Healing by Third Intention - Chapter 5 - jiminly (2024)

Chapter Text

When the door is flung back, Jeongin puts on his best awkward bread face, and there is Hwang Hyunjin.

His eyes light up, like Hyunjin really didn't believe Jeongin would visit him at his apartment until the truth of it is right in front of him.

It was Hyunjin’s idea, for Jeongin to get ready with him before the cathedral lights date. With a big schedule the day after, Hyunjin is playing designated driver as well, to the cathedral and then a reservation at a barbecue restaurant later on. The free lift already too good a deal to pass up, also knowing Hyunjin is moving to Australia soon, the right thing was to say yes.

“Innie!” Hyunjin screeches at a pitch that could summon dogs (and does, as something within the apartment starts yapping uncontrollably). Mortifyingly, but not unpredictably, Jeongin is grabbed, lifted off the ground and spun around. Jeongin doesn’t even scream as usual, just lets his whole body flop into a dead weight, hoping it will throw Hyunjin off balance. It doesn’t, Hyunjin evidently loads stronger since they were in the band. He's fairly certain he heard someone at Minho’s party say Hyunjin had started doing his own stunts.

Which, is just like Hyunjin. Jeongin bets that man would figure out a way to invent a cloning machine, if it meant he didn't have to have a whole separate human be his body double.

Jeongin is finally placed back on solid land, only for Hyunjin to attack his washed, but unstyled, hair. Running his fingers through it with throaty exclamations of cute aggression. Jeongin hoots in dismay, batting Hyunjin away properly now. “Hyung!” Jeongin snaps with a glare, thick-rimmed, lensless glasses askew on his nose. The ones to partially obscure his bare face from the elements (other people).

Hyunjin grins back sheepishly. Something soft frantically pads around Jeongin’s ankles, and he looks down to see a small, fluffy dog pawing at his pants. “Hi,” Jeongin says to it softly, reaching down to give it a scratch behind the ears.

“Yeou!” Hyunjin reprimands lightly, bending down to pick up the cream-coloured dog, cradling it in his arms. “Look! You finally meet your namesake!”

Yeou yips.

Jeongin wants to explode with embarrassment. A dog named fox, with the same colour coat as a fennec. It’s basically a canine version of Foxi.ny. Jeongin pushes the hair Hyunjin mussedout of his eyes, knocking his glasses back onto his nose. “Don’t doom your pets like that,” Jeongin pouts.

Hyunjin gasps, holding Yeou closer against his chest, dramatically protecting it. “Don’t listen to your mean uncle, Yeou-yah.” He smushes his face in and around the dog’s plush ears. “You’re daddy’s perfect little pudding princess, yes you are. Yes, you are!”

“Hyung,” Jeongin prompts flatly.

“Alright, alright,” Hyunjin says, setting Yeou down on the tiled floor. She tipper-taps up the two shallow steps from the hyeongwan, turning around and waiting for them both expectantly. She's so cute. Jeongin wants a companion so bad. It's not fair.

Entering properly, Jeongin brings a small roller luggage in behind him and toes off his loafers. Then he walks up the wide, short hallway into the threshold of the apartment.

It… sure is something.

For a start, it looks like a chaebol penthouse straight out of a drama. The living space is gigantic, backdropped by two storeys of windows overlooking the mountains and neighbourhoods of northern Seoul, currently drenched in afternoon sun. In the center, a sunken lounge that could host at least twenty whole humans. There’s a large dining table to the right, and to the left, an area that looks as though it was supposed to be for watching television. Except there, the couch and coffee table have been pushed against the huge windowed wall so the space can be made into a haphazard painting studio instead.

Near to the dining table is a staircase which leads to a second floor, its rooms partially visible from within the huge chasm of the main living area. Like an apartment within an apartment. How many of Jeongin's own square feet studio can fit into this place? He doesn't want to know.

What is getting Jeongin, however, is the random stuff that is strewn everywhere. Designer shopping bags haphazardly over the dining table, empty energy drink cans and wine bottles along the windowsills. Bags of trash and cardboard stacked up in a spacious corner, waiting to be taken down. Dog toys scattered across every inch of tiled floor. So many piles of crap and things he can’t even begin to identify.

The mess, that’s fine, that’s their Hyunjin.

This apartment?! What was Hyunjin thinking when he bought this? It doesn't suit him at all!

“Hyung,” Jeongin says again, judgemental.

“Ah, I know,” Hyunjin sighs, holding his palms to his cheeks and shaking his head sorrily. “Ignore all that, I didn't get a chance to clean up.”

“Not that.”

“Don't point it out,” Hyunin flusters, embarrassed. “I promise I’m trying to sell it!”

Jeongin gives him an incredulous look.

“I am!” Hyunjin goes on, pressing his hands together in plea. “I just– I saw it and thought, I could throw lots of parties.”

“Hyung. You hate parties.”

“I know!” Hyunjin wallows, throwing a forearm over his eyes and gurgling out in agony. When he's settled down, he asks if Jeongin wants a drink, which feels more like a subject change from the ridiculous apartment situation.

Grabbing Jeongin’s wrist, Hyunjin pulls him into the apartment proper. Yeou yaps happily and trots along beside their feet. Jeongin gets distracted by a dried spill of something or other on the floor. He wonders how many months, or years, that spill has been there. Such a thing would never have been allowed in the Paris apartment.

They continue past a bar with a huge, stocked wine fridge behind it, and into the kitchen. It is shockingly tiny considering how huge the apartment is.

As if Minho wouldn’t hate this place enough, this cramped kitchen would set him off proper. He's probably already given Hyunjin a piece of his mind about it, so Jeongin doesn't need to belabour the point, as much as he should.

“I’ve got– ah,” Hyunjin says, faltering as he throws the doors of the fridge open. The only things inside are an uncovered plate of cheese, mould on it, three hot sauces and a couple dozen bottles of meal replacement drinks. “Orange juice,” Hyunjin finds in the door shelves, pulling out the carton and looking at the label, “– that expired last August. Let me order something!”

“Hyung, it’s fine,” Jeongin gasps, trying to place his hands over Hyunjin’s. Still, Hyunjin goes to fetch his phone out of his linen pants, only to discover it’s not in his pocket. “I’ll just have water.”

Hyunjin’s face crumples lovingly, then wraps Jeongin up in a big hug again. “I’m sorry your favourite hyung is such a bad host!” He pulls back sharply, anchored into Jeongin’s shoulders and narrowing his eyes. “I am still your favourite hyung, yes?”

“Of course,” Jeongin says, saccharine sweet, batting his eyelashes.

“Good,” Hyunjin says lightly, pulling him back into the hug, like he’s protecting Jeongin who is too pure for this world. “Just checking. I never know these days.”

Jeongin grimaces against Hyunjin’s collarbone.

He knows about Minho-hyung.

