subong uses the wall that leads further into the apartment as support to drag his unwilling body through. 

The sound came from the kitchen, which is the first door down the hallway. 

Oh. 

A single glance at Namgyu, who’s frantically mumbling under his breath as he collects the pans that are scattered across the kitchen floor, is more than enough to help his memory recover. 

Last night was already a lot for him when he saw Namgyu again on the other side of the bar. But now? Seeing him without the uniform, nametag and under actual lighting? It’s like he’s actually seeing Namgyu again for the first time, the one more accurate to the image he still has saved on his phone as his contact's picture.

As he's dressed in a loosely fitting hoodie and casual sweatpants, the only visible difference to him now from 10 years ago is the fact that thin frames sit on the bridge of his nose. Namgyu's always been blind, but before, he would've preferred to walk into a window than wear glasses.

When Namgyu finishes cleaning the pans, which he must have dropped in the process of making what looks like breakfast—although he's not convinced that it's still morning—he turns to where Subong's standing at the doorway.

If he was startled at all by his unannounced presence, he does well to cover it: "You're up."

"Yeah," Subong says simply. He's still majorly confused about how he ended up here, when last night, Namgyu was super adamant that he wouldn't be dragging him anywhere.

Shit, you never know! Maybe blacked-out-Subong managed to pull off the best apology speech known to man, meaning he and Namgyu are cool again? If he managed to end up here, then that's gotta be it, right?

"Okay." Namgyu continues, his voice sounding...not so friendly, which is even more confusing? "Now, you can get the fuck out."

It's just a hunch, but he doesn't think blacked-out-Subong saved the day.

His hopes had risen too high on the thought of him maybe being forgiven, that reality hit him too harshly and unexpectedly. Leaving him standing torn in place, feeling nothing but stupid.

"Can I be honest, man? I don't really remember much," he laughs humorlessly. "So, like, if I said or did some stupid shit, I didn't mean that. You know?" His guess, based on the look on Namgyu's face, is that things were going well enough for him to come in, and then right before he passed out, he blurted out something that turned his mood into this.

The possibilities of what he could've said are few, and each makes him sick to think about.

Namgyu glares, "Some stupid shit." He echoes lowly.

"Seriously? Why'd you bring me back to your place then, if I'm such an asshole?" He's not doubting it, but this back-and-forth shit is so...

"Didn't really give me a choice, that's why." Oh no.

He doesn't even want to know. "What?"

"After you asked me about my fucking ring, you went through another 10 shots when Gyeongsu covered for me on my break. When I came back, you went off on how it's fucking ugly. You remember that?"

Subong gulps. No, he doesn't remember that at all.

Point proven, though, he's staring at it right now, and that thing is hideous. "No?"

"No? What about when you decked the man who came up asking why, 'The Legend Thanos' was crying at the bar of some random, shitty nightclub?" Namgyu continued, his voice steadily rising.

...Also, no. What the fuck? "Are you fucking with me?"

"I dunno. Am I? Maybe I am, and maybe the guy you punched wasn't my boss, Thanos."

Time-out. Boss? Like, manager? Okay, on the rare occasion, he has been somewhat aggressive towards random guys when drunk, but it's never turned out to be someone who’s actually important before. "Oh. Shit."

Not that his label would give a fuck anymore, knowing he's, you know, fired. But he would've been openly talking to Namgyu seconds before, did that mean—

"He thinks you were too drunk to see clearly." Namgyu continues. Thank fuck, if that meant Namgyu was still all good. He's seen firsthand the type of shit they pull on employees in clubs like that, "Then he told me to kick you out."

This still isn't adding up, though? Because, "You could've gotten me a taxi to my mom's."

"I was trying to?! You started fucking yelling at me not to take you. Saying you'd rather die than let her see you like that." Of all the events recounted to him, that one sounded the most believable.

A shitty motel still could've been an option, but at this point, he's scared to suggest anything with another counter, so he keeps his mouth shut.

It's not the worst night of events he's ever had, though, all considered. Definitely not what he had been imagining, "Alright, alright. Is that it?" He starts to laugh as the tension is still painted on Namgyu's face, "C'mon. I got shit-faced, sure, so what? You remember we've probably done worse."

"Whatever, you're all caught up. I think I already told you to get the fuck out." Namgyu spits as he backs even further away from Subong at the other side of the room.

There's so much anger in his expression. Anger that wasn't exactly there last night, which starts to make him wonder whether that's really all that happened.

"Listen, I didn't mean to call your ring ugly," Subong says as his line of sight dips down to where it so offensively sits, "it's... nice." It's not. Not just because it's gold, which clashes with who Namgyu is as a whole, but the engravings carved into the side are genuinely repulsive to look at.

As soon as he says that, Namgyu covers the ring with his other hand, "It is." He states firmly.

Subong wonders if he's trying to convince himself that, too.

There's no way it's a wedding ring. What kind of fiancé would pick out that to wear for the rest of their lives? Especially with Namgyu, who's so outwardly obvious about the things he likes. It's hardly a secret when all you need to do is take one look at him.

"You're so fucking confusing," Namgyu whispers when Subong still makes no inclination to move. He realistically should, knowing he's already been told to leave twice, but selfishly, he can't bring himself to leave. Even though this whole time he had been telling himself that he'd respect whatever Namgyu wanted, "Seriously, what the fuck is going through your head? Do you genuinely think you can just show up again, and pretend everything's fine?"

He had been asked the same thing last night, and he still doesn't have an answer, even when he's sober.

If he were to give an answer, he'd probably say it's because everything else seems to be exactly as it was when he left. Things were better, even, because people were treating him as Thanos and not some fallen, disgraced rapper. All except Namgyu, who Subong wants things to be the same with him the most.

That's not a good answer, though. "Because it's you," he tries anyway, "force of habit."

"If this were a force of habit, you wouldn't be here right now. You'd be in Busan, or America, or wherever the fuck would give you a spotlight." Namgyu shoots back coldly, "Is this you trying to hurt me again? Is that what it is?"

Hurt him. He's—Namgyu thinks he's intentionally trying to hurt him…again? "It's not," He instantly denies. "It's...I've..." Hit rock bottom, "I lost everything, Namgyu. Everything. I just…want something good." Want you.

"No, I lost everything when you left." Even though there's still a far distance between them, it's not hard to see how his eyes are starting to gloss over from what minimal light is shedding through the thin curtains, "I'm supposed to care now that it's happened to you?"

Subong swallows down a choked noise that almost managed to escape his throat, "I…I know. I really fucking regret what happened with us, and I'm not saying I need you to forgive me, but I don't want you to completely hate my guts."

"You regret it? Is that why you haven't even fucking apologised to me yet?"

It's not an unreasonable argument from his side, but this isn't Subong trying to be a dick again! This is him acknowledging that no amount of sincere apologies is going to make up for what he did. Apologising would probably be insulting to him. "Is that what you wanted to hear me say?"

"I wanted to hear you say something normal!" Namgyu's voice rises into an almost-shout.

That's what he's been trying to do. To be normal, "And what I've been saying isn't?"

"No! Fuck, I've been a fucking mess, and—and—you show up again when I feel like I'm finally not a mess, and act like that, making me feel like this hasn't been a big deal when it has been a big deal to me." His words slur together messily out of distress.

A mess? How? How is Namgyu the one who's 'a mess' when Subong is standing here with nothing to his name, whilst Namgyu's getting fucking married and has his life together? "I'm sorry? I'm sorry for saying—behaving like..." He trails off as he realises that he really has no idea what exactly he's apologising for.

Namgyu laughs bitterly, "See? You can't do it. You're only saying this now because I asked you to."

"But I mean it, though!" He argues back weakly, "I do. You think you weren't on my mind every single day the entire time I was in Busan?"

His bitter laugh from before turned into a hollow, louder one, "What? Is that supposed to make me feel better? That you thought of me sometimes after waking up next to Younghee? That you thought of me when you took her out for your first Valentine's?"

Something about the direct callout felt so...humiliating. Obviously, Younghee isn't exactly a secret to anyone in Korea—she's just as famous as he is—so of course Namgyu would know about their relationship. Still, it didn't make him feel any less guilty. It felt more like he had been caught.

Which is stupid—he shouldn't feel like that when Namgyu's evidently been dating too! He's the one engaged, whilst Younghee didn't mean shit to him.

Wait.

"What?" Subong feels his heart drop, "How—how do you know about the date?"

How the fuck does he know about the fact that on February 14th, 5 years ago, he took Younghee out to a restaurant, and spent the entire hour picturing Namgyu sitting opposite him? Thinking about what their date could've been.

How does he know that?

"Because you told me." Namgyu answers in a levelled voice that threatens to break, "When I had to half-carry you here, the entire walk was you talking in my ear about how you wished she were me, and about how you wished you could've gone out with me instead."

He never knew just how much karma he was indebted for until now. Subong might convert to being sober for the rest of his life after this, "I—..." What can he even say to that? That he had managed to lie whilst blacked out drunk? That he hadn't chosen Younghee entirely based on her familiar-ish appearance?

"Do you realise how fucking insane that is to say?" He continues when Subong can't come up with a response, "After you decide to ditch me for your shitty music career, you feel the right to complain about how it's not fair that—that—"

It is selfish. He's selfish. They've gone over this, and it still doesn't change a thing.

"—and then, you come back after you ditched me, on Valentine’s Day, acting like I'm the crazy one for reacting like this?" Namgyu's hands rise to his scalp to start pulling at the roots as his voice spikes between volumes.

