Chapter Text
From the moment Jeonghan could comprehend language, he was made to understand that their estate had been a terrific thing when it was first built.
One of the biggest plots of land in the whole of Hwaseong, and his great-great-great-great-grandfather had paid for it in full. It barely made a dent in his pockets, even, if the stories were to be believed. He’d hired the most reputable builders, took on a few of his younger, more spry male cousins as assistants, and they broke ground soon after to begin the construction of what would later be known colloquially in their neighborhood as the House of Dreams. Capital H, capital D.
And Jeonghan, even now, couldn’t begrudge the moniker. He understood the appeal.
A complex of multiple buildings all bridged together by shaded, wooden footpaths. A man-made stream lining the entrance that lead you up to the main house. A dense forest of black bamboo that surrounded the estate’s high walls.
It had been the grandest house that money could conceivably buy at the time, and it was considered a treasure by locals and tourists alike until now.
And Jeonghan’s however-many-greats-grandfather knew what he had on his hands even before the house was finished. He knew it would be important, and that he had to choose a name that would reflect that.
And so he decided on Gasuwon Jip. Orchard House.
It was passed down through the Yoon family generation after generation, and now it was halfway in Jeonghan’s lap.
Things changed as the years went on, of course. And not exactly for the better.
Joenghan wasn’t entirely sure when his family started to run out of money, if only because it was such an obvious sore spot with his father that even the mere allusion to it was enough to put him in a bad mood that could last days. And Jeonghan already had enough things to deal with where his father was concerned, he didn’t need his sulking on top of it all.
But from what he could gather, things started to wind down financially speaking just a few years before he was born. A couple of bad business decisions made by his grandfather and granduncles lead to a slow decline that was barely discernible until it was just about too late to reverse it.
That was what Jeonghan’s father was trying to do currently. Reverse it.
Whether or not he was succeeding depended on the day and the person you asked.
(If you were to ask Jeonghan, the answer would be, “Barely.”)
(He would, of course, never ever say this out loud where his father could hear him.)
And Jeonghan wondered if this is where the fixation towards the estate came from. Because money, prestige, reputation, they all came and went, but the house was theirs. Theirs to own, theirs to keep, and they would never lose it.
Orchard House. The House of Dreams.
Well, Jeonghan dreamed of other things besides the estate, but he could understand the mindset his father was operating from.
It was difficult to have only known the peaks and now be confronted with the threat of the valley. Jeonghan had been born with that threat looming over his head, but his father hadn’t. Sometimes he wondered if that difference was enough to swallow their relationship whole.
“So,” Jihoon said, as casual as anything as he sank into the chair across from Jeonghan’s, “Seungcheol proposed over the weekend.”
Jeonghan, with all the grace in the world, tried to stop himself from spitting out his drink. “E-Excuse me, he what?”
And because Jihoon hated Jeonghan so very much, he only raised his left hand with a grin so wide and so smug that it made Jeonghan consider manslaughter in broad daylight. And sure enough, a sparkler bright enough to blind sat pretty on his ring finger.
“Oh, fuck you so bad, Lee Jihoon,” Jeonghan muttered in one breath, grabbing his friend’s hand to inspect the ring for himself. “To announce it so nonchalantly like you’re just—commenting on the fucking weather or something. You hate me. You really hate me.”
Jihoon only laughed, far too used to Jeonghan and his dramatics and all too happy to let him do his thing. He even took a sip from his coffee and ate a few more cookies as Jeonghan continued to perform a very thorough examination of his engagement ring. An evil man. A truly heartless, evil man. Jeonghan said all of this out loud, which made Jihoon laugh harder.
Lee Jihoon was a family friend, younger than Jeonghan by a year, and probably the only person on earth who could successfully blackmail him into doing anything.
And the minute Jeonghan let go, still grumbling his complaints and congratulations all together, it only took him a passing glance at Jihoon’s face to know that he wanted something.
“What is it?” he asked to get it over with. Jihoon was as direct as Jeonghan was flighty, but there were times when he was in the mood to play coy, if only because he found it amusing to do so. “You’ve already wronged me enough times for one day, just get out with it.”