“Did you find your way alright from Apgujeong?” Hyunjin asks, once Jeongin has his glass of water and has been escorted to Hyunjin’s bedroom and walk-in closet (both as unnecessarily excessive as the rest of the house).

Hearing the location, Jeongin freezes for a beat, eyes widening. He’s thankful he's got his back to Hyunjin, so it doesn't give away his expression. In front of him, the small luggage case he brought is open to sort through the various garments he brought as options. “I did used to live here, you know,” Jeongin tells him, hoping the derision masks his hesitation.

Actually, he didn't even come from Dongja, he made his way here straight from Minho’s place, where he stayed over last night.

But Jeongin is not going to tell Hyunjin that either.

“Hmm,” Hyunjin says from above Jeongin, who glances up. He has his hands on his hips appraisingly. “What did you bring?”

“Some options. I can do all black, or denim, or black and cream.”

Hyunjin frowns. “Where’s your colour? You look best in colour.”

“Well. I can’t really go there and back now–!”

“Borrow something of mine!” Hyunjin decides, hauling Jeongin to his feet and guiding him deeper into the closet. He gasps suddenly, hugging around Jeongin’s midsection from behind, waddling with him. “We should do couples outfits!”

If there’s ever an idea to throw off the scent of the whole Minho thing, that’s it. And even without the Minho thing, Jeongin would want to do that with Hyunjin anyway.

Jeongin ends up choosing a faux fur fuzzy jacket by Marni in bright emerald green as the statement piece, since it matches his true spring palette well. The rest of the outfit is black, a skin tight turtleneck and baggy slacks which cinch in at the waist to accentuate his inverted triangle figure, giving him a slightly more hourglass shape. He thinks Minho will like that. For accessories, he borrows a Saint Laurent necklace with two silver razor blades pendants, adds a couple extra rings to his fingers and, of course, his go-to McQueen belt.

To match, Hyunjin sources Prada trousers in a close emerald colour as Jeongin's jacket, then balances it with a cream Louis Vuitton monogram crop jacket under a Versace full length black wool coat. It’s oversized with a shearling collar which plays off well with the material of Jeongin’s jacket. It’s a more understated silhouette for Hyunjin for sure, and Jeongin thinks that he's done it deliberately to allow Jeongin to shine more.

“f*ck, we look hot,” Hyunjin says with a relaxed pose, standing next to each other in front of a garish full length mirror with a gold gilded frame. It’s a head-turning ensemble for sure, even before they’ve done their hair and make up.

Jeongin’s heart hurts, looking at this picture. How many fashion weeks have they missed out on, which they could have attended together like this?

After agonising over their skin and hair for an ungodly amount of time, sharing products and grievances about their ageing faces, Hyunjin takes Jeongin deeper into his apartment. This time, to an utterly bare spare room with not even a small window. It might be a storage room, actually, but the only thing in here is some type of professional lighting setup.

“Don’t judge me, this is where I take my photos for SNS,” Hyunjin says, turning on the lights one by one from a network of extension cables along the floor. “We can take more outside after, too. But look!” He does something with the settings, making the colour of cast first to a sunrise, then daylight, then golden hour. As if the room really did have windows. It’s an impressive illusion and a completely unnecessary home configuration. Jeongin doesn’t even want to think about how much this all would have cost Hyunjin.

“Why would I judge you,” Jeongin says, monotone and with a facetious smile.

Immediately, Hyunjin’s expression flattens, like he forgot just how much of a little sh*t Jeongin could be. He points to the sunset coloured wall. “Stand there already.”

They spend way too long taking pictures of each other, to the point Jeongin’s worried they’re going to end up being late meeting the others. It’s an uncomfortable itch. Jeongin likes to plan his daily activities ahead of time and it seems that Hyunjin still flies through his life by the seat of his pants. Jeongin knows, logically, that he should be grateful for this time, that Hyunjin wants to spend the precious minutes of his busy day with him. He should not worry so much about being late, so Jeongin internally scolds himself. Tries to just– not care.

It’s so hard.

He is a chronic carer. He cares about everything.

They finish taking photos in the special lighting room and also on Hyunjin's rooftop patio too, catching the last light of golden hour. Retiring to the sunken couch, Jeongin pushes aside an empty cardboard box and some bubble wrap to make space for himself. Yeou is running in little circles on the floor, claws clicking against the tiles.

“Keep the jacket,” Hyunjin says, and Jeongin pauses, halfway to sitting down, looking at Hyunjin with confusion. “I need to sell a bunch of stuff that I’m not shipping to Australia, and it looks better on you than me, so just keep it.”

“Oh,” Jeongin utters, finally perching on the couch. “As long as you won’t miss it.” It’s a nice jacket, after all. “Thanks hyung.”

“It was PR anyway,” Hyunjin says, waving his hand vaguely. “If there’s anything else you want, let me know and I can drop it off at your place. Pretty sure I’ve still got some McQueen stuff, if you’re interested.”

Jeongin is interested.

“Okay, I’ll think about it,” he lies, turning his face away and gritting his teeth behind his lips. Shame he can’t adopt any of Hyunjin’s hand-me-downs if that’s the caveat. His gaze falls onto the massive flatscreen television on the far wall, half hidden by a large painting which seems to be either half-finished or a work in progress. “Are you selling your TV too?” he asks.

“You want it?” Hyunjin asks, bending down to scoop the energetic Yeou into his lap. “You can just have it.”

“Oh, no,” Jeongin frets. “Minho-hyung’s television broke, and that one looks like it’s about the same size. I just thought, maybe he’d like it.”

Hyunjin looks in the same direction for a moment, quietly. “Sure,” he says after a pause, “if he wants to buy it off me, he can let me know himself.”

Minho should be really happy with that. Jeongin smiles to himself. He did a good thing.

As the conversation lapses into a comfortable silence, Jeongin flips through the new pictures in his phone, a warmth in his chest. Hyunjin always did take the best photos of him. He cares about Jeongin’s angles and manages to bring out his personality and silliness as well, capturing endearing candid moments. It's really nice, actually. Jeongin missed a lot while he was away, but he didn't realise how much he missed this ritual with Hyunjin specifically.

Out of all the guys, Hyunjin's maybe the one Jeongin’s on the closest level with now. If they were able to live close by, the bestie potential would be off the charts.

Shame, then, Hyunjin is going to be moving to Australia soon. Weeks away, not months, he said. Jeongin is going to be so sad when that happens.

Jeongin knows he should put at least one of these photos up on SNS, but he's still not ready. The idea of putting his head above the parapet, of being perceived, is terrifying. In France, Jeongin was largely a nobody, but in Korea, the public discourse could be brutal. He doesn't know if he can survive that alone again.