He’s unsure why the specification on Valentine’s Day was so heavily stressed. 

It’s just another day, right? 

"Nobody's calling you crazy, Namgyu, what?" Subong tries weakly, at a total loss. There's still an entire kitchen space between them that somehow manages to seem further than the distance between Seoul and Busan. Crossing that distance feels too invasive when he was already asked to leave twice, so what can he do other than stand dumbly?

It's frustrating. Namgyu's...freaking out, to say the least. Reasonable crash-out on his part, but Subong's not understanding, even though he's trying. He always assumed that Namgyu would be mad at him at his return, but right now it sounds to him like Namgyu's mad at...himself? He thinks? It's not turning out to be as simple as Namgyu beating the shit out of him; this is arguably way, way worse. It's a fight he's already lost before it had even started, because he's just not good at the emotional shit that Namgyu's going through.

"When have I ever called you crazy? Or treated you like a psycho?" Seriously, when?

See? He knows that he's not being blind—because he watches as Namgyu opens his mouth momentarily before closing it again. He repeats the same motion at least 3 times, as he tries and fails to think of an example, "You're a piece of shit putting me on the spot like that." He ends up going with, whilst pointing a condemning finger at him.

He's a piece of shit for everything that he does, but—"I'm just trying to fucking understand where you’re coming from?" It's hard not to be a dick when he doesn't know how to be better.

"Well, you're never going to understand how I felt. Or feel." Namgyu snaps, "You won't ever know what it was like for me having to go to your mom's house after you wouldn't answer your phone all day, to ask her where her son is. You don't know what it was like being forced to sit around on my fucking hind legs like a dog waiting for you to come back from wherever you were. You don't know how fucking pathetic you made me feel."

While Namgyu was here, wondering where his supposed Valentine was, Subong was doing his first of many auditions. "You're right," he admits, "I...I chose not to think about...that, because I had a real shot at a career.”

The truth is ugly. Selfish and ugly.

"Of course. Your stupid, fuckass career that no one could give a shit about anymore. I bet it was worth it, wasn't it, man?" An almost sadistically cruel look shadows over Namgyu's face.

"Shut up." Subong instantly spits back on pure reflex, as he takes half a step forward before remembering who's insulting his career, "Don't—don't fucking say that."

He chose Thanos over Subong and spent 10 years reminding himself he'd made that decision for a reason, telling himself it didn't matter what he had to give up to make it happen. Hearing Namgyu of all people tell him that all of the years he dedicated to Thanos meant nothing when he still ended up back here was... too much. It meant he had practically broken everything for nothing.

"Why not? You said it yourself last night. It's a problem when I bring it up?"

Subong is unashamedly a hypocrite. "No—fuck," he has to tear his eyes away from Namgyu's smug face at his falter for words, "sorry. I'm sorry for yelling." He turns away, with his pointer finger and thumb massaging his temple.

"So you can apologise for telling me not to shit-talk your career, but not ghosting me. Right." Namgyu nods in mock understanding. "I'm glad we had this talk, Thanos. I love getting the closure I needed 10 years late."

Closure? This is closure? "Yeah?"

There's this exact smile that Namgyu adopts milliseconds before unapologetically saying the cruellest thing you've ever heard directly to your face. Subong hates that he still finds it beautiful, even when directed at him instead of some random guy they were chewing out together, "Yeah. I'm happy that I can get married now, knowing I made the right choice, and that things unfolded perfectly for us both. You got—well, had your career, and I have this."

This isn't perfect. Namgyu is standing in an almost barren apartment with no photos of a fiancé he half-doubts even exists. This is what he calls perfect?

"And you know what, Thanos? Thank fuck you never showed up. I think it's better that we never—" He cuts himself off, but Subong knows exactly what word would've come after.

'Dated'

Subong swallows back whatever pathetic noise was about to leave his throat, "You mean that?"

"Yeah. I do. Look at yourself," Namgyu scoffs, "you go on about 'I could've been a good Valentine' when you wouldn't even do shit for White Day, would you?"

White Day? What the fuck is White Day?

Before he can ask, the sound of keys shuffling from a distance makes them both jump. Someone's at the door attempting to unlock it.

He looks back at Namgyu to gauge his reaction to whether this was normal, to see—

Namgyu idly plays with the gold ring on his finger, as if the metal is scorching his skin.

They hear the door opening slowly and the sound of a man grunting as shoes hit the floor. There's a brief pause before footsteps begin to come from the hallway, until they come to a halt.

"Namgyu?"

Subong looks over his shoulder to the doorway, where an exhausted-looking man stands with a laptop tucked under his arm. He's short. Shorter than him, and even shorter than Namgyu, he assumes. Subong glances down at his left hand on instinct to see a matching gold band wrapped around his ugly ring finger.

Huh. So this is the offender who's to blame for that hideous shit.

"Myunggi," he hears Namgyu say from behind him. He's not looking because he's too busy staring down this newcomer and observing how well the ring matches the face. It's hard not to burst out laughing. This might actually be a prank, because there's no way Namgyu's engaged to whatever species this is that managed to sneak onto Earth. "Where were you?"

'Myunggi' (he doubts that could be his real name; nobody's parents are that cruel) sighs in ill-disguised annoyance, "Something came up, I'll tell you later. 'M tired."

Okay, he knows he's kind of shitting on this guy, but he also feels bad. Like, imagine walking in on your boyfriend and a famous (conventionally attractive) rapper together in the early morning, where you can only assume he came over during the night.

He must be so overwhelmed by questions that Myunggi doesn't say a thing, and instead wordlessly goes to retrieve something from the fridge. Huh.

It takes Namgyu to speak up first, "This is Thanos. He... He's leaving." Before Myunggi even glances at him.

And when he does, he looks so... disinterested? "Who?"

Excuse him? What does he mean by who? "Thanos," he repeats whilst forcing a stiff smile, "You might've seen me before. Huge rapper." He's even polite enough to extend a hand.

Which is left hanging. Fucking rude. "Right. I'm not a big listener of rap."

Yeah, he can tell. What kind of guy wears a bucket hat in February? This guy, if you couldn't guess.

"Make me something to eat, I'm hungry." Myunggi finishes his unsuccessful search and leaves the kitchen without another word.

Subong stares at his back the entire time in disbelief. No please? Thank you? What the fuck?

Namgyu is beyond irritated. Of course he is. Who the fuck does this Myunggi guy think he is? But somehow, Namgyu still manages to train his face into something that looks like neutrality, if it weren't for the way that his hands were slightly shaking and eye twitching.

"Namgyu," He calls. Subong's going to leave since he can't really do shit while his bum excuse of a fiancé is here, can he? "I'm gonna head out, but... can I come back later?" He wants to fix this, "Please?" Is also tacked on at the end for good measure, and maybe to also make a point against the 'make me food.'

The ball is completely in Namgyu's court right now. He can either say no and tell Subong to fuck off forever, or say okay and… something would happen?

He sighs in defeat, "Do whatever you want. That's what you always do, right?"

-`♡´-

Karma isn't something that just goes away by itself. In fact, it's literally supposed to follow you to your next life to royally screw you over in any way possible. Bad karma haunts you wherever you are, in whatever you're doing.

Subong's never been exactly religious, but he does believe in the concept of divine intervention, which karma technically falls under. So he knows enough about karma to know that the only way to redeem yourself from it is by cancelling it out, which earns you good karma.

At least, that's the conclusion he's shown when staring at his laptop's screen. After skimming through a million articles and Reddit threads about other people who've screwed up, he's eventually ended up on this website about making up for past mistakes posted by some user called 'shamanseonnyeo44.' Realistically, the page lists the most obvious solutions you could think of, but Subong found that he still needed to see it right in front of him, because his mind is too cluttered to think of it himself.

The first thing listed talks about accountability. Realising the effect of your own actions and the consequences of them. Okay. He can do that. He has been doing that, through the conversation he had with Namgyu, right? That counts? It also mentions understanding the reason why you did your 'misdeed.' Well, he also knows that. He ran away chasing the opportunity of being Thanos. That's all there is to it.

(Though, he's not going to think about the reason why he couldn't talk to Namgyu while he was gone.)

The next point on this list is arguably the more important one: change. That's what it says is the next step in gaining good karma.

You would think that this would be easier than understanding, but it isn't for Subong; he doesn’t know how to change, and even if he did, would it be worth it? 

He knows he’s running his own mind in circles that lead nowhere, that’s why he decides that this shitty website can go fuck itself, and goes to an actual human for a solution. 

“Did you ever have a… Valentine?” He cautiously asks his mom, who had been in the middle of reading while half-asleep on the couch. 

She yawns tiredly before finding the energy to push herself up, “A Valentine?” 

It’s corny and out-of-character for him to ask this out of seemingly nowhere. Maybe if he had done this 14 years ago, it would at least be somewhat normal. “Yeah.” 

His mom rests her book on the coffee table that sits in front of the couch, before thinking the question over, “For a few years in high school, I suppose. Your father never cared for it, but I asked him to try for me.” 

The mention of the man who’s now married to a different woman and hasn’t shown his face in years makes him feel sick. What makes him even more sick is the implication of a fucking similarity between them: “You had to ask him to?” 

“Mhm. He never really was a romantic, well, not with me at least.” His mom muses to herself. “Which is fine.”

He nods slightly, knowing this wasn’t exactly...nice for her to talk about, “Was it important to you? Like, Valentines as a whole?”

“I like to think that it’s a lovely holiday. Though I know most people don’t share the same sentiment for it.” She shrugs. Whether that was aimed at him or his father, he doesn’t know. Hopefully not him. 