Jihoon raised an eyebrow. “And how on earth have I wronged you today, Yoon Jeonghan?”
“By waiting so long to tell me that you’re engaged!”
“It happened on Saturday. It’s Monday.”
“You waited a day and a half!”
“I didn’t even know Seungcheol was proposing!”
“And that doesn’t excuse you for waiting a day and a half!”
Jihoon threw a bit of foam off the end of his straw at him, but Jeonghan was quick enough to dodge it. “And now you’re making me wish I waited longer, you menace. I told you before I’ve told either Seokmin or Seungkwan, does that make you feel better?”
Jeonghan absolutely preened. “Yes. Yes it does.” He then took a pointed sip of his own coffee. “But you still want something. I can tell. Just say it so I can see if I can do something about it.”
The resulting look on Jihoon’s face was an equal mixture of annoyance and sheepishness, a seemingly impossible combination that only he was capable of pulling off. “Hyung knows me too well.”
“Hyung has seen you in all of your worst moments,” Jeonghan said gravely, dodging again when Jihoon tried to throw something else at him (the paper straw wrapper this time). “You keep performing these acts of violence while needing a favor from me and I don’t appreciate it one bit, Lee Jihoon!”
“You keep being a fucking prick, hyung, that’s why,” Jihoon sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m just not sure if it’s possible, which is why I hesitate to ask.”
Jeonghan only hummed, pulling their empty water glasses closer to him and refilling them. He let the quiet sit long enough to give Jihoon the space to think. For all that he liked to pester Jeonghan, he wasn’t exactly the best at saying when he needed help or that he wanted something. Seungkwan said that it was a trait they had in common, which Jeonghan didn’t exactly appreciate. (If only because he couldn’t outright deny it.)
When Jihoon finally spoke again, Jeonghan made sure not to look at him directly.
“Do you remember,” he began, leaning further back into his seat, “that summer when you were fourteen and I was thirteen?”
“Not too clearly, no.”
“We were in the camellia garden at Orchard House,” Jihoon said. “With Subin and Channie and Dahyun imo. And she asked me and Subin when we wanted to get married.”
The barest spark of recollection came alive in Jeonghan’s mind. “Ah, yes, I think I remember now. Subinnie wasn’t all too pleased to be asked that.”
Jihoon chuckled. “Of course she wasn’t, no eleven-year-old really wants to be asked that. And I gave some kind of bullshit answer, whatever number felt farthest away at the time, I don’t remember anymore. But she asked me where I’d want to get married, and I said I didn’t know.”
Another pause. Jeonghan took the serving platter of cookies and placed a few on each of their own plates.
“But I thought about it for a bit,” Jihoon continued, taking one of the cookies and biting into it. “And I thought, well, this place would be nice. Right in that garden. In Orchard House.”
Jeonghan looked at him then. Hesitance wasn’t exactly an unfamiliar emotion to find on Jihoon’s face, but it had been a while since Jeonghan last saw it there. His friend had been a shy child and it had taken some time for him to learn how to stand firm in his own shoes, but the years had revealed a quiet sort of relentlessness in him. Nowadays, if Jihoon wanted something, he would just go for it. Say it outright.
It almost felt nostalgic, seeing a shade of that old reticence on Jihoon’s face. He looked younger like this, somehow.
But Jeonghan understood the hesitation. His father already had a reputation for being rather...mercurial. A misalignment in his temper that began when the family started slipping in general favor and settled in entirely when Jeonghan’s mother died.
It was during this time that his focus became projected with a near-ferocious intensity on two things: The restoration of the family name, and the house. The house, in particular, he guarded with a kind of bared-teeth, white-knuckled protectiveness that intimidated and baffled most others who weren’t in loop with regards to the state of the Yoon family.
Jihoon was, and so he voiced his desires with a degree of trepidation that Jeonghan thought plenty justifiable. “I know it might be—unreasonable or whatever, but I just. I dunno. I’m hoping that it can happen somehow.”