It is unfortunate that no one else will get to see these pics, though. They're good snaps. Jeongin flicks through again, starring his favourite photos. He likes the one outside where he’s leaning against the wall, and the one where his leg is extended forward, making him look taller. Another with his head tilted back, accentuating his jaw and neck. A profile shot. A walking shot. There’s even one where he’s smiling, a little blurred, where Hyunjin made a joke and caught him between poses.

He opens up his private chat with Minho, planning to send just one or two, but he likes all of them for all their unique ways. He sends all ten starred photos.

The marker jumps, showing that Minho reads it immediately. A second later, he gets a reply.

nyang hyung 😽
😻🥵🥵

Jeongin cannot stop the grin from spreading from ear to ear. His heart skips a beat in his chest, something hotter swooping lower in his stomach. Even though Minho doesn't care about fashion, he hasn't been stingy with his compliments since they reconnected. He always goes out of his way to tell Jeongin he looks good, or hot, or pretty. Has never made Jeongin feel embarrassed about his vanity. Just, supportive. Always.

Supportive and steady.

Jeongin's rock in the storm.

Feeling benevolent, Jeongin takes a selca, close up to his face and pushes his lips forward to make them duck-like.

bebepani
[photo]
💋

nyang hyung 😽
stop??
im about to leave and you’re going to make me late!¡!!?

Jeongin laughs at his phone, gasping inhales between each bray.

“Innie,” Hyunjin says.

“Mm?” Jeongin hums, a delay in his attention dragging away from the phone, letting it rest in his lap and locking it.

“Are you and Minho-hyung dating?”

sh*t.

Jeongin tries really hard to act natural, but his whole body electrifies hot and cold. The sweat is quick to pool on his nape. “No,” he says, pitched higher than he’d prefer.

Hyunjin narrows his eyes. “You're just friends?”

Hesitation. “Well–”

f*ck, he really can’t act for sh*t!

“God. That's so, so crazy,” Hyunjin breathes out, staring at Jeongin like he's fully lost the plot. “For real, like? You and Minho-hyung?”

“It's not– We’re not– It’s not a big deal!”

“Uh, I don't know about that, Innie. You just got out of a relationship… a how long relationship?”

This is bad. A slippery slope.

“Nearly twelve years,” Jeongin answers quietly, chewing on the inside of his lip.

“A twelve year relationship with an abuser,” Hyunjin clarifies, and Jeongin flinches, heart rabbiting in his chest. Hyunjin actually said it, he said that word. “– and I know I'm not supposed to use that term but f*ck it, I am going to because it's true. She was an abuser, and now you're jumping head first into another relationship!” The dam thoroughly shattered, Hyunjin flusters a little, then adds, “Not that I think Minho-hyung is an abuser, obviously, but–”

Jeongin cuts him off, gasping out, “I wasn't–” Abused. “She wasn't–”

The floor feels so wobbly under his feet, like they’re on a cruise ship navigating rough seas instead of a concrete building bolted into the earth.

“She was, she was,” Hyunjin says pleadingly. “You can say it. You were abused, Jeongin-ah.” He stares at Jeongin for a second, then huffs out, running a hand back through his hair. “I'm just– worried you're in a really fragile state right now. I’m sure it's fun with hyung and all, but I'm worried about you. Is this what you even want? Have you talked about this with him? Like, I can't wrap my head around how you two even… it's so weird, Jeongin. You and Minho-hyung. That's some bizarro sh*t, like, I didn't even think hyung liked men like that.”

“It’s just,” Jeongin utters out, trying to grasp for any words which will make this conversation go away, “a bit of meaningless fun.”

Is it, though?

How is Jeongin supposed to think of the soft fondness in Minho’s eyes meaningless, after he pecked Jeongin’s cheek outside of the cafe. The desperate kisses after Jeongin plays the piano for him. The whispered possessiveness: never get into someone else’s car again. I’ll drive you everywhere you need to go.

It’s– starting to not feel like maybe it's not just meaningless fun to Minho.

“What do you really want?” Hyunjin asks, far more gentle now. He scooches closer, taking one of Jeongin’s hands and giving it a small squeeze.

Jeongin looks up. What he wants? Ha.

Nothing has ever been about what Jeongin wants. Not since the day he was escorted out of the JYPE building for the final time.

What does Jeongin want?

“– Kids,” Jeongin answers after a long, long pause.

He cannot have kids with Minho. Physically or logistically. Korea does not allow same sex adoption. It is barely accepting of same sex couples. Even still, after all the progress that has been made over the decade he was away. Slow, agonisingly slow progress.

It’s been strange, a reverse culture shock, to come back to Korea from sexually liberated Europe and be shoved back into a box he didn't realise he'd been in to begin with.

Yet, this is the place he is finally exploring that side of himself.

“Do you want something serious with hyung?” Hyunjin asks now. Jeongin understands what he’s saying in the silence. If you choose Minho-hyung, you won’t be able to have the life you really want.

“No,” Jeongin says automatically. Then, “I don’t know.”

“I’m just– saying be careful,” Hyunjin says, probably sensing Jeongin’s retreat from the topic. A sore spot. A bruise. “I don’t really know what you both are doing; this really feels like out of nowhere for me. I always thought hyung–... But I suppose if he’s gay… that makes more sense.” His eyes fall on Jeongin again. “You’re like porcelain right now, Jeongin, and I don’t want anyone to take advantage of that. Not even Minho-hyung. You deserve time to heal and to reconnect with who you are.”

Ten years ago, Jeongin would have responded to those words very differently. Hyunjin has always been direct about things, wields a certain candour, the same even when they were younger. He knows what he feels, and he isn’t afraid to let others know where he’s at. It’s kind of not fair, how come Hyunjin gets to have all the good looks and the emotional maturity?

Hyunjin is being honest, not tip-toeing around Jeongin like the others are, and it’s actually refreshing.

It’s nice that someone isn’t blindly supportive of whatever is going on between himself and Minho. It makes Jeongin feel less crazy.

Because it also feels out of nowhere for Jeongin. It's been hard to be careful, when Minho suddenly likes Jeongin so much and wants to look after him. Like some sort of stray cat.

Should Jeongin be honest with Hyunjin too?

Should he tell him about the Paris exhibition?

“Okay. I’ll be careful, hyung. I promise,” Jeongin ultimately decides on. He gives Hyunjin a little smile, who’s face becomes very warm in return, filled with relief.

“Anyway!” Hyunjin exasperates, changing the subject in a move which feels merciful for Jeongin’s sake. “I can’t believe there’s two more queers in the group. Like, we literally multiplied overnight.”

Oh yeah. Jeongin hadn't thought about it like that. Both Hyunjin and Jisung seem to care very much about their sexualities, they must have bonded over that a lot around when Hyunjin publicly came out. Before he left, Jeongin had no idea any of them might not be straight, honestly. All he knew was that he was bisexual, probably, and statistically, there was a chance someone else in the band might be too. It was a thought that would comfort him, though he couldn't go about confirming it. That he wasn't alone with his sexual confusion.