“I mean, I don’t mind it,” he quickly supplies, because he feels the need to, “but, like, why?” 

A beat passes as she considers it, “Well, for me at least, it was more about the meaning behind it, Subong. Of course, you learn to move on from these things after high school when you gain more security, but when I was a younger girl, I wanted to be seen above all.” 

To be seen? Is that what Namgyu wanted? “What do you mean?”

“I mean that Valentine’s Day is simply a holiday to show that you care for someone, and that you appreciate them.” His mom continues to muse, “I think that’s important, even if it’s just the smallest gesture.” 

“Okay,” that must’ve been what Namgyu was expecting, right? To see that someone would show up for him? “Then what’s White Day?” 

His mom laughs softly, “There aren’t too many people who still do that. It occurs a month after the 14th in March, where the person who received a Valentine get the chance to return the favour.” 

That’s why hours later, after asking for a few more details, he finds himself back on the doorstep of Namgyu’s apartment with his hands full. According to Google, gifts on White Day were supposed to be specifically white, which is why he’s carrying a box of chocolates with white icing coating the exterior, a pack of Parliament cigarettes, and a brand of soju that’s completely white. Everything’s white themed. 

He might be slightly (more like extremely, but he’s being merciful to himself) crazy for this, but if he tries this, it could possibly be a start at calling peace between them. Then, if he does everything perfectly, maybe be friendly with Namgyu again? That’s ultimately the goal, though it’s unrealistic. 

But, even if all of his bad karma was wiped, there would always be the everlasting torture of having to watch Namgyu being happy with his fiancé from afar. Which he can learn to live with, because at least that would mean Namgyu that he’s happy. Subong doesn’t understand how you can be that with someone so fucking rude, but if they’re already engaged, then he has to love him enough. It’s not like Subong is enough of an expert to judge, anyway. 

Okay. Enough. He’s been standing outside his door at 10 pm for at least 10 minutes now. If anyone were to pass by, they’d probably think he’s some creepy stalker. 

Which he’s not. He’s on a mission here to be a better man.

Subong can only pray that the dickhead ‘Myunggi’ wouldn’t be the one to open the door. With all the shit in his hands, it’d be hard to explain that this is strictly platonic and normal, and would cause issues with Namgyu. 

It’s hard to tell if this is even what Namgyu wants, but Subong feels like he’s owed this at least. 

...

Is this crazy of him? 

His hand wavers in the air, inches away from knocking on the door, before it falls limply down to his side. 

This is crazy, right? What the fuck is he doing?

Namgyu doesn’t want to see him.

Subong left him; none of this is gonna do anything except reopen a healed wound. 

Would it really be better to just...leave permanently? To let Namgyu heal on his own, without him coming back and ruining everything again? Is that what he wants? 

It’s...fucking horrible to think that he doesn’t know what Namgyu would want anymore, when in his head, he had always been his person. Someone he knew better than himself, and could easily read as if his thoughts had live subtitles above his head. 

And he has no one to blame, except himself, for that. He’s the one at fault for never being here. 

He should leave. Fuck, he never should’ve come back at all. At least if he had run away to anywhere else, he could’ve lived out the rest of his life with whatever carefully reconstructed memory he had been clinging to of Namgyu, instead of this ugly reality. If he hadn’t come back, Namgyu could’ve succeeded in completely forgetting about him.

This is wrong. What he’s doing right now is wrong. 

Subong has to leave and get a flight somewhere, anywhere but here. He can do that right now; there’s probably a million flights leaving Seoul at this second, from which he could buy a last-minute ticket.

He manages to turn his back on the door and walk exactly 2 long strides, before—

“Thanos?” 

The sound of Namgyu’s tired-sounding and confused voice rings out behind him.

Hypothetically, he could still make a run for it, but that’s also embarrassing as fuck. So he doesn’t, and slowly turns back around to face the music.

When he saw Namgyu in the club, that was almost a completely unrecognisable version of him: cold, collected, professional, in a uniform that looked foreign on him. The second time, after he woke up on his couch, hit closer to home. It was the Namgyu he’s always had ingrained into his mind, but also slightly different with the glasses. 

The Namgyu he’s staring at now almost makes him collapse on the floor beneath him, as his knees feel stupidly weak. Without the glasses and with his hair loosely tied back, it really does feel like 18-year-old Namgyu is standing right in front of him. What pulls it all together is the faded shirt that Subong recognises from the picture he has saved in his phone of him. 

By some miracle, he manages to swallow down a gulp instead of choking on it.”You knew I was out here?” But he coughs up an unimportant question in its place. 

“I could hear your voice from inside. Were you muttering to yourself?” Namgyu squints at him, as if trying to physically see if he’s lost his mind. Unless Namgyu’s a liar—which he’s not totally opposed to believing—then he probably has.

He’s not gonna let him know that though, “N—nah. I was on the phone,” there’s no phone in sight. 

“Okay...? What’s this?” He gestures towards Subong’s full hands of mostly chocolate. 

“I, uh, stopped by the store.” 

Namgyu looks between the gifts and Subong’s face before raising an eyebrow, “For?” 

Subong cringes. Is he really going to have to say it? Hey, so your comment about the whole White Day stuff stuck out to me, and kinda made me feel like an ass. I got you these, hope it’s not too late, “For you.” 

Like Valentine’s, since Namgyu was the one to bring the entire White Day stuff up first, he can only hope that he understands what he’s trying to do without having to say it directly.

“Why? Any specific reason?” Normally, he could potentially brush the comment off with a simple no, but if there’s one look he knows from Namgyu, it’s the one he makes when he can already see straight through you. It’s the same one he gave exactly 10 years ago today, when he asked who he had made that song for. 

He knows, but is subjecting Subong to the torture of actually having to say it, “I—because—” fuck. “Because I’m sorry,” he breathes, “I’m really fucking sorry.” 

That’s not gonna cut it alone; the unimpressed look on Namgyu’s face says that too. 

So, he continues, “I’m sorry for disappearing on you, after—after I told you I’d be your Valentine, and said all that shit that I never went through with. I’m sorry for not coming back and explaining sooner.” 

It sounds so childish to say, ‘I’m sorry for not being your Valentine’ They were both (somewhat) grown men at 18 years old, adults who had already graduated high school. Why would he give a shit about something that comes straight from the playground when you’re in pre-school? 

The answer is because Namgyu cares. Which is weird, because on the surface, he would’ve never guessed that he does. Maybe he doesn’t care about the aesthetics of the holiday, especially not about the baby angel with an arrow in its ass, but he cares about the fact that on the only day you’re socially supposed to show that you care for someone, he was left behind. It’s not just another day, when every couple in the world come out from wherever they were hiding to display their love, or whatever. 

Namgyu likes being treated specially, above other people. He made that clear by the way he’d practically demand anything from him when they were in school together—and Subong would give, obviously. That was the nature of their friendship. 

So to be left on a day like that had to have been humiliating in ways he hadn’t dared to think about. 

He’s thinking about it now, though, and is realising why he hadn’t before. 

There’s no answer to his apology for a long, drawn-out moment. Namgyu’s staring at him with eyes that feel like they’re trying to dissect his soul apart and pick out the lie embedded in his words. Only to be disappointed when he finds that there’s none. 

Then, Namgyu takes a slow step towards him and cautiously takes the gifts out of Subong’s arms, as if he thinks they’ll gain consciousness and attack him. 

Seeing them out of his hands and with Namgyu, the things he bought suddenly seem a lot less than what he had pictured. Should he have brought more stuff? At what point is it considered weird when the man he’s giving White Day presents to has a fiancé?

Fuck, he really needs to stop. It’s chocolate, alcohol, and cigarettes. None of that is exactly screaming romance. 

Nevertheless, Namgyu hums affirmatively and turns to start walking back into his apartment. 

Okay... what now? 

Does he... leave? Is he done here? Has he made his peace with the situation and will just have to accept that this will never be fixed?

“Thanos?” Namgyu’s voice echoes as he glances over his shoulder with an almost blank expression, “Are you coming in? Or?” 

Oh. Well, he’s not gonna necessarily complain with this outcome. This is good; he hasn’t screwed anything (more) up yet. “Yeah, ‘course,” he can’t help the relieved smile that takes over his face. Without needing to be told twice, he quickly moves to follow him through the door and shuts it behind him. 

When he enters, he’s quick to notice someone’s absence,  “Your guy not here? What’s his name, uh, Myunggyeol?”

“Myunggi,” Namgyu hastily corrects, “but no, he went out.” 

In the back of his mind, he wonders where this guy’s going at night—especially when it sounds like Namgyu has no clue himself. “Right, right. My bad.” 

Now that he’s here fully awake and more observant, he takes notice of how...empty this place looked. Considering this was supposed to be an engaged couple’s home, it’s weird there aren’t any photos of them scattered around the living room. All the furniture looks scarily new, like it had all just been freshly bought; it was like walking into an IKEA display room that’s only for the buyer’s eye. 

He narrowly manages to hold his tongue on commenting on how ‘homey’ the place looked, and instead hyper-focused on Namgyu, who was now actually taking a look at what he had bought, as he lay back on the couch. 

“Raffello chocolate, Parliament, and soju,” he lists after holding each of them up. “Wow.” 

His unenthusiasm wasn’t exactly making him feel any better. “You don’t like it?” The chocolate was expensive, some fancy import he found hidden in some corner store. Not that it mattered, even if he was, you know, scammed out of all his money; he’d still spend whatever he had left on this. 