And Jeonghan wanted to tell him that he could do it, that it would be in any way simple or easy. That all he’d need to do is pass on the message to his father and it would be enough. But he knew better than to do that to Jihoon, who had always been better than most at sniffing out his bullshit.
So he opted for honesty. “I’ll try my best, Jihoon-ah.”
Jeonghan knew he had to come to his father prepared, so he got to work. Every possible outcome was accounted for, every argument and counterargument was thought out, every pro and con was listed and thoroughly dissected. It didn’t matter that his father knew and loved Jihoon like a child of his own, not when it concerned the house, so Jeonghan didn’t bother thinking of ways to appeal to his sentimentality.
He was going to win him over the way the men in his family preferred to be won over—with a well-worded document and a quick elevator pitch.
It took a week after his initial conversation with Jihoon for an opportunity to talk to his father to arise.
He was in his preferred study in the west hall, and Jeonghan hadn’t even finished taking off his coat and shoes when he ordered for the nearest maid to prepare a pot of yuja tea and two cups.
“In a rush, young master?” Yerin, their head housekeeper, asked as she picked up the briefcase he’d left by his feet. “Your father has just gotten home himself. Do you need to talk to him about something?”
“Yes,” he said on a sigh, already feeling a headache about to come on. He hoped that it wouldn’t take too long (because even though he knew it wouldn’t do much of anything to remind his father that the request was from Jihoon, he was still hoping it might expedite the process), but he readied himself for a days-long stand-off anyway. “Please do try to keep people away while we talk, I’d rather no one hear him make a fuss if it comes to that.”
Yerin’s expression grew troubled. “All right, young master. Do you think you’ll need help in any way?”
Jeonghan laughed, patting the older woman on the shoulder. She gave his briefcase back to him and he tucked it underneath his arm. “It’ll be fine. Hopefully. I’ll ask for reinforcements if I need them, don’t worry.”
There was already music playing from inside the study when Jeonghan got to the west hall. It was something gentle, at least. Debussy. One of the first pieces Subin learned on piano, if Jeonghan remembered correctly. A good sign. His father was in a good mood.
He breathed in slowly as he walked up to the door, bracing himself before knocking.
The music stopped.
And then, “Come in.”
Jeonghan entered.
His father was stood by the big gramophone in one corner of the office, finger poised over the needle. He turned around as Jeonghan came in, smiling at him. “Hey kid,” he greeted, voice warm.
Great, Jeonghan thought. He really is in a good mood. “Good afternoon, father. Did you see the document I sent you?” He said, getting straight to the point. He’d rather not waste any time or leave his father to ruminate on anything else.
His father chuckled. “I did, yes. Although I’m feeling a bit put-out, Jeonghan-ah. Must we really discuss business matters immediately?”
“Apologies,” Jeonghan said, reorienting himself. He was running into the issue of his father being in too good of a mood. “I thought you would rather we sort it out right away.”
“Well, you aren’t wrong about that either,” his father conceded. He took a seat at his desk, gesturing to one of the chairs across it with an incline of his head.
Jeonghan took the proffered seat. “I had one of the girls bring in tea, it should be here in a bit. We can talk about it over that.”
They chatted about other things while they waited. Subin’s test scores and Jeonghan’s upcoming quarterly report. The Jungs and their newly acquired land south of the city proper, which they were supposedly going to use for a new country club (Jeonghan’s father expected invitations to arrive at their doorstep in about six months’ time). The Chois from Seoul (not to be confused with the Chois from Daegu) marrying off their youngest daughter to the heir of some Japanese conglomerate and the scandal of it all.
Jeonghan let it pass over him like water, humming and nodding and adding his input when necessary. This was the bread and butter of his father’s world—his world by extension. And as much as the tedium of it bored him to death, he knew he had to humor his father to get what Jihoon wanted.
So he let the chatter continue uninterrupted even as the tea arrived, pouring two servings out for them himself after waving off the serving girl in thanks. (He really should get her name. She’d been working for them for over a year at this point, maybe.) He let his father drone on about profit margins and mid-afternoon meetings and social calls. He bided his time.