But four of them? Hiding in plain sight like that?!

“I always thought Felix-hyung might be bi?” Jeongin puts in.

“Yeeah,” Hyunjin says, voice rising, unconvinced. “I think he’s just cuddly.” He taps his heel against the ground in thought, idly stroking Yeou’s fur, who has settled in his lap, her eyes closed. “Is Chan-hyung dating, when you were staying with him? Because that whole thing–” he waves a hand vaguely in the air, as if Chan was standing in the middle of the conversation pit, “– that’s sad.”

“He’s on dating apps,” Jeongin answers, thinking back to his brief time at Chan’s, “but he said he wasn’t having a lot of luck.”

“What luck, he’s the most unfussy guy I know?”

Jeongin shrugs. Maybe he should’ve paid a little more attention to Chan’s plight at the time, but he was still in that intense post-break up survival mode. Also, what advice can he give Chan about relationships? Look at his track record.

Hyunjin’s eyebrows twitch at Jeongin conspiratorially. That’s a dangerous look. “Think we can score Chan-hyung some dick?”

Jeongin makes a melodramatic face, paired with a sound of disgust. He does not want to think about Chan taking anything up the bum. Or vice versa. That guy is practically his dad.

“Oh, but Minho-hyung is fine,” Hyunjin deadpans, rolling his eyes at him.

“That’s so different,” Jeongin says with exasperation.

“It is so not. Thinking about any of the guys like that.” Hyunjin turns his head and mock dry-heaves. “I know what all their crusty old sneakers smell like. Ew.” He does a small double-take back to Jeongin, then leaning back and crossing his arms, appraising him very seriously. This knocks Yeou off his lap and onto the couch, who looks very perturbed at her nap being disturbed. “Though… knowing you’re into guys, I could look past the smelly shoes for you, baby.”

It’s fascinating, that when Hyunjin calls him baby, there’s no reaction in Jeongin’s body whatsoever.

But when Minho says it…

“I wash my insoles now,” Jeongin says, sitting up straighter, shoulders wiggling with pride.

“Oh!” Hyunjin coos. “You have grown up!”

–

As Jeongin suspects, they are late.

Not by much, thankfully. When one is arriving with Hyunjin, he supposes, that is the sacrifice that must be made. Jeongin’s relieved, then, to discover they’re not the last to arrive as they find the others at the agreed meeting place. Seungmin, in full incognito, gives them one look, then immediately turns his palms up in exasperation and whispers something in Changbin’s ear. Jeongin keeps his smile pursed, even behind his mask. He was hoping for some good reactions when he and Hyunjin showed up ready for Seoul Fashion Week, not a night out with the boys.

“Did I not get the memo?” Changbin asks, gesturing to the storm blue puffer jacket that’s straining around his muscles.

“Carhartt is cool,” Jeongin offers.

Chan gives them both a big, doting smile. He steps forward, welcoming both Jeongin and Hyunjin with a clapped hand grab and a warm hug on the shoulder. “Did you have fun?”

“We did, thank you very much,” Hyunjin says, moving to Seungmin next to try and pull off his beanie and mask, where they both get into a light scuffle.

“Hello, hyung,” Jeongin says to Chan, who gives him such a beam of happiness, it makes Jeongin want to melt and disappear between the pavement.

Jeongin greets Jisung, the objectively next fashionable, dressed in all black. He has on a long skirt with buttons lining the side and an oversized collared shirt draping down past where his hips are hidden. It’s finished off with an unconventional, loose tie and a plain kimono coat which seems to be constructed out of high quality fabric. None of it has any brand Jeongin could name, it’s not designer, but it doesn’t matter. Jisung looks gorgeous, the silhouette masking his body shape, like a mannequin draped in many cloths before construction of the garment can begin.

Next is Changbin, who tries to squeeze the goddamn life out of Jeongin with his stupid biceps. “Are you staying the night, then?” Jeongin asks. He wonders if Changbin drove up especially for this, or if he was already working at Jisung’s company earlier in the day and they came together.

“It really will have to be a lowkey one for me,” Changbin says with a bashful pout. “I promised Somin I would be home before midnight.”

With neither Changbin or Hyunjin drinking heavily tonight, the vibes will certainly suffer. If anything, it means the festivities will wrap up earlier than Jeongin thought they might. At Minho’s party, they were still going strong well past 4 a.m. Tonight sounds like it will barely make it to midnight.

The irony is Myeongdong, where they are now, is walking distance from Jeongin’s apartment in Dongja, but the barbecue place they’re going to later is all the way on the other side of Mapo. It’s so cruel. For once, one of these get-togethers could’ve been convenient for him, but he’s still yet to figure out how he’s getting home tonight.

Maybe that’s one for future Jeongin.

Sorry, Future Jeongin.

Jeongin foregoes a hello to Seungmin (who is currently trying to put Hyunjin in a headlock) to where Minho is standing at the outer of the group. He’s dressed modestly, a black FILA puffer to his calves, baggy jeans and fancy platform Converse sneakers, which equalises their height with Jeongin’s McQueen Tread Slick boots. They look at each other for a split second, an awkward comedy in the air between them that only they are privy to. Mutually, they lean forward to bump shoulders, like a pair of close buddies would. Drawing back, Minho doesn’t immediately loosen the hold on Jeongin's hand.

“You wore jeans,” Jeongin says.

“Well, it is a special occasion,” Minho replies, a private smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Jeongin’s lips pinch together, suppressing a grin, and finally they disconnect. When he turns around, he sees all the others were eyeing the both of them, quietly analysing the interaction. Heat prickles on Jeongin’s cheeks, and he snorts upon seeing that Seungmin’s beanie was commandeered by a very self-satisfied Hyunjin, black strands of his hair standing on all ends.

“Where’s my hello?” Seungmin bullies.

“Only pretty people get hellos,” Jeongin shoots back with a dismissive shrug. Behind him, Minho laughs.

“I’m pretty!” Changbin cheers, throwing his hands around Jisung’s shoulders, the both of them jumping up and down. “Iyen-ah thinks we’re pretty!”

Five minutes later, Felix arrives, the last to do so. He's breathing heavily, hands on his knees from wherever station or street he’s jogged from. The man honestly looks like a walking North Face ad. Jeongin’s seen the vlogs, he lives his entire life out of a single suitcase and a hiking backpack. Stuff of nightmares. Jeongin couldn’t do it. Absolutely no.

“We were supposed to dress up?” Felix says, once he's released his hug from Jeongin, hands on his shoulders as he looks at Hyunjin. “I would’ve bought something!”

“Yes, why didn’t anyone think of Felix’s chronic FOMO?” Jisung grins, hands relaxed in his pockets.

“M’really so sorry I'm late!” Felix goes on, like he might not have heard Jisung, looking pleadingly at Chan after greeting him. “Tasia sends her apologies, she's come down with that awful cough/cold thing that's going around.”