“No, it’s nice,” Namgyu mused whilst slipping a chocolate past his lips, “but I quit smoking, so take the cigs back, if you want them.”

Subong’s jaw almost dislocates from how fast it drops, “What?” Namgyu? Quitting? Cigarettes? That’s like—him. The habit he’s associated with him since forever, “Since when?”

“A month ago—right after I got engaged,” he explained, “something about him having some expectation of how his fiancé should act? For appearances? I dunno, wasn’t really listening.” 

Of course, this all boils down to being that guy’s decision. Not that, like, he’s opposed to the idea of Namgyu quitting cigs, he’s obviously one of the first people who should know what it does to you. But he would think that normal couples want their partner to be ‘healthier’ because it’s good for them, not whatever Namgyu is making it out to sound like, with the mention of ‘expectations.’ 

“Seriously? That’s...that’s really good, man.” He says with a half-hearted smile, “What about alcohol?” 

Namgyu snorts, “As long as Myunggi’s still drinking, it’s fine.”  

Subong doesn’t like that. 

But who is he to feel the right to dislike it? 

“Yeah, I should probably start doing the same,” he laughs with no real humour, “shit isn’t good.” 

“What? Smoking or the coke?” Namgyu asks harshly. Ouch. 

It’s easy to forget that while he had no way of knowing what Namgyu was doing all these years without contact, Namgyu knew about every fuck up of his career because it was broadcast everywhere, impossible to ignore. Still, it’s hard not to bristle when his more...life-ruining scandal was brought up, “Smoking. I’m probably not gonna do the...other thing again, without a supplier.”

“Makes sense, I guess,” he hums, “do you want some of the soju now?” 

He blinks, “What?” 

“The soju you brought, I want some now. I’m asking you if you’d also want a glass?” Namgyu repeats, except slower this time. 

If Subong’s being honest, he thought he would’ve been thrown out right about now. But he hasn’t been, so... “Yeah, sure, if you’re offering.” 

“Okay. You can tell me if it’s shit or not.” Namgyu says lightly, as he stands from the couch and disappears into the kitchen. 

Whilst he’s gone, Subong finds himself unconsciously tapping his forefoot against the hard floor anxiously. Instead of being happy that Namgyu’s being...too nice to him right now, there’s only the feeling of impending doom that at any second, he will eventually fuck up and ruin anything. 

By the time Namgyu eventually returns with two shot glasses in hand, he’s thought of at least 5 ways that this could go wrong. 

He really needs a drink to calm the fuck down. 

When Namgyu takes the bottle and carefully pours the exact right amount of soju into the first glass, Subong can’t fight off the way he’s completely transfixed on the scene. Thinking about it now, it makes absolute sense why he turned out to be a bartender. Given the right situation, with the right people, Namgyu could talk conversationally with people for hours. They wouldn’t be able to leave either, because they’d be too hypnotised like he is. 

“You’re the bartender here,” Subong breaks the silence, “aren’t you supposed to know already what’s good, and what’s not?” 

Namgyu glances up at him whilst pouring the second glass, “Pentagon doesn’t sell cheap like this. I wouldn’t know.” He responds flatly, but Subong can see his carefully disguised smirk. 

He almost fails to respond in a socially normal amount of time because he was so focused on how Namgyu managed to level the amount of alcohol in each glass perfectly, without even looking. Damn. “This wasn’t cheap!” 

Half a lie. It was cheap, but it was also pricey for soju.

Namgyu breathes out a laugh that’s cut off by him sipping on the drink first, so much for him taste-testing it. 

After a generous sip, Namgyu sets the glass on the arm of the couch and purses his lips adamantly. Ha. Fuck you, Thanos. Even if he’s slightly rusty, that’s still not enough for him to be unable to detect the fact that he likes it, “See? It’s good, right?” 

“It’s... eh.” It takes a lot for him to hold back on rolling his eyes, but he does! One round of applause for him is probably called for. “It would be good in a cocktail. Something fruity,” he muses. 

“Wow. Look at you, your 10 years of bartending experience is really coming through,” Subong jokes lightly. 

At least it was supposed to be a joke. A lighthearted, friendly joke to ease the frigid tension, but Namgyu tenses the second his words leave his mouth. Fuck. 

“Nine months,” Namgyu stated, staring firmly at what was left of his drink whilst holding it with more force than needed, “I’ve been bartending for nine months.”

He understands instantly why the mood shifted, as his stomach lurches. Subong had forgotten how much he didn’t know about Namgyu anymore. Again. “Oh,” he chokes, because what else can he say? “What—I thought you said you’ve been—” 

“I was a promoter for 6 years,” Namgyu explains before leaning forward to refill his glass. 

No other explanation is given for what he was doing before promoting, but okay, “Seriously?” That’s not hard to imagine Namgyu as either, he decides as he pictures his face on the promoters who used to accommodate him in clubs in Busan.

His throat goes dry as his imagination gets slightly too real. For whatever reason, he hates the idea of Thanos and Namgyu within the same proximity. Does that make sense? Probably not.

To push back that thought, he swallows down his entire drink in one gulp and makes a grab for the bottle the second Namgyu is done with his refill, and curls up on his end of the couch. 

Minutes pass, and they quietly drink from their respective glasses in complete silence. He has no idea what’s going through Namgyu’s head, but it can’t be too different from what’s going through his. 

When he starts to feel the alcohol thrumming through his bloodstream, he gains enough liquid courage to say, “I thought you would’ve been more...pissed with me,” he comments as if it’s a passing thought. 

Namgyu’s stare is burning through the side of his face, yet he stubbornly refuses to look. “I am pissed?” He (fairly) questions. 

“I know you are.” Their entire conversation yesterday was more than enough evidence. “But, like, I thought you’d actually beat the shit out of me at some point.”

“Maybe it’s still coming,” Namgyu snaps, “and I’m just waiting until you let your guard down.” 

Subong snorts, “Sneak attack? C’mon, that’s not fair.” 

Ominously, he shrugs the suggestion off. 

“I’d let you have it, though,” he continues, “I mean, no offense man, but I don’t think there’s any other way you could, other than sneaking.” 

This is the one assumption he’s willing to bet everything on. He doesn’t care if, during these 10 years, Namgyu had some spiritual awakening and retreated to some secluded mountain to train in kung-fu with Buddhist monks—he still wouldn’t be able to fight. 

“Fuck you,” Namgyu scoffs with no actual bite. 

For the first time, some form of a smile manages to tug at his face. It feels genuine enough for his heart to lift, just slightly. 

Before it goes crashing down when Namgyu answers his original questions, “I’m... tired, really tired.” He admits, swirling the liquid in his glass, “I just wanted something from you, I don’t care enough to be that angry anymore.” 

He doesn’t care?

“No, fuck, that sounds bad,” he mutters. “I mean, like, I wasn’t gonna force you to do something. I said what I wanted to yesterday, and that was it. You... you showed up with everything I asked for, with the apology I wanted too, so now it’s…” Namgyu almost trails off, “It’s like I can’t be angry anymore.” 

“You can,” Subong hurriedly replies, “I— In every situation I imagined, of us, I always thought it’d be... You being pissed off and beating the shit out of me, or something. Then it didn’t happen like that; it confused me.” 

From the corner of his eye, he sees Namgyu nod slightly, “You got confused because I’m fucking emotional.” 

“No—” Subong immediately tries to interject, but he’s shot down.

“No, that’s the truth.” Namgyu quips coldly, “You don’t get it, because you’re... impulsive. I... my problem is that I feel too much, without actually knowing what to do. I expected you to act as I do, and you expected me to react as you would.” 

Whatever argument or words he had to counter that died in his throat. 

Because... It’s true. Horribly, true. 

Subong always thought they were practically the same people because nobody understood them as well as the other did. They were two parts of the same soul, or whatever other sappy shit you wanna call it. 

Realising that Namgyu is different from him, and that they're not exactly the same, is a hard realisation to swallow. 

“Okay,” he manages to breathe, “that’s... when did you... think of that?”

“After you left this morning,” Namgyu says, staring at the wall opposite them instead of him, “when you said that line about going for your career. You saw an opportunity and took it, and that finally made sense to me in a way. Because that would be what Subong would do, to be impulsive without thinking about…” Me.

It's scary when someone—especially Namgyu in this situation—manages to figure out what's wrong with Subong before he does.

“You're the one who owes me that, though,” he goes on, “the full explanation. I'm playing guessing games over here. I don't actually know why you decided to go M.I.A on me.” 

Subong turns his head to finally face Namgyu, and almost regrets doing so when the look on his face is so obviously miserable, “When I first left…” He starts with a voice crack. The words are fighting to stay inside, but he can't not say this now, “I swore to myself I wouldn't talk to you whilst I went to that audition. That I wouldn't even think about you in the slightest.” 

“Why?” 

The reason is so…stupid, that he knows it won't be accepted in the slightest, “Because I'm weak. For you. I knew that if I imagined your face when showing my song to the music managers, I'd come running back instantly. I told myself I couldn't do that, because I finally had a chance to be Thanos.” 

Namgyu looks back at him, with confusion now evident on his face, “I wouldn't….you thought I would've asked you to come back?” 

“No. I don't know.” He groans, “But I knew I would, either way. I would've taken the next flight, or bus, back at the thought of you here.” 

“I—I made that song with you,” Namgyu argues, his voice rising after the first syllable was almost a whisper, “I wanted you to become Thanos just as much as you did. That's why I fucking supported you the whole time. I just didn't want to be left behind. I wanted you to talk to me at least once, so that I knew you were alive.” 