And when a lull in the conversation happened, just sizeable enough for him to slip in seamlessly, Jeonghan took his chance.
“Jihoon got engaged over the weekend,” he said, refilling their cups. “I’m sure you’ve already heard about it.”
“Ah, yes, Jiyeon told me over the phone yesterday. Ridiculously over the moon, she was. Understandably so, Jihoon’s her only child and he’s marrying into a great family to boot. Lord knows how happy I’d be to see you and Subin marrying well.” At that, he threw a pointed glance Jeonghan’s way.
Jeonghan only smiled, chose to ignore it. “He told me on Monday, you know. In the calmest, most matter-of-fact way possible, if you can believe it.”
His father chuckled. “Oh, I believe it. That sounds exactly like Jihoonie, doesn’t it?”
“God, yes, I hated him for it in that moment. But I’m happy for him. He and Seungcheol have been together since college.”
“Goodness, that long? I’ve never even stopped to think about it.”
“Yeah, I know. Seungcheol is practically planning it all on his own, from what Jihoonie tells me.”
“Sounds exactly like Seungcheol.”
It was Jeonghan’s turn to laugh. “He has the clearer vision between them, apparently. But Jihoon does have one thing that he wants.”
And his father smiled, something knowing in the slant of his mouth. “And I’m assuming this is what that document concerns, yes?”
Jeonghan breathed in deep and slow. “Yes.”
His father cocked his head to the side, and then said with no inflection whatsoever, “You had a feeling I would need convincing.”
Honesty always worked best when his father was like this. “Yes.”
“You’re right,” his father said, leaning back into his chair. He took another sip of his tea. Watching him, Jeonghan made sure not to touch his own cup. “Because I am confused as to why Jihoon would want to have a wedding in a house that isn’t his. The Chois have an estate of their own, and it would make more sense for them to hold the ceremony there.”
“Jihoon practically grew up here,” Jeonghan was quick to reply. “He was basically your ward for the first fifteen years of his life, father. I think having a lot of sentimental attachment to Orchard House makes sense given that fact.”
(He’d hoped that he wouldn’t have to approach this conversation from this angle at all, but maybe he should have expected this anyway. His father was a logical, rational man normally, but the house always managed to strip him of any semblance of maturity. Less the reputable head of the Yoon clan, standing seemingly stalwart and hale against the numerous challenges they’d faced over the years, and more a child selfishly holding onto a favorite toy at playtime, baring his teeth at anyone who asked that he share.)
“And even beyond that, I sincerely think that the benefits of agreeing to Jihoon’s request far outweigh the drawbacks. It’ll hit multiple birds with one stone,” Jeonghan added, careful to maintain eye contact.
He took a sip of his own tea when his father looked away first.
And then he waited.
When his father closed his eyes and gave a begrudging, half-aborted nod of his head, Jeonghan knew he had the signal to continue.
So he went in. Gave his whole spiel. How it would be beneficial to the family not only financially (since both the Lees and Chois were willing to throw a, quite frankly, stupid amount of money if it meant their two boys would be happy) but also socially.
Their family hadn’t really been able to participate in the broader social scene in Hwaseong for a while now. Subin was in grad school, they had their company to keep afloat, and there were a stretch of years where they were living well above their means. It had been Jeonghan himself who had stepped in to say that enough was enough, that they had to scale back on the events and parties and sponsored galas.
They had debts to pay, investors to appease, and several people under their employ that relied on them to keep their families fed. If they had to become the unlikely hermits of the Hwaseong elite to fulfil those obligations, then so be it.
But the wedding provided a golden opportunity to bring them back into the fold, and even presented new possibilities. The Lees and the Chois had connections outside of the usual suspects that Jeonghan’s family were already familiar with—Jihoon’s roots were in Busan, Seungcheol’s in Daegu, and their respective families maintained close ties with a lot of the major clans in those areas. They would without a doubt be invited, and that meant a fresh pool of new contacts.