“Oh no,” says Chan.

Jeongin had honestly forgotten Felix was planning on bringing Tasia tonight. He likes Tasia, but– wasn't it supposed to be a boys thing?

He exchanges a look with Hyunjin, who seems confused, but also like he somehow anticipated this.

“Aww,” Jisung offers, perhaps only heartfelt to Felix’s ears. Gently, he places his hands on Felix’s shoulders to direct to where Minho, Changbin and Seungmin are mulling over a gilgeori toast stand, but not before shooting a dubious frown over his shoulder. Chan rolls his lips together to fight down a smirk, before following after them too.

Jeongin and Hyunjin have to throw their hands over their mouths to suppress the eruption of laughter, turning into each other. “Who’s going to tell him he doesn’t have to bring his girlfriend with him everywhere,” Jeongin murmurs cheekily. At that, Hyunjin gives him a wide-eyed, expectant expression of disapproval and Jeongin’s mouth snaps shut with a click.

“Convenient,” Hyunjin says, “that your new boyfriend also happens to be part of the friend group.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Jeongin hisses, shoving him.

“Mmhm,” Hyunjin trills sarcastically, putting his hands in his coat pockets and is about to mosey on over to the others when Jeongin reaches out to grab Hyunjin’s coat, stopping him. Hyunjin does pause, looking over his shoulder.

“Wait. I need to tell you something,” Jeongin murmurs. Hyunjin doesn’t respond, just raises a brow at Jeongin, waiting for him. God, here goes. The inside of Jeongin’s mouth is going to come apart with the way he’s chewing it. “In 2034, hyung, your exhibition in Paris–”

Hyunjin visibly panics. “Oh, baby, no, it’s okay–”

“No, let me finish,” Jeongin shuts him up. His hands are quivering. “I was going to come, I was coming but– something stopped me,” he admits, after so, so long, and Hyunjin goes very still, very quiet, eyes widening. Jeongin doesn’t want to share with Hyunjin the reason behind the car accident, but he can at least tell him this. “I wanted to be there to support you, and tell you how proud I was of you. That I missed you. Never forgot about you.” Jeongin’s bottom lip worries, and he has to work to force back tears. He really doesn’t want to ruin the make up he worked hard on. They just got here. “I loved– love you always. Even when we didn’t talk. I thought about you all the time.”

Emotional, Hyunjin steps forward, almost falling into Jeongin, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and squeezing tight. Jeongin fists the back of Hyunjin’s coat, wincing through the sharp pinch of his rotator cuff. That old scar, marked on Jeongin’s body forever.

The scar which he has, because he loves Hyunjin so much.

The pain of the accident can never compare to the agony of the regret he would feel by not trying to be at that exhibition that day.

Of all the heartaches Jeongin has in his life, at least that will never be one of them.

“I know,” Hyunjin whispers, turning his lips into Jeongin’s hair. “I never stopped believing in you, Jeongin-ah. I knew I would see you again.”

“I’m sorry,” Jeongin murmurs, anchoring his palms into Hyunjin’s back. Nearer to the food stand, Jisung is complaining with Changbin that the whole point of this meet-up was to get a group photo, not gorge on street food, their voices loud and booming, disturbing the moment. It’s annoying. It’s wonderful.

It’s home.

“Don’t be sorry. I love you,” Hyunjin whispers. Only now the tears seep in the corner of Jeongin’s eyes. “I’ll always love you, too.” He pulls back, squeezing Jeongin’s upper arms. “Come on, let’s go get this stupid group photo before one of Han’s nuts explode.”

Jeongin gives a small, wet giggle, dabbing the heels of his palms under his eyes.

Once Seungmin manages to drag Minho away from the gilgeori toast stand, they walk in a gaggle up the paved pedestrian streets towards the cathedral. The air is frosty and romantic, a bell tinkling somewhere further ahead. Hyunjin sticks close to Jeongin, but eventually Felix flanks his other side, who is telling them about a seventy-two hour survival challenge he’s planning to do later in the year. Hyunjin is firmly against the idea, concerned that Felix is too pretty to starve himself on some sh*thole island. At this point, Jisung gets wind of the conversation and hangs back a few steps to enthuse to them about the manchineel tree that is native on such islands. Apparently there’s a fruit on it which tastes delicious at first before becoming tingly, closing up the throat and asphyxiating the victim. Jeongin once again is left impressed that Jisung manages to be so eloquent around the five piercings punctured through his lips.

“Don’t go, Yongbok!” Hyunjin cries out, side-stepping Jeongin to smash Felix into a death grip. “Don’t die!”

Jeongin just laughs silently, face scrunching up as he smiles through it.

“Who’s dying?” Changbin asks, looking over his shoulder.

“Felix!” Hyunjin bellows. “He wants to abandon me on this mortal plane!”

“Don’t do it, Felix,” Chan jokes, also pausing for a few steps to let the others catch up. Minho and Seungmin are ahead, talking to each other, though Minho does look around at the commotion. He makes eye contact with Jeongin, which seems like it might have been accidental, as his gaze flickering and mouth pressing into a quick, tight line before turning back to the front. Minho’s cheeks were red around his mask, but that might just be from the cold.

“I’m not going to eat the stupid poison fruit!” Felix laughs, trying to release himself from Hyunjin now putting him into some kind of double arm lock behind his back. He doesn’t succeed because he doesn’t really fight back. Jeongin wonders if he’s that pathetic in bed too.

Tasia did seem rather the spunky type when Jeongin met her. Bossy, even.

Hmm.

They pass by the steps that lead down to the swanky underground shopping center and the lights of the cathedral come into view, its spire proud and illuminated. On the slanted hillside before it, the gothic architecture is now surrounded by the soft light of thousands of light up flowers springing up from the ground, a whole field of them. Jeongin’s remembers that they always set up a nativity scene closer to the cathedral building. He always wanted to go to a Christmas mass here, but never had the time to around the band’s end of year schedules. It’s all so glittery and pretty and warm. Jeongin loves Christmas so much.

It’s a true blessing, that he gets to be here with his old members. Even a few months ago, he never would have dreamed to be here right now, with them like this.

There are some smaller walkways between the flower lights, but they come to a collective stop in front of a set of wide concrete steps. This leads directly up to the main entrance of the cathedral, imposing against the vast sky, which has settled from dusk into night. Hyunjin and Jisung immediately start to devise a plan on how to clear the steps of people long enough to get the group photo, and who’s phone has the best camera.

“Tell me a fun fact,” comes Minho’s voice close to Jeongin’s ear. Jeongin manages not to jolt at it, gaze flicking to see that Minho has decided to quietly stand next to him. He does have to fight down a shiver, flexing his hands in his jacket pockets.