It took Thanos 2 years to debut. In that timeframe, there was only gruelling training and preparation. For 2 years, Namgyu had no clue what he was doing or where he was. “By the time I made it, I thought it was too late to reach out to you. I thought—knew that you would hate my guts.” 

“No,” he denies softly, “I didn't hate you then. I'd…fuck, I told you that I was fucking pathetic. I would've understood.” 

Somehow, and he doesn't blame Namgyu for it, that feels like a lie. How can he just…understand that he was thrown to the side because of his career? “Would you have? Seriously?” He presses in a tone that makes it clear that he doesn't believe him in the slightest. 

“Yes.” The response comes almost instantly, “Whatever. You don't have to believe me, because it never happened. You never gave me the chance to forgive you back then.” 

“You shouldn't have. I didn't want to give you that chance.” Because he didn't fucking deserve it. 

“That's not up to you to decide, fuck.” Namgyu cries almost hysterically, his nails digging into the rough fabric of the couch, “I know I talk shit, and that's because I am angry, but I am fucking proud, and happy for you that you managed to make it. I just didn't understand why I couldn't be a part of it.” 

Subong can't offer him any answer for that. 

Still, he continues, “I think, subconsciously, I always knew it would eventually have to happen in the end. That I'd be left behind, because I'm not good enough for that world. I just didn't expect it to happen right then.” 

He didn't think it'd happen the day after they finally kissed, and had a date for the next day. Another thought that crosses his mind is Namgyu feeling used, since the only reason Subong had kissed him was to write the song that gave him success. 

It wasn't supposed to happen like that. 

“Was it better?” Namgyu asks, whilst picking at the skin under his nail, “To forget about me?”

He wants to argue that he didn't forget about him; he wants to at least say that it wasn't on purpose, because that would be better than saying the truth. The fact that there was a point where he couldn't remember the way Namgyu's voice sounds, after deleting every video of him to push away his urge to return. “No,” he states simply. 

The thought of him missing Namgyu more than he could actually remember him lies at the forefront of his mind; the burden of guilt weighs so heavily that he starts to feel lightheaded. 

It’s that feeling of lightheadedness that pushes him to say, “I missed you. A lot. I thought I was going crazy,” all the times when he woke up to a familiar head of hair that wasn’t his. When he walked down the street or looked down from the VIP section of any nightclub and saw people who made him do a double-take. 

Namgyu hummed in acknowledgement, “It was weird for me to see you again when you debuted, like... it was objectively you, but it also wasn’t. And that was the first time it really hit me what you did.” 

During that time, he had only been Thanos. Subong was the man he left back in Seoul. 

Unexpectedly, Namgyu barked a laugh that sounded almost drained, “The fucking buzz cut was a horrible look, though. What was that?” 

Subong chokes. Fuck, he wasn’t exactly expecting that to come up, “My hairdresser who dyed my hair was a fucking idiot and left bleach on my hair for two hours,” he sudders at the mere memory, “burned off all my hair. Only option was to debut with half of it shaved off.”

The flush on his face only grows into a darker shade of crimson as Namgyu starts full-on throwing his head back in laughter, “That was why? Oh my God, I thought you went bald to match the Marvel Thanos!” 

“I wasn’t bald,” out of every accusation made by the media, this is by far the worst one he’s ever heard, “I had hair! It was just short.” 

Even though the said accusation was completely untrue and blasphemous to his image—he’s physically unable to protest with some form of defence. Not when the genuine sound of Namgyu’s laughter rings in his ears, and when the look on his face is so unapologetically beautiful.

A dull pain tugs at his heart as he sees faint creases of laugh lines appear around his mouth and eyes, which weren’t as visible a decade ago. Distantly, he wonders if they would’ve been more apparent if he had the chance to laugh more. 

“I remember when you were bald when we first met in what, 6th grade?” Namgyu snorts, finally having stopped laughing at the thought of his debut era. 

A reminiscent smile grows on his face, “Yeah. My mom gave me a buzzcut for my beginning of middle school pictures.” Namgyu’s seen them before, because they were on the shelf of framed pictures his mom kept until high school, right beside his sister’s middle school graduation photo. But, again, for the record: he was not bald. “You really hated it that badly?” He asks with a half-joking pout. 

Namgyu pauses for a second to fully consider it, “No,” he says slowly, “I just always liked the thing you did, that’s all.” 

Huh? “What thing?” 

“The... horn things? I think?” He waves vaguely to the top of his head, “They were... nice. I don’t know.” 

Oh. After his hair had grown long enough after debuting, it was he who suggested styling his hair in a way that made it look like his hair had accidentally been mussed in the shape of two horns sticking out.

He was the one to mention the idea to his stylist and manager, but he wasn’t the one who thought of it. 

That was, “I got the idea from you. Do you... remember?” He ventures almost nervously. 

This, of course, happened over a decade ago. It wouldn’t be surprising if Namgyu had zero recollection of what he’s talking about. 

Namgyu blinks in nonrecognition for a split second before it hits him, “You’re lying.” 

“I swear—” 

“No. No, you’re saying this to—to—I don’t know, appeal to me, or something. You did not—” he’s rudely interrupted. 

And it is really embarrassing for him, but there’s no going back now. “Namgyu, on my life, I—” 

“You did not get inspired by Klarion-the-fucking-witch-boy.” 

He did. 

Although he did just say that he and Namgyu could’ve practically been the same person, there were times when they did kind of differ, such as when it came to Subong being a Marvel fan; Namgyu, on the other hand, was a DC lover. 

On paper, there’s nothing wrong with that alone. Hell, he’ll sit down and watch a few Suicide Squad movies—even if they’ll be a thousand times worse than the average Avengers movie; however, unlike how Subong’s favourite character was Thanos, aka the main supervillain, Namgyu loved Klarion. 

No idea who that is? Yeah, that’s because he appears maybe 5 times throughout the whole franchise, and even then, his role is so vague you don’t even remember who he is, or what he’s supposed to be. 

After a drunken night of them hanging out on the swings of an abandoned park, he learned that he had been Namgyu’s first childhood crush. 

And, like, what the fuck? Why that thing of all other cooler superheroes? If he had only given Thanos a chance—

Whatever. Still, it was him and his childhood crush with his horn-hair look, whom he thought of when rebranding his look after the hair incident.

It sounds so stupid, realising that he could still remember every detail of the conversation that Namgyu had ever spoken, and had still somehow managed to forget the sound of his voice actually saying that. It made him feel like crying, as pathetic as that sounds. 

“There’s no fucking way you remembered that,” Namgyu breathes in disbelief, “Why?” 

“I dunno,” he manages to smile tiredly, “I thought of that night. Thought of you.” 

Namgyu chortles, “What? Because I said 6-year-old me had a thing for emo guys with horns in their hair?” 

“No,” that guy is emo as fuck, though, “because... That night, when we were talking about all the deep shit about what we wanted to be as kids, I think that was the first time I ever thought of Thanos. Or, at least, the first time I ever told someone about it.” He drinks half of his untouched refill of soju, feeling pitiful of himself, “That night meant a lot to me.” 

Some memories in life define who you are as a person because of the way they stick with you for life. For most people, it’s events like your graduation day, wedding day, or an extra special birthday or something. To Subong, staring at Namgyu’s flushed face under the streetlight that was flickering persistently from a broken bulb, and the moonlight above had been the peak of his life. Being able to talk until their voices went hoarse, gliding from one conversation topic to another, whilst the alcohol they carried with them kept their blood running hot, sheltered from the winter’s crisp wind. 

In movies, when you see the main character falling in love, it always feels so cliché, and well, unnatural. Maybe it’s because you know that it’s all fake and just acting, but all of it only seemed uncomfortable to watch, as if he were some kind of cuck. Subong always figured that he was just never built to feel that. No girl he ever looked at ever inspired mushiness into his heart, so the logical assumption was that he was going to go through different chicks until he eventually grew too old, or got (even more) bored. 

But when he looked to his left on that night, and saw Namgyu’s beautiful face being illuminated by the exact perfect lighting that made him look nothing short of an angel? 

That was the moment that sort of reshaped his entire life, or how he looked towards life. There’s no way to describe the way he saw Namgyu in that second. It felt too unreal, as if he was living in some set-up, with people behind the scenes putting some filter in his vision that made Namgyu look so soft in all the ways he unashamedly wasn’t. 

It was hard not to label what he felt that night as love, especially when he felt seconds away from leaning in during the brief moment when their conversation went quiet. It probably was that, looking back, considering that’s the moment when everything began happening, the awkwardness. 

“Mhm,” Namgyu hummed so quietly, he almost missed it, “that was a nice night.” 

Namgyu’s left hand lies loosely to his side, resting on the couch. There was something about the way it was positioned so... invitationally? Lonely? Whichever explanation makes it sound more reasonable for why he would reach out to lightly ghost his own hand over his. Not letting them directly make the contact until Namgyu made the choice. 

His left hand is where the engagement ring sits, similar to a shackle that ties him to whatever life this is supposed to be. Fiance gone to some unknown place at night, apartment empty, and the boyfriend at home being comforted by his poor excuse of ex... something. The ring is ice cold, like a corpse, under his touch that covers Namgyu’s hand when he’s given the green light to. 

“Namgyu,” Subong has to ask this one question now, whilst he’s still driven by the impulse of alcohol, “what... what happened when I left?

He hears Namgyu inhale a sharp breath of air, and his hand flinches under his, “I already told you that. What the fuck do you mean?” 