It was also a chance to get the family back in the news in a positive way. As much as the Yoon clan had taken a rather awkward tumble from grace, Orchard House was still a very beloved local feature. A Lee-Choi union would surely make the headlines of (at the very least local) newspapers, and the estate would be the magnificent background in every single photo.
It was almost a guarantee that Jeonghan and Subin would be involved in Jihoon’s groom’s party, and their father would most likely be tapped to be a major sponsor (and Jeonghan was betting on being able to waive a monetary contribution given the lending of the estate). They’d get a mention in every article made at least, and a feature write-up based entirely on them at most.
There was no losing. He just had to make his father see that.
So Jeonghan laid out all of these points with the same precise tone of voice he used to deliver meeting notes and boardroom presentations. He made himself sound composed and indisputable. He talked the way he was taught to talk.
And he knew his father recognized it, because when he finally acquiesced, there was a reluctant sort of respect in the look in his eye.
Jeonghan, for the first time this afternoon, let himself smile genuinely. “I’ll let Jihoon know immediately, he’ll be so happy.”
His father waved an errant hand with a small grunt. “He better.”
He called Jihoon the minute he got to his room and thankfully, he picked up within two rings.
“Hyung?” There was an obvious note of nervous anticipation in his voice, and Jeonghan relished in the fact that he would be the person to drive it away.
“Congratulations Jihoon-ah,” he said, all grave and serious and grandstanding, “you’ve got your dream venue.”
Jihoon swore so loudly that Jeonghan broke and dissolved into hysteric cackling immediately. “You’re such a fucking—why do that voice?! Why deliver it like that?! I was bracing myself for the worst!”
“Yah, Lee Jihoon, how dare you underestimate me,” Jeonghan managed to wheeze as he caught his breath. “I can make almost anything possible, you hear me? Especially if a precious, beloved, exceptional—”
“I will kill you in your sleep, I swear.”
“—wonderful, amazing, perfect dongsaeng asked it of me,” Jeonghan finished with a light, playful coo. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
“Ah, fuck you, thank you,” Jihoon said in one, relived breath, and it sent Jeonghan into renewed laughter. “God, fuck—thank you, really. I’ll get you the new Ferrari Lego set. And the Mercedes one. I’ll even throw in the new Star Wars one that you inexplicably want even though you’ve never watched Star Wars.”
“Hey, I’ve watched it,” Jeonghan said, quick to defend himself.
“Being on your laptop while Subin binges it in the background doesn’t count, hyung.”
Jeonghan hummed. “We can agree to disagree on that one. So when are you thinking of coming down to get a good look at the place?”
“Next week at the soonest. I have to wait for Cheollie to get back from America first.”
“Sure, no problem. What on earth is he doing in the States though?”
There was a pause then, and Jeonghan felt the realization rush into him like an incoming tide—the way the surf recedes and then comes in all at once. In his mind’s eye, he watched the water take his chest along with it. His stomach, too. His feet.
“Wedding stuff,” Jihoon said, far too careful to be casual. And Jeonghan already knew what they were dancing around. What name Jihoon was refusing to say. “He has a few contacts for our suits in California that he wanted to talk to in person.”
After a moment that seemed like years, Jeonghan found his voice again. “Right. Next week then?”
Another silence, and for a brief second, Jeonghan hated himself so intensely that it was enough to choke him. This was about Jihoon. This was about Jihoon’s wedding. This wasn’t about Jeonghan at all. He was supposed to be here as the bearer of good news, but here Jihoon was, having to step around his feelings because time had passed and yet Jeonghan had only gotten older and not much else.
When Jihoon spoke again, he sounded normal. Calm. Like someone Jeonghan could hide behind. “Yeah, next week. I’ll let you know what day. And thank you so much, hyung, really. I know it must have been hell.”
The sheer gratitude in his voice at the end there was enough to uncoil the wound-up knot in Jeonghan’s ribs. “It was,” he acknowledged, if only to get Jihoon to laugh. He smiled when he succeeded. “But it’s really no problem, Hoon-ah. It’s only right that you get to do what you want. It’s your wedding, and if I can help then all the better, yeah?”