“Mm,” Jeongin hums, glancing up to the spire lit up in a pretty, pale blue. “It’s the oldest Roman Catholic cathedral in the country.” His eyes flick over to a sign proclaiming that it’s the cathedral’s 140th anniversary, the year included in the poster’s funky graphic design. “It was consecrated in 1898.”

“Consecrated, what does that mean?” Minho asks, voice pitching into something lower and slightly suggestive.

What the hell.

What could possibly be horny about this, Lee Minho?

The man is incorrigible.

“Erected,” Jeongin says, shooting Minho a warning glare.

Minho gives a pinched, proud smile back. “Interesting.”

“Those little sh*ts are hogging the steps!” Hyunjin hisses loudly, pulling Jeongin’s attention away from his whispered conversation.

“Hyunjin!” Felix baulks. “The children!”

“I’m with Jinnie,” Changbin, the literal father of two, says. His voice raises to a dangerous pitch as he adds, “Respect your elders! It’s our turn–!” until Seungmin forcibly shoves Changbin’s own scarf into his mouth to stop the sound. Chan’s eyes go squeezy, laughing and doing absolutely nothing to try and regain some order to the group. Jeongin supposes he’s done his time as leader enough.

Jeongin looks up to the steps, seeing the group of teenagers that Hyunjin is referring to. They are hogging the steps, but only because they’re having fun, crowding around the playback screen on a professional camera. Something soft breezes on his neck, Minho blowing on him, and Jeongin does shiver now, snapping his eyes to the perpetrator, who is staring at him innocently.

“Can you not be annoying for one second?” Jeongin challenges, pulling down his mask to give Minho the full brunt of his frustration.

Minho’s gaze circles down to Jeongin’s lips, then back to his eyes, grinning.

And now the others are arguing about who should go up to tell the kids to scram. Changbin and Seungmin are nominating each other, and it’s getting heated, until Felix starts up an impromptu game of rock paper scissors as the diplomatic decider.

With a hopeless sigh, Jeongin reaffixes his mask, then steps away from Minho, squeezing around Chan. He walks up to the kids himself, just short of a jog. “Hello,” he says, specifically to the one who’s wearing the camera strap, but all of them snap up to look at him, their jubilant conversation falling silent. “Would it be okay if you take a picture of me and my friends?” He pulls out his phone, giving it a little wave.

“Oh,” says the young photographer, a little unsure, camera in his hands lowering. “Sure, I can.”

“Thanks,” Jeongin says with an eyesmile, and navigates into the camera mode on his phone to hand over.

“Use this one!” comes Hyunjin’s voice from behind them, running up the steps to give the boy a phone with a minimalistic matte black cover, it’s not his own. Chan’s, probably. That man is allergic to colour. “Jeez, that was too close.”

“Oh, nice,” the boy says with a smile, turning the phone over in his hands. “The camera is really good on this. I’ve been wanting to try it.”

Hyunjin waves the others over, directing where everyone should stand. He puts Changbin, Chan, Seungmin, Jeongin and himself in the back line, with Minho, Felix and Jisung crouching in front. “So you can show off your pretty skirt,” Hyunjin tells Jisung, fanning his outfit out over the steps handsomely. “Fashionable ones on this side, so I can crop the others out after.”

Felix makes a whining sound with big, pleading chick eyes. Seungmin looks down at him, eyebrow raising like, who’s going to save you? Me?!

“Masks off!” Jisung frets at the last second. “I want to get this framed.”

Hot humiliation flashes through Jeongin, but he takes his mask off because everyone else does, removing his shield from the outside world. Honestly, he’s terrified. He doesn’t want to be recognised. It’s not him, he’s worried about, he would be genuinely floored if someone recognised him off the street. It’s the fact he’s currently squished in between famous actor Hwang Hyunjin and Korea’s Prince of Song, Kim Seungmin.

“Alright,” Hyunjin says, putting a hand around Jeongin’s waist. “Serve c*nt, Iyen-ah.”

“Language, there are children here!” Changbin gasps in mock scandal. f*cking hypocrite.

“You’ve been hanging out with Troye too long,” Chan chuckles, at the very same time Felix blurts out miserably, I want to serve c*nt too, I said I would’ve bought something!

Jeongin poses because, well, if he’s getting photographed with his mask off, he wouldn’t be caught dead giving season one of America’s Next Top Model before the makeover. Nothing too overboard, but focusing on elongating the most flattering angles of his limbs. He feels Hyunjin moving between poses beside him, and Jeongin twists slightly towards him, tilting his head. No smiling, though, just face. Honestly, Jeongin doesn’t think he could smile right now, especially not as one of the photographer boy’s friends lifts her own phone camera to take a picture of them. f*ck. He focuses on keeping his eyes and mouth neutral but fierce, gaze right down the barrel of Chan’s phone while trying to ignore the fear spiking through his veins.

“Stop kicking my butt, Changbin!” Minho grouches from the other end of the formation.

“It’s not me!” Changbin whines, and Chan gives a quiet, evil chuckle. Jisung falls to the side, laughing, the movement causing the group to relax out of their held positions.

The photographer holds a thumbs up and they break apart from each other proper, Jisung complaining about his knees and dramatically clinging onto Seungmin’s coat to drag him upright. Jeongin puts his mask back over his face as quickly as he can. Two of the photographer boy's friends are discussing something over their phones now, looking over to them intermittently, like they’re trying to place who they are to reference. f*ck, f*ck, f*ck.

It’s done.

It’s over.

That picture is going to be posted online and it’s going to be reported on, and then there’s going to be discourse, and then that discourse will get reported on too. Every outlet will know Jeongin is back in Korea. STAY will hate that he’s hanging out with the members again, putting a blemish on their images, dragging them down. Selfish.

“I took a lot,” the boy is saying to Hyunjin. Jeongin feels dizzy, his mouth so dry. He needs to hold onto something. He needs water.

Hands are on him, then, helping to direct him back down the stairs to the others. At first, Jeongin thinks it’s Minho, but it’s Chan. “You’re okay, Iyen-ah,” Chan murmurs in his ear, guiding him to the back of the pack where the others are heading up a ramp that leads to the cathedral building. “Just breathe, yeah?” Hyunjin still has Chan’s phone commandeered it seems. Just ahead, him and Jisung are flicking through the photos for the ones they like. They’re going to put it online.

No, Jeongin tries to plead.

There’s a comforting rub on Jeongin’s back, and Jeongin looks at Chan with desperation. “The other one took a picture of us, hyung,” Jeongin whispers harshly, breath heaving. “What if she uploads it?”

God. If Jeongin knew this was going to happen, he wouldn’t have come. What a terrible idea agreeing to this was. No foresight whatsoever. Stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid–

“Oh,” Chan says, brow creasing in thought. “Are you sure?”