“Like, how long did it take?” He repeats with more detail, “Until you... got better?” His mom’s words have still not left his mind at all since they were spoken. About him asking only for ‘the first few years.’ Presumingly, he probably didn’t feel the need to when he had Myunggi. 

“I really don’t know what you wanna hear,” he sighs with irritation laced behind the words, “like I said earlier, I was a mess. What else is there to it?” 

“Did you care about the fact that it was Valentine's?” Subong can guess the answer—he has guessed the answer, but he still feels like he needs to hear it explained. From him. 

Namgyu raises his other hand and uses it to massage his temple, “Fuck. No. Maybe.” Neither of the answers sounded truthful. “Kind of,” that one finally did, “I don’t know. It wasn’t, like, the corniness. It—fuck, it’s stupid, it made me feel special.” 

“Special?” He echoes. 

“Mhm,” the look on his face is so neutral that it’s almost terrifying, “cuz, you hadn’t ever asked out any girl back then. Even for Valentine’s. It made me feel special.” 

That was true, because Namgyu was—is special. Always. “You are.” 

“Yeah? Guess I was so special that—” Namgyu’s voice dies quietly, as his eyes are drawn to the sight of their hands resting on top of each other. 

Is he manipulating him with this? Oh, fuck, he is, right? That’s—that wasn’t what he was trying to do, he swears. Subong quickly tries to snatch his hand back, as if he had been burned. 

But, he doesn’t manage to retract his hand far at all before Namgyu catches it. He practically drags it back to their previous position, except with their fingers interlocked now. In the small period between that, he felt the familiarity of a violent tremor shake Namgyu’s hand. 

Maybe he’s using Subong to ground himself, or for some fucked-up form of comfort, he doesn’t know. But, he’s not about to complain. 

“Sorry. I’m still... mad.” Namgyu mutters quietly, his hold only tightening on his hand. 

It takes him a second to realise that he had seriously just said, “Sorry? You should be madder.” He’s not entirely sure that’s a word, but he also can’t bring himself to care. 

“No,” he looks up, “I don’t want to be.”

He can’t understand it. None of this pacifist shit. How can Namgyu obviously be so not okay, and still be completely calm like this? 

“I was a mess when you left, because I was eighteen,” Namgyu says after another long silence. “I had no idea what I was doing, and you... I wouldn’t have been fine. But, something about the timing, I…” 

It was easy for him to figure out what he was going to do in his actual adult years. When they were friends, Namgyu had never outwardly said that he had a plan to do anything, and that he would ‘figure it out.’ 

“And it was like, I had to figure out who I was, without you. Shit was hard to just... detach.” His voice remains stable, but he can also hear the amount of control it took for it to seem so casual. 

Unlike Subong, he didn’t just have another persona to slip into and pretend like everything was fine, because his life had just started. No, he had been Namgyu this entire time. That’s... 

“Oh, shit—” he doesn’t get to finish his thought, because he feels liquid trailing down the inside of his shirt. Ew? What the fuck? 

He glances up to see Namgyu staring back at him with wide eyes. It then registers to him that he had somehow spilt the soju on himself when trying to pour another glass. Shit.

“Shit.” Namgyu echoes, as if he read his thoughts, “I’m sorry, fuck, your shirt,” he looks down to see a stain covering the entire front of his green shirt. Oh. 

Maybe that’s his cue to leave, he did what he came here to do, so is there really any need for him to stay—

“I have some old shirts you can borrow,” before he can even announce that he’s leaving, Namgyu gets up from the couch, “in my room, the first door on the left. They’re somewhere at the bottom of the closet. I’ll go find something else to drink.” He barely gets the chance to process before Namgyu’s already disappeared into the kitchen, and he’s left sitting dumbly with no idea what to do. 

Just... go in his room? Like that?

It’s probably not that weird if his bedroom is also as undecorated as the rest of the apartment, meaning there wouldn’t be much to snoop through. Why is it so empty? Sure, they might’ve only just moved in, but it wouldn’t hurt to put up a few decorations, or something. 

Namgyu liked his room in his old house to be neat, but not plain. He remembers the time when he shivered at the sight of a room that was too bare, saying that it reminded him of a psych ward. 

Then again, a lot can change over a decade. He doesn’t know Namgyu as well as he did anymore; now he probably prefers a minimalistic space, or whatever you call this fuckass aesthetic. Or, his more believable theory is that Myunggi chose the colour scheme here instead.

When he pushes the first door on the left in the hallway, he’s unsurprised to see exactly what he had expected. 

Almost? 

For the most part, he had assumed correctly with the whole consistent theme of wanting the entire place to look like it hadn’t been lived in, but weirdly, in the middle of the bedroom sat a single bed. 

Huh. 

There’s no way two people can fit in that. Hell, Subong doesn’t think he himself would be able to sleep comfortably. 

That could be shrugged off easily if it weren’t also for the fact that when he looked around, there were only enough belongings for one person. One pair of shoes, one small closet, one bag, and so on. 

Do they not share a room? Seriously? What, were they actually waiting for marriage? 

Again, though, he’s not the relationship expert here. So, he chooses to ignore the emptiness and swing open the closet’s doors. 

This should’ve been such an obvious realisation, but he hadn’t thought about the fact that he was looking through Namgyu’s clothes. Meaning that, the second he stuck his head inside to look, he was immediately overwhelmed by just the nostalgic smell hitting him all at once. To the point where he had to retract a few steps to be able to breathe. 

Fuck. Okay. He’s being dramatic all for nothing; he can do this. 

He went back in to search for a shirt he could wear whilst his own dried, and gave a smile when the first one he saw hung up was one he recognised to be Namgyu’s favourite. At least it was at some point, whether it still is, or if it’s just been hung here forgotten, he doesn’t know. 

Most of his other clothes he reasonably didn’t recognise. Some looked more worn than others, but he didn’t feel like he should be wearing any of them. 

At the bottom of the closet, Namgyu had said. So, he pushes a few tossed aside shirts until—

What the fuck? 

Subong freezes in absolute confusion as pulling off fabric reveals a tin box sitting at the very back, as if purposefully hidden from sight. 

Not just any box, either, or else he wouldn’t have given it a second glance. No, he’s staring at it in disbelief because he recognises the stickers that are plastered along the lid. That’s his fucking stash box? The one that had disappeared from his room when he came back?

Namgyu had taken it? Had he gone into his room after he left? There’s no way his mom would’ve willingly handed it over knowing the contents. 

With a dangerously shaky hand, he reaches out to pull off the tin’s lid. 

Inside the box are a few (likely dead) vapes, empty cigarette packs, 

And a CD. 

His stomach coils up as he stares blankly at the CD that reflects at him mockingly. It would’ve been a better result for him to find a bomb instead, since both would have the same effect of taking him out either. 

Not only is it a Thanos CD, but it’s his debut album. 

More specifically, the one where basically the entire thing is composed of different remixes of the song Namgyu helped him make, the day before he left. 

Why does Namgyu have this? Like—why would he buy this? 

“Did you find—?” There’s no time for him to throw all the evidence back where he found it before Namgyu walks into the room, finding Subong standing with the CD in his hand. 

Subong jumps, already trying to explain himself, but there’s no good excuse, is there? 

Namgyu’s eyes go wide as they rest on what he’s holding, “Put that back,” he demands, stepping closer. “I told you to do one fucking thing, not snoop through my shit.” 

He’s incapable of doing anything, as Namgyu harshly snatches the album out of his hand and holds it behind his back, as if that’ll remove the memory of it from Subong’s mind. “Why—you took my stash?” He manages to half-stutter out, after deciding to redirect to a different question than the one he was going to ask. 

“Yeah, so what? Were you planning on coming back and using it?” Namgyu snaps, glaring at him defensively. 

Well, no, he didn’t, but that’s not what he was asking, “You went into my room? When I was gone?” 

He sees in real-time how the colour drains from Namgyu’s face, until he’s paler than a corpse. He tries to open his mouth to respond, but nothing ends up coming out, so he shuts it again. 

Subong dismisses it, “You bought the CD? After you actually found out?” 

It’s already hard for him to understand why Namgyu isn’t pissed and throwing shit at him, but to go out and willingly buy what Subong had used him for before leaving? 

“So what? Was I supposed to be banned from buying stuff?” Namgyu argues, his voice edging close to a yell. 

“Stuff? What do you mean by ‘stuff’? You have more?” Subong's jaw falls open. 

Namgyu narrows his eyes, “No. Just that.” 

They stare at each other in complete silence, both equally unsure what to continue with. Namgyu slowly walks backwards, with the CD still concealed, until he’s able to blindly place it on the nightstand. 

“Why would you buy that?” He asks, in a hopefully more understanding tone. Why would he buy an active reminder of what makes him so miserable? 

Namgyu kisses the back of his teeth and mutters lowly, “Are you stupid?” 

Well, yeah? 

“I just wanted it.” He murmurs quietly, “Okay? I needed something that told me I wasn’t fucking delusional, or desperate, and didn’t imagine what happened then.” 

Oh. 

In a horribly sad way, yeah, he kind of gets it. It’s the idea of holding onto memories which hurts more to keep, rather than letting go. But, you don’t because keeping yourself latched on is familiar when that’s all you’ve ever known. 

“You weren’t,” Subong tries, “you weren’t delusional.” 

“The first demo of the song,” Namgyu continues, staring at him directly with so much pressure that Subong really feels like he’s about to collapse, “that was about me. Right? There—there was never a girl?” 

The statement is so... ridiculous, but also at the same time, reasonable, that he gives a bitter laugh, “Never.” There was never any girl since they had met. “All that corny, sappy shit? It was all you.” 