“You say that now, but wait until I’m dragging you to every single fitting and I’m asking you if navy or cobalt suits me more.”
Jeonghan laughed, and he couldn’t help the excitement that was rising in him even with everything else threatening to wage war in his body. “I’ll go down kicking and screaming the whole way and then help you sort out your tie. You know me too well at this point to think I’d behave any differently.”
“Fuck you so bad, Yoon Jeonghan.”
“Nuh-uh, try again. Fuck you so bad, Yoon Jeonghan hyung.”
“I’m hanging up now!”
“Love you too, Jihoon-ah!”
Jihoon and Seungcheol came to the estate the following Friday.
Their arrival was almost picturesque. Spring had truly broken through the earth and everything was bright and beautiful, almost too much to look at. The cherry trees lining their front gate were in full bloom, and so were the plum blossoms and the zelkovas and forsythias.
When they stepped out of the car, Jihoon in his ever-reliable black and Seungcheol in tan and maroon, there was such a striking sense of perfection in the way that they looked together that Jeonghan heard several gasps echo from the staff lined up behind him. He couldn’t help his own reaction, smiling instinctively at the sight of his friends.
It was weird to think that they would be married soon. That they would get married here. Jeonghan had known Jihoon since they were both in diapers. He knew Seungcheol when he was still a young, skinny, hot-headed teenager champing at the bit to prove himself.
“Ah, now’s not the time,” he sighed quietly to himself, brushing nonexistent dust off his pants before clapping his hands together and spreading his arms wide in greeting.
He grinned when Jihoon immediately started booing at him. “You’re late.”
“No, we’re not,” Seungcheol was quick to retort, arm resting naturally around Jihoon’s waist as they went up the stairs to the entrance. “We’re precisely on time.”
Jeonghan laughed, taking turns hugging the both of them. “Fuck you both, I’m so excited already.”
“Must I remind you again that this is, in fact, not your wedding?” Jihoon groused as Jeonghan squeezed him a little harder.
“Don’t care,” Jeonghan sang, yelping when Jihoon pinched his side. He let him go, standing to the side to let the staff greet them. “I’m allowed to be excited for you, let me be,” he added once everyone else had dispersed, getting back to their duties.
(Jeonghan’s father had insisted on the couple receiving the full welcome from everyone in the house since he wouldn’t be around to do it himself, and Jeonghan only agreed on the condition that the staff be allowed to go back to work right after. He knew that it would make Jihoon and Seungcheol uncomfortable anyway.)
He was quick to lead them to the garden, taking the scenic route through the main house to show Seungcheol and letting Jihoon take charge of the anecdotes and history. The man could walk through this entire property with his eyes closed and not get lost, after all.
But Jeonghan also interjected whenever he had to, speaking on more logistical matters; they could have the guests wait here, they could let catering through this corridor, they could have their first dance in this room. It was decided that both the ceremony and reception were happening at the estate (with an additional fee tacked on that made Jeonghan’s father quite pleased), and they wanted to settle on whether they wanted the reception to be outdoors or not.
Orchard House did have a hall that could equate to a ballroom and it was big enough to house all their intended guests, but Seungcheol was enamored with the idea of having their first dance under the night sky, and Jihoon was incredibly indulgent of his fiance’s whims even though he would rather, and this was a direct quote, “eat my dinner in the comfort of an air-conditioned room.”
So Jeonghan still showed them the hall, smiling when Jihoon started pointing out fixtures and features that would make this the optimal place for their reception, and endured their bickering until they reached the garden.
“Wah,” Seungcheol said, coming to a stop at the archway, and Jeonghan never really knew how to feel pride about the house at this age. As much as he understood (as much as he was made to understand) the weight and significance of Orchard House, it was always a bit difficult to wrap his head around it. It was always just a house to him. Home.
But he was always proud of the garden. This great plot of land that was cultivated, historically, by the women of his family. The garden his mother had loved so much, and had loved until she died. One of the few requests in her will was that Jeonghan and Subin care for it in her absence, and with Subin otherwise preoccupied, Jeonghan was happy to take up the mantle.