“Yes! They probably recognised Hyunjin-hyung or Seungmin-hyung, or Felix-hyung and–”

“Hey,” Chan soothes, his voice firm. “I know what you’re afraid of, and that won’t happen.” It had been like this, when Jeongin stayed with him. The breakup had been so fresh, and Jeongin was so prone to freaking out over any little thing. With Chan currently unemployed, he was able to be there for Jeongin whenever he needed it. He didn’t hesitate to come into the guest bedroom when Jeongin was scream-crying into his pillow, unable to sleep, the misery suffocating him. Jeongin felt so guilty for relying on Chan’s comfort so much when he was a grown f*cking man.

He had felt guilty, too, when Jeongin was small and desperate to debut, his singing and dancing skills not matching up to his ambition. “I’m so scared,” Jeongin would beg Chan through his ugly sobbing. “I don’t want to be cut from the team.”

“I’m not going to let that happen,” Chan said then.

And Chan says now, “It can never happen again, Iyen-ah.” He stops just the two of them. They’re obstructing the walkway, couples and families being forced to divert around them. Jeongin wants to move to the side, but his vision is blurry and Chan holds Jeongin’s too steady to the ground. “And if something does get reported on, do you think we’ll all just stay silent? You think Seungmin gives a sh*t about what journos will say? We’re all independent now. No one is breathing down our necks, or controlling us. I’d gladly put my neck on the line for you, as would any of the guys–”

Jeongin panics, he sees spots in his vision. “No. That’s not what I–”

“Or,” Chan ponders, “we could get ahead of it ourselves? Hyunjin wants to post it to his account.”

“Hyung,” Jeongin gasps, a pleading tone. He can’t do this.

He can’t do this.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” comes a third voice, shattering through Jeongin’s malaise. He turns, like a deer waiting to be shot, to see Seungmin. Minho and Hyunjin are just behind him. Jeongin eyes snap to the worried expression on Minho’s face, who’s clearly unsure of the boundary of reaching out to Jeongin right now but desperately wanting to.

“Iyen-ah’s just worried about the photo getting out to the public,” Chan reports, to Jeongin’s mortification. “He says one of the girls took a picture on her own phone.”

“Ah, Iyen-ah. We don’t give a sh*t about the press,” Hyunjin says. “We’re too irrelevant for knetz anymore, anyway. Well. Other than Min.”

“They’ll catch wind that you’re back one way or another,” Seungmin adds, which is pragmatic but not helpful. “Once your pictures start getting published.”

Right. The pictures from the job that Jeongin doesn’t have.

Jeongin’s been so laser focused on getting signed, he forgot that being an active model in Korea again would attract publicity.

f*ck. But he doesn’t have any other choice. He has to model, he’s got nothing else. He can’t sing. He’s got no other transferable skills.

If he can't find something soon, he’ll have to move to Jinju and live in his hyung’s basem*nt. Beg him for a job at the factory he owns. There’s a headline for the media.

Where are they now: Disgraced former Stray Kids Yang Jeongin working his ghoulishly long fingers to the bone in Jinju silk mill

“I don’t think you can outrun the media altogether, either way,” Seungmin goes on, and Jeongin wishes he would just shut right up. “If you really want to, you could sell your story. Expose the truth.”

“No!” Jeongin yells out, bringing two fists over his mouth.

“Stop talking,” Minho scolds them all. He pulls down his mask and steps forward, shoving Chan out of the way. His voice pitches lower, kinder, then, “Do you want me to take you home? I’ll call us a taxi–”

Jeongin stakes his head violently. He can’t be taken home, full stop. He also doesn’t want to ruin tonight. Jisung really did work so hard to corral them together on the same night and they only just got here. They still haven’t gone to the barbecue place yet. Also, this is the last time Felix will be in the country for ages and Jeongin doesn’t know when he’s going to be able to see him again.

“I want yachae hotteok,” Jeongin says quietly, the first and only thing he can think to say to take the attention off him. That will get everyone to stop talking about that f*cking photo and worrying themselves sick over him.

Minho stares at him for a long moment, the most beautiful statue Jeongin has ever seen.

Jeongin’s eyes skitter over the pock marks on Minho's cheek, down to his lips, bruised red from the cold. Higher, to the soft brown of his intense gaze. If only they could be back in Minho’s apartment, under Minho’s soft covers, wrapped around each other, hot skin to skin. Minho pressing him down as he licks around Jeongin’s tongue–

“Oi!” Minho screams out over his shoulder, making Jeongin start out of his mind. “Losers! We’re getting hotteok!”

There’s some cheering from the same direction, Changbin and Felix’s voices combined. With no further fanfare, Minho marches Jeongin away from the cathedral and down the hill to where the night market stalls are.

–

By the time Jeongin has devoured his savoury hotteok, he’s calmed down. (Though he has to narrowly avoid Minho trying to feed it to him. Jeongin had strawberry war flashbacks and stopped that real quick).

Upon hearing about the photo debacle, Jisung has to call his PR agency, so they’re ahead of it if it does leak. That does make Jeongin feel less stressed, knowing that if something happens, they’ll be the first to know about it. That there’s a professional out there who’s on their side and who can get it under control.

This, at the same time as the Givenchy scandal ensuing, puts a sick pit in Jeongin’s stomach. His name hasn’t been dragged into that yet, which is something. He was genuinely worried he might need to fly back to Paris to give some kind of testimony, but it seems whatever evidence was presented by the prosecution has been pretty damning. Whatever the CEO was doing, seems to be without the family’s knowledge, since, while head of the company, he is not part of the legacy family. They mostly sit on the board of directors or are shareholders. It’s a relief. If the family didn’t know, then there’s no way Jeongin could be involved, too far removed at that point.

It’s looking like the current CEO will go to jail, and someone new will be named, who will be tasked with repairing Givenchy’s abysmal stock price.

Any significant changes to the company is good for Jeongin. Anything to distance himself from the previous era he’s been weaved into the history of, however adjacently.

“I can’t deal with your boyfriend anymore,” Hyunjin says, coming up to Jeongin. Changbin’s stopped the group to ponder over a stall of definitely-not-official Pokémon merchandise for his kids. “He won’t stop asking me about fashion suddenly. What do you mean ‘what brand are pointy black boots’? He is on drugs, I swear to god.”

Minho, who is not far away and heard every word, snaps up straight, ears bright red and turns away. Jeongin has to work hard to suppress his smile. That hyung really is so ridiculous.

“He's not my boyfriend,” Jeongin reminds Hyunjin tiredly.

“Is tanghulu still cool? I want some,” says Felix, not far away. Chan predictably tells him it doesn’t matter if it’s on trend, if Felix wants it, he should get it. “Jeongin-ah, do you want tanghulu?”

“It’s too sweet for me,” Jeongin says. He’s saving himself for barbecue at this point. He wants to fill up on meat as much as possible, not sugary things. Felix appeals to the group for someone to share with him until Changbin caves, who has just finished paying for an utterly ridiculous brown jacket, the hoodie on it the face of a cute but dopey looking beaver character.