There’s little point in confessing this now, when the man he’s confessing to is engaged. But he feels like he owes this to them both in some judicial way. 

“That’s what I guessed,” he turns his head to look out of the window next to where he’s standing. Night had long since fallen, and he could only assume it’s probably somewhere after 10 by now, “I never knew for certain, though.”

Subong’s words hang heavy between them. With the context being fully given for the first time, he had basically directly confessed that—

“Did you know that I loved you?” 

Namgyu leans his back against the wall as he gives a soft confession of his own. Only, it’s not soft, or sweet, as any fairytale book tells you it’s supposed to be: it’s the opposite. It’s nothing less than heartbreaking, and it successfully makes Subong feel like a man who’s left to be hanged for his crimes. 

“I’m not asking if you realised it at the time, or anything. I’m asking if you really felt loved by me.” 

Did he feel loved by Namgyu? He... he can’t tell, because he was too wrapped up trying to figure out his own feelings, and trying to decide what the fuck was wrong with him, that he never put in too much thought about Namgyu’s side of things. He guesses he briefly acknowledged it? That Namgyu could’ve possibly been going through the same shit that he was. 

Then, why did it feel so easy to give in to his own impulse and leave, if he knew that Namgyu loved him? 

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. 

Namgyu lets himself process the answer and nods, “Okay. Then, maybe that’s where I went wrong. I’m sorry.” 

He’s probably the worst person to have ever lived, with the number of times he’s wrongfully made Namgyu feel like he has to apologise for Subong’s own actions. 

“I’m sorry,” Subong stresses, pulling his own hair and running a hand down his face. 

They look at each other in a way that silently communicates, ‘What the fuck do we do now?’ after they’ve both apologised (though Namgyu shouldn’t have), yet it still doesn’t feel right. 

Until Subong has another question that he can’t help but ask, “Do you feel loved by Myunggi?” 

In seconds, he realises that was the wrong question to go with, as Namgyu’s expression turns sour, “No. Shut up, don’t do that.” 

“Why?” Subong almost pleads. Because he can’t understand why someone like Namgyu is with him, and this isn’t him saying he should be with Subong instead! “Does he make you feel seen? Does he take you out on Valentine’s dates?” 

“Stop talking. You know what, you should leave, Thanos.” Namgyu pushes himself away from the wall and walks to the bedroom door, holding it open for him to walk through. 

Subong meets him in the doorway, but faces Namgyu instead, “He put a gold ring on your finger, Namgyu. Gold, do you guys even talk? He doesn’t know shit about you.” 

“And you do?” He argues back, shoving Subong backwards, “You were gone for longer than you ever knew me. I think that makes us strangers at this point.” 

That manages to fault whatever he was about to follow up with, as he gradually digests those words. He was gone for 10 years and was friends with Namgyu for 7. Instead of being 18 and having known Namgyu for almost half of his life, they’re now 28 and have known each other for a quarter of their lives. That fact, which had somehow managed to slip past him, felt so devastating to take in. 

“Exactly,” Namgyu hisses, when the look on Subong’s face probably reflects exactly what he’s realising, “so I don’t know what the fuck you think gives you the right to talk shit.” 

“Nothing does,” he breathes, “I know. I’m not trying to shit on either of you, just... what did he do for you? Last year, for Valentine’s?” He just wants the reassurance that Namgyu’s not with an absolute dickhead. 

Namgyu scans his face for any sign of mockery or anger until he sighs in finality, “We couldn’t do anything. We didn’t know each other.”

What? 

“What do you mean?” Did he mishear? He must have—

“We started dating 8 months ago in June, and got engaged one month ago,” Namgyu repeats, avoiding looking anywhere in his direction as he stares fixedly at the floor.

There’s no—what? “What? But, you’re—?” He gapes. How the fuck do you get engaged to be married in eight months? 

“It just happened, okay? He asked, I said yes.” That’s not the explanation he thinks it is. 

“Because you’re so in love?” Subong asks sarcastically, because they’re so obviously not. 

Namgyu scoffs and crosses his arms, “Now you’re judging what we have, when you couldn’t even see that I loved you? Yeah, makes sense.” 

Okay! Fuck, he’s a hypocrite, he knows, “You don’t actually like him.” He states. 

“I do.” Namgyu protests back, with just as much determination, “I told you. You’re never going to understand, because you weren’t fucking here. Myunggi was. I know it sounds crazy, imagining someone who wants to stick around for me, but it’s happening.” 

“That’s not—what?” Subong says, whilst at a loss for what’s going on. “Namgyu, I’m asking because getting fucking married in 8 months is insane,” he wouldn’t have even thought about marriage with Younghee in the 5 years they dated. “What’s the rush for? Is he dying?”

“No.” Okay, well, it was nice to imagine, “He... he just got caught up in some shit, and it made sense for us to get married.” 

‘Got caught up in some shit?’ That’s not exactly what you want to hear when getting married: “What does that mean?” 

“I dunno, something happened with this job,” he mutters, “which is probably why he’s been gone.” 

Again, he’s not claiming to be a marriage counsellor, but he’s pretty sure going into an entirely legal, binding commitment with debt probably isn’t a good idea. “He got fired?” See? He knew that man was a fucking bum. 

In a different way compared to Subong’s situation, obviously, “No. He was self-employed and did YouTube on the side.” Or maybe not. So what? He’s allowed to be critical and recognise his own faults. 

“YouTube?” Subong can’t help but repeat. It’s hard to believe that two people are just gonna get married on a YouTuber’s salary who probably has, like, 100 subscribers. Especially if he’s been cancelled, like Namgyu’s suggesting he’s been. He probably had more followers than the guy in high school. 

“Yeah. He’s a financial advisor.” Namgyu shrugs to himself. 

Subong pauses. 

Financial advisor?

There are a million of them out there. Hell, Myunggi looked like he would fit right in a podcast with a bunch of high school dropouts who talk as if they’re philosophers. 

It has to be nothing more than a coincidence that his voice sounds oddly familiar to “MGCoin?” 

Namgyu takes a wary step back, forgetting that they’re currently standing in a cramped doorway and hits his back against the wooden door, “What the fuck? How did you—are you fucking stalking me?” 

What the fuck? 

“You’re—you’re fucking dating MGCoin?!” His jaw drops impossibly low. He didn’t actually think that was a possibility. MGCoin is Myunggi. Myunggi is MGCoin. Namgyu is engaged to Myunggi. Namgyu’s getting married to MGCoin. 

Either he genuinely didn’t know about his shit-stain of a fiancé’s scandals, or Namgyu was putting on a really good show of pretending like he didn’t, “I—? Yeah, I am.” He answers confidently. 

“MGCoin? The guy who owned the scam coin? The one who scammed me out of everything?” The guy who is inadvertently the reason why he had to come back in the first place. 

“You?” Namgyu looked him up and down, as if physical proof that he was lying would just appear. 

So he did know, at least parts of it, “Yeah, me. I—he stole almost every last cent I had!” 

“Every last—” he doesn’t finish, as a look of understanding flashes over his face, “that’s why you’re back.” 

“What?” Subong laughs nervously. 

“You came back because you ran out of money. Not because of the scandals, or—” Namgyu closes his mouth again, and waits a few seconds for whatever he was going to say to pass, “I don’t know. I thought maybe…” 

The vagueness is throwing him off from what he’s actually concerned about right now, “You know then that his coin-crypto shit failed? Does he even have money?” He’s pretty sure the failure of Dalmatian would’ve meant that Myunggi’s share, which he also invested in, is also gone. Unless he managed to hoard all the profit for himself—but, if that were true, he’d probably be in the Bahamas, or the Philippines by now. And he also wouldn’t look as tired and stressed as he does. 

“I don’t know, maybe,” he admits. 

Is this why the guy’s in a rush to get married? But why? “Namgyu,” he starts seriously, “what if he’s trying to trap you with this shit? If he forces you to get some, like, joint account? And gets you into debt somehow?” He’s not gonna put it above the guy to ask Namgyu to invest in some fuckass scheme too. 

“He wouldn’t do that,” Namgyu defends quickly, “he wouldn’t.” 

“Then how did you manage to get engaged in the span of 8 months?” 

Namgyu considers him for a second before clicking his tongue again and storming back into the living room with Subong following close behind him. 

He watches helplessly as Namgyu snatches the pack of cigarettes that Subong had bought, and rummages through the drawers close to the front door in search of a lighter. “It was my decision too. Mostly my decision.” 

Guilt floods through his body as the cigarette hanging from Namgyu’s lips is lit within seconds after saying that. He’d successfully gone one month not smoking, until Subong came and ruined it all. 

“I didn’t think twice about saying yes,” he carries on, mostly ranting out thoughts that had clearly been building up over the months, “because I thought if anything was going to force someone to stay with me, it’d be some piece of paper and a ring.” A dry laugh escapes from him, “That’s really fucked up, isn’t it?”

No. What’s fucked up is being the person who left and made him feel like marriage is the solution to keep someone, “It’s not. I get it.” 

Namgyu scoffs bitterly and slowly slides down the wall he was supporting himself against until he hits the floor. Subong sinks with him until he’s sitting with his legs tucked under him. They’re left facing each other on a cold floor that reeks of shame. 

“If you were a shitty, fucked up person,” Subong speaks up again, “you’d date a girl for 5 years who you couldn’t give a shit about,” who you only kept around for so long, because their chosen haircut hit too close to home. 