He hadn’t been as hands-on as he liked these past few months with so much happening in other areas of his life, but it was still holding up beautifully (and he had plenty of help besides). And with the sun beaming down, turning everything golden, it was a sight to behold.
So he couldn’t help grinning as he turned back to look at Seungcheol over his shoulder. Jihoon was similarly smug, arm looped through his fiance’s and staring up at him with an expression so openly fond that Jeonghan felt the impulse to look away, afraid to impede on such a moment.
Jihoon was showing Seungcheol a vital part of himself, Jeonghan understood. A place where he had planted his own roots, where his footsteps had helped create the footpaths that they trekked through now. Orchard House had a long, rich history, and Jihoon had his own footnote in it, and the garden was a significant part of that.
They strolled through slowly, Jihoon leading the charge as he tugged Seungcheol to every personally significant spot in the whole garden; the gazebo he loved playing house with Subin in once upon a time, the patch of lavender he helped plant, the outdoor dining area that the three of them had eaten countless lunches on during restless summer days where all they wanted to do was be outside.
Jeonghan cut in with anecdotes of his own, but also made sure to have information on hand whenever either of them had questions to do with the wedding.
(Yes, it could get a little muggy during the summer, especially around the lake, but the weather was perfectly temperate in the spring and autumn. Yes, the greenhouse was big enough to hold the ceremony if they wished to have it there, but it would require some clearing out so they should keep that in mind. No, Seungcheol, the horses wouldn’t be allowed to roam around during the wedding. No, there was no way to change their stable master’s mind.)
By the time they had toured the whole grounds, the sun was all but gone and the outdoor lights were already on.
Jeonghan groaned as they reached the doorway that lead them back to the house, crashing down on the nearest bench and stretching out his legs in relief. The couple only looked at him and laughed.
“You really need to work out more, hyung,” Jihoon said, still standing and completely at ease like the perfectly fit heathen that he was. “You’re gonna be running around a lot during the wedding.”
“Jihoon-ah, I am going to cross that bridge when I get there,” Jeonghan replied, eyes closed as he leaned his head against the wall and caught his breath. The two laughed again, laughing harder when he flipped the bird at them.
And then someone’s phone rang.
It was Seungcheol’s. “Ah, hold on, let me just get this,” he said, giving Jihoon’s waist a squeeze before walking back into the garden to answer the call.
Jeonghan didn’t have to wonder long if Jihoon would take Seungcheol’s absence as an opportunity to say something; the minute he was out of earshot, Jihoon turned to him with a look in his eye that Jeonghan understood but wished ardently that he didn’t.
“Lay it on me then,” Jeonghan said, closing his eyes again. A cowardly move, sure, but the day had been so soft. They had strolled through Jeonghan’s youth under the light of a pleasant May sun. He had watched Jihoon lay bare a part of himself to the man he wished to spend the rest of his life with. He wanted to keep the perfect image of it alive in his mind before it could be touched by whatever this conversation was going to be.
And Jihoon didn’t miss a beat. “I’m going to tell you two things,” he began, voice firm. “The first being that I want you as my best man.”
Jeonghan’s eyes snapped open. “What?”
Jihoon looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh. “You heard me.”
Jeonghan was practically flailing, looking around in disbelief. He turned back to Jihoon and then pointed at his chest. “Me?”
“Hyung, who else?”
“You hate me!”
“And that’s a joke! You know that’s a joke!” Jihoon finally broke out into laughter. “You’ve been with me my whole life, you and Subinnie. I want the both of you next to me. You’ll be my best man, Subinnie will be my maid of honor.”
Still in the middle of an emotional episode, Jeonghan could only ask, “You’re allowed to have both?”
Jihoon laughed again, because he was so mean. Even when he was being so sweet, he was mean. Jeonghan couldn’t stand him. He adored him and he wanted to kill him. “Yes, hyung. I’m having coffee tomorrow with Subin, I’ll tell her then.”