“That’s not bad. She probably didn’t give a shit about you either,” Namgyu deadpans bluntly. “You broke up a million times, and she’s already dating some fashion designer model.” 

If anyone else were to tell him this, he’d honestly probably beat the shit out of them, but all he can think of is the moment where he had played his song to him in his bedroom, and Namgyu had told him that he’s less likely to lie to his face. 

“I’m the one who went and stole all your shit. I—fuck, I didn’t even wait more than a day to—” Subong can’t help but burst out in laughter, cutting off Namgyu’s sentence to his dismay. It’s just the way he looked so serious about it, “What the fuck are you laughing at?” 

“You said it yourself, I would’ve wanted you to have it,” he smiles bittersweetly, “figures your junkie ass couldn’t even resist a day, though. Fucking hell, what else did you do in my room? Raid my closet?” He says jokingly. His room was practically untouched from how he remembered leaving it; there’s no way Namgyu probably even set foot in it again after getting the box.

... Which is why he’s confused when Namgyu suddenly adopts a look that seems so... guilty? Embarrassed? 

Whichever expression, he goes strangely quiet and pale, and decides that something on the floor is deserving of his undivided attention as he hyperfocuses on that non-existent spot. 

“Did you?” He ventures, unsure, “I don’t care if you did, seriously.” What else could’ve possibly been missing from his room? Everything else is exactly as he remembers? 

“I didn’t take anything else,” Namgyu confirms in a shaky voice, “I swear.” 

So... “Okay?” 

Subong stares at him with obvious confusion, whereas Namgyu is still avoiding him entirely. 

“I—...fuck. If I tell you this, and you laugh or... or judge me or some shit, I’m kicking you out,” he threatens, “like for good. You won’t come back.”

With the tone he’s speaking in, and unclear context, he’s on the verge of believing Namgyu murdered a man in his room, or something, and buried the remains under his floorboards, “ I swear, I won’t laugh.” It’s nice of him to think that Subong still has the right to judge anything, in the place that he’s at. 

“I told you I was really fucked up when you left,” he begins slowly, “like. A lot.” 

He feels his stomach lurch again from guilt, “Yeah?” 

“There were days when I thought I couldn’t do it anymore. Not in like a suicidal way, or anything, I just... it was bad. I didn’t know what to do. Nobody else looked at or spoke to me like you used to. It was fucking lonely.” 

The confession accidentally makes him bite down too hard on the inside of his cheek that he had been mindlessly chewing on out of anxiety, and the all too familiar taste of metallic blood starts to fill his mouth. It’s fitting, given that the words made him feel like he had been stabbed. 

“When you left, I guess you left your window unlocked. I found that out when getting in for the box.”

His bedroom was on the ground floor, making it way too easy to get in or out that way. That’s what they did whenever his mom was too mad with Subong to let him have friends over, not that there was anyone else besides Namgyu. 

“Sometimes, I would…” Namgyu has to move to sit on his hands to somewhat hide how badly they’re shaking, “I would just, like, lie on the bed. Thinking.”

At first, Subong doesn’t even understand what he’s saying, until he thinks about his absent-minded thought when he had thought he had heard Namgyu’s voice in his room. 

‘When he hadn't realised just how much the mattress was dipped. It's—like, a perfect outline. Namgyu may as well have materialised out of the shape of him imprinted.’

Fuck. 

That’s why? 

“What?”

“I would go back there when Myunggi disappeared sometimes. It made me feel better for a bit, kind of in the same way as getting high. When I snapped out of whatever dream I was in, the comedown wasn’t ever nice, remembering you were... yeah.” He tries to laugh it off, but it ends up sounding like a choked sob, “It was dumb.” 

“I was dumber.” 

Namgyu gives a smile that’s clearly strained, “Yeah, no shit.” 

It distantly occurs to him that at any second, Myunggi could swing open the front door and immediately be greeted by the sight of him and Namgyu sitting not that far apart, looking like they dragged themselves out from hell. 

“I’m sorry it had to be me,” he feels the need to apologise again, even if it’ll never be enough, “you should’ve been with someone else. You deserve it.” 

“Don’t say that sappy shit,” Namgyu inhales the cigarette that had been left to burn between them, forgotten, “I still would’ve chosen you anyway, even if there was better.” 

There’s a barrier of miscommunication between them that’s so hard to decipher. Subong sees Namgyu in this unattainable sort of light, above others, when Namgyu doesn’t. And the same vice-versa, it’s confusing when they can’t see through each other’s lenses. 

He was never deserving of Namgyu. There was so much he never got to say when he left. 

Saying it now, of all times, would be fucking selfish and cruel.

“I loved you,” slipped out of his lips before he even realised what he was doing, “a lot.” 

The knot in his stomach that had been firmly tied for over a decade finally eases, as he finally manages to admit it outside of his inner late-night thoughts. 

It’s so fucking shitty to have to use past-tense when he knows what he felt never changed, but they did, and that’s the problem. He can’t say he still loves Namgyu when 10 years apart shaped them into different people. 

Despite the turmoil running through his mind, that’s temporarily able to be put on hold as he’s distracted by the way Namgyu smiled at his words in a way that didn’t look pained. In the corniest way, it really did feel like the sun coming out from the horizon after months of horrible Winter. 

“I did too. Obviously.” Namgyu huffs. “And I lied, back when I said you would’ve been a shitty date earlier.” 

It’s ironic to him how Namgyu is simultaneously the most honest and dishonest person he’s ever known. It’s almost charming in that way. The same way in which he likes to tuck his hair behind his ears, and chew on the filter of his cigarette. 

“We could’ve been fun,” he finishes with another drag of tobacco, “if shit was different.” 

There is virtually nothing Subong wants more than to reverse time, even if he can’t guarantee he wouldn’t be a fucking idiot again and make the same mistake. “Yeah. I think so, too.” He agrees lamely. If shit were different. 

If anyone else were to see them and their position right now, they probably would’ve laughed at them. Two adults pushing 30, finally figuring out their feelings from when they were in high school. Stuff they probably should’ve addressed years ago. 

“You know you were my first kiss?” Namgyu hums after a while, “I thought about that a lot.” When he was lying in Subong’s bed?  

No, he didn’t know that. “Seriously?” He tries to think back, yeah, he knew Namgyu wasn’t exactly putting himself out to anyone, but... he thought there must’ve been someone? Instead of his first kiss being some beautifully orchestrated first date thing, it was used for a fucking song. Subong truly ruined his life in every aspect. “Wasn’t exactly the best first kiss, I didn’t even do it right. Was too clumsy.” He got nervous, is what he’s trying to say. 

“Hm.” That hm was too vague for him to understand before, “Would you try again?”

Subong chokes on nothing, “Again? What?” There’s—he’s not being serious, right? 

Even after over 10 years, his reaction to the same proposal hadn’t exactly gotten better. The disbelief keeps him rooted in place as he watches Namgyu pull off the hideous fucking ring. Thank fuck. 

He doesn’t see where it ends up rolling to, as Namgyu already managed to cross the small space between them and brush their lips together hesitantly.

That’s all it takes to send Subong into full-body shock, as he’s momentarily torn between wanting to pull away because why the fuck would he deserve this? But it’s also impossible for him to do when it feels perfect. Sickeningly perfect, in ways he couldn’t remember. 

It’s hard to think of what good karma he could’ve done to land himself here, but that’s not in the forefront of his mind when he pulls Namgyu closer by his nape. 

This time, there’s less uncertainty and awkwardness, as they kiss with almost nothing but pure desperation, coming in manifolds as they keep separating for less than a second before instantly going back in as if their collective goal was to make up for the 10 years they could’ve spent together. 

“I missed you, Subong,” Namgyu manages to gasp between one of those breaths for air, “so fucking much.” 

Subong is crying. Or, maybe Namgyu is. It’s hard to tell when all he’s focused on is the saltiness he can taste when the tears reach the lower halves of their faces. 

It doesn’t help when it hits him that Namgyu called him Subong. Not dickhead, asshole, or worse Thanos, but Subong. Fuck. 

“Me too,” he chokes, “I missed you.” 

Namgyu leans down to rest his head on Subong’s chest, as he fumbles to support them by putting his arms behind him. His dark hair sprays out beneath him, and he’s too weak to stop himself from placing a hand on the top of his hair. “I don’t even like Myunggi,” another confession comes, “at all.” 

No way, “I could’ve guessed,” Subong snorts, too preoccupied with threading his fingers through dark strands that catch on his rings. “What made you...get with him?” 

“One of my first bartending shifts, he came in all heartbroken,” Namgyu starts, “moping and shit. Turns out his girlfriend had broken up with him because she went to England to study.” 

The story doesn’t even have to be finished before Subong realises why. Because that was a similarity they could bond over. Trauma-bonding. 

It’s hard—no, impossible for him to say that he’ll be able to fix everything in an instant. He can’t remove a decade’s worth of hurt like nothing. There’s not much he can offer Namgyu in terms of promises, if he’d even believe them at this point. 

But they did just kiss, and that was something. Either a reminiscence of the past or a renewal, a chance to do better this time and not fuck up. 

The universe is deciding to be weirdly poetic, as he once again catches a glance at a clock that’s hanging on the wall directly above Namgyu’s head. 

13th February, 11:57 pm.

“Namgyu,” he hurriedly blurts out, because if he pussies out now then he’ll miss it, “will you be my Valentine?” 

It’s still pre-school shit, but not quite stupid. 

“Yeah,” Namgyu mumbles from where he still has his face buried into Subong’s chest like a hug, only with his arms falling limply. 

“I will.” 

-`♡´-