“Fuck, you told me first?” Jeonghan asked, running both hands through his hair in near-distress. “Subin is going to kill me. Thank you. I am going to hold it over her head for the rest of our lives until she kills me.”
“You over-dramatic bitch, come here and hug me.”
“You’re letting me hug you?!”
It took Jihoon a good three minutes to successfully peel Jeonghan off of him (Jeonghan takes every opportunity to be physically affectionate with Jihoon with both hands and holds on tightly, knowing that the next chance might never come again), taking him by the shoulders and forcing him back down on the bench.
“Shut the fuck up, wait,” Jihoon groused when Jeonghan started whining. “I’m not done yet—hyung!”
“Okay, okay, got it,” Jeonghan said, acquiescing. “Life changing news out of the way now, tell me the other thing.”
Jihoon pressed his lips together, and as quickly as Jeonghan’s initial trepidation turned to joy, the switch back was just as fast.
“Jihoon-ah,” he said. He wanted to close his eyes again. “You can just tell me.”
“I don’t think I can,” Jihoon replied. He was working his mouth around the words. “Because I want my wedding to go well. I want things to happen exactly as we planned, and because of that I know that this is going to be difficult and I’m not looking forward to it.”
“Hoon-ah, come on...”
“I’m telling you this because I don’t want to hurt you,” Jihoon said, tone so grave that it sent a spike of nerves up Jeonghan’s back. “I’m telling you this because we need—I need—you to get your reaction out of the way now. Because you’re going to be an important part of this wedding, and I care about you so much, and I need for this to work.”
“Lee Jihoon, just tell me,” Jeonghan prompted. His nails were biting into his palms, and he could feel the weird hot-cold of his sweat pooling there. “Let me be an adult and handle it.”
“Jisoo’s going to be there,” Jihoon said, words rushing out of him so fast that Jeonghan barely caught them, but (unfortunately, fortunately, he didn’t know) he managed. “He’s going to be Seungcheol’s best man.”
A silence fell so hard and so fast that Jeonghan felt the whiplash of it in his stomach.
“Oh,” he said, because really truly, what else was there to say? What right did he have to complain? To object in any way? “Okay.”
Jihoon looked so dubious it would have made Jeonghan laugh in better circumstances. “Okay?”
Jeonghan shook his head, and then shrugged. There was a weight in his throat that he couldn’t for the life of him swallow around. His feet felt numb and his hands were halfway there. “Okay, Jihoon-ah. Okay.”
“I expected more protesting, I can’t lie to you,” Jihoon said, seemingly at just as much of a loss as Jeonghan was.
“I can’t,” Jeonghan said, and if he could only claw his way out of his skin, he would have done it already. The sheer discomfort of this moment was making him want to throw up. “I want to throw up, but I won’t, and I can’t.”
“Hyung—”
Jeonghan held up a hand to stop him before he could go further. “Jihoon, it’s your wedding. It’s Seungcheol’s wedding. I have no say in what you decide to do. And I understand how important Shu—he is to the both of you, regardless of whatever happened between us, okay?” He paused, breathed in deep through his nose, out through his mouth. “You were right to tell me in advance, thank you. You’ve done me a kindness, okay? You aren't being mean or unfair in asking this of me.”
Another pause. Jeonghan looked out into the garden. He chewed on his bottom lip. The cold that began at his feet had reached his middle, his chest.
“When,” he started, and then stopped. He glanced at Jihoon for a second and then looked away again. He wished for many impossible things all at once. “When does he get here?”
There was something like remorse in the slant of Jihoon’s mouth. “In two months. We’re sure he’s staying until the wedding, but he might stay for a bit more afterwards.”
“Okay,” Jeonghan said, repeating it a few more times under his breath like a spell. Like if he said it enough, it would make it true. “Okay.”
Two months until he would have to face him again. That was enough time.
(It wasn’t.)
Jeonghan could do it.
(He couldn’t.)
He could manage. He’d be all right.
(He had to be.)
(He had no other choice.)
When we were little, we made houses out of cardboard boxes.
We can do anything. It's not because our hearts are large,
they're not, it's what we struggle with.