“Bidoof!” Changbin explodes, holding up the bag and shaking it. “Why couldn’t she pick a normal one to bias, like Pikachu. f*ckin’– can’t find any stupid ass Bidoof stuff anywhere. Have to come to a bootleg stall in Seoul.”

“I like Bidoof,” Jisung says, defending Arin’s honour. A noble cause.

“Baby, what's your favourite Pokémon?” Changbin asks and it takes a moment for Jeongin to realise he’s the baby in question. Before Jeongin opens his mouth, Changbin proclaims to the rest of the group, “Prepare for a man of taste.”

“Magikarp,” Jeongin answers, after a further beat, in case Changbin interrupts with something else useless.

Silence. From the group, not from the night market, which is rather cacophonous.

Changbin stares at him for three full seconds, betrayal twisting on his face. “I thought you liked Eevee?” he splutters.

“No, Magikarp’s my favourite,” Jeongin says, and when it’s obvious he’s being judged, he adds, “they're cute. I like how they flop around.”

“And when they're ready, they turn into a badass dragon,” Minho puts in, voice so quiet it barely reaches over the heavy ambience of the street.

Except that everyone definitely heard it.

No one knows how to respond. Jisung’s eyes, however, have come alive, flicking between Minho and Jeongin with elation. Seungmin and Chan exchange a silent look. Why are they all– being like that? It's Hyunjin who finally breaks the silence, dry retching and grabbing Felix’s arm to drag him forward. “Yongbok wants tanghulu and you're all making him wait. He is an honoured guest in our country, you are all so rude!”

Jeongin looks at Minho, assessing him. Everyone is acting weird around Minho, right? They have been all night, almost like they think they need to walk on eggshells, cautious to spook him. It doesn’t feel right, that everytime Minho speaks, everyone gets timid. That no one’s really bantered with him, or tried to poke at his patience. When Minho does catch his eye, Jeongin makes a little expression at him, hoping to communicate.

Why is everyone being so awkward with you?

Minho blinks at him, then tilts his head. Truly, nothing behind those beautiful eyes.

Doofus.

They continue along the night market, though Jeongin doesn’t join in the conversation around him. He’s been quiet regardless, and now he’s distracted by the bustling scenery. He sidesteps a woman pushing a pram, with what he assumes is her husband trailing behind, cradling a Louis Vuitton backpack that he’s wearing on his front. Another young woman is holding a stick of tanghulu and taking a selca with her mum, the both of them in matching fuzzy bucket caps. As the group passes a crossroads in the market, a man and woman dressed in red information uniforms are crouched in front of a small girl who’s proudly showing them a brand new frog plushie. It’s a character that’s all the rage these days, based on the merchandise he’s seen stocked in every phone store front window. The girl’s father is desperately trying to coax her away, so Jeongin imagines she’s been at it for a while.

She’s so cute.

Jeongin wants a kid. He wants to buy them cute animal plushies and complain that they picked a non-popular Pokémon to bias that’s a nightmare to buy merch for.

He’s smiling, he realises after a moment, and tries to control his face behind his mask, looking elsewhere. His eyes shift immediately to Minho by instinct, like he’s some kind of f*cking homing device. Except Minho is on the other side of the pack now, he’s listening to something Seungmin is saying into his ear. Minho shifts, a serious expression on his face, cupping his mouth to reply. Seungmin, then, draws back sharply, mouth heatedly rounding around the word, what?!

Jeongin’s stomach drops at whatever’s got Seungmin reacting like that. He knows they’re probably just gossiping, or catching up, but Jeongin’s stupid anxiety is making him think they’re talking about him.

Guilty, disappointed that Minho wasn’t paying attention to him, Jeongin looks over to where Changbin and Jisung are teaming up to feed Felix his own tanghulu, with Hyunjin is filming it, and Chan is listening to what seems to be a voice message, face scrunched up as he holds his phone against his ear. The little stretch of market where they’ve stopped has hit a lull, Jeongin seeing the full picture of his hyungs in all their glorious weirdness.

All his hyungs, so close and friendly.

Then there’s Jeongin, still the outsider.

It’s hard to think he’ll ever feel a part of them again. Not in any way that counts.

He’ll never be a Stray Kid again.

Sighing, Jeongin turns to face the other way, a private moment to wallow in his own misfortune. It’s not a food stall that catches his attention in this direction, but a small storefront selling well known art prints at affordable prices. Walking up to it, there’s a metal rack stationed beside the door which Jeongin can flip through. He has no intention of buying any, but he has always liked looking at art. He likes the feeling it gives, even if he can’t express those feelings in the well-spoken ways Hyunjin can.

Landscapes, portraits, still life, nothing grabs at Jeongin until one colourful print reveals itself, called Making of a Great Martini. It’s like twelve little paintings in one, the story of a bartender, well, making a martini, with each panel depicting him furiously shaking a co*cktail maker until it’s complete. There’s a lopsided smile on Jeongin’s face, and he thinks, Hyung would love this.

“Hyung!” Jeongin calls out, looking over his shoulder.

In the middle of the walkway, seven faces immediately snap over to him, their conversations falling silent. All their attention is solely on Jeongin, obedient and awaiting instruction. One of Felix’s candy strawberries slips off his tanghulu stick and smacks unceremoniously on the pavement.

It’s too funny. A wide laugh breaks out on Jeongin’s face, and he shakes his head at how silly they all are.

“Lino-hyung,” he clarifies, waving him over.

Minho’s ears flare red, and he exchanges a jerky glance with Seungmin, who he was still talking to, before quickly shuffling over to Jeongin at the storefront.

“Yes?” is uttered in English, quiet. Embarrassed, but sounding pleased it was him Jeongin wanted.

“Do you like this?” Jeongin asks, angling his body away to reveal the painting. Despite the display being chained down, the unstable, heavy bracket means he needs to hold his hand on the opposite metal flap, won't swing back. “I never got you a birthday present, you know.”

Minho places his puffer coat paws on Jeongin’s outstretched arm, considering the image with little blinks. “You were my present, Iyen-ah,” he says, like it’s nothing at all.

Pretending he didn’t hear that, that those words aren’t sinking into his soul like red wine on a cream carpet, Jeongin blurts out, “It reminded me of you.” His heart free falling in his chest, f*cking Lee Minho. “It is very joie de vivre as the French would say.”

“What’s that?”

“The delight in simply living a life,” Jeongin explains.

The fairy lights of the night market reflect in Minho’s happy eyes, and Jeongin feels the precious cash in his wallet disintegrate away into a million, tiny fragments.

–

In the bathroom of the barbeque place, Jeongin sits on the toilet, hunched over, elbows to his knees. His thumbs tap in the code to access his online banking account, a muscle memory.

Where did his money from the pawn shop go? Jeongin made sure to deposit the majority of it into his account for rent and bills to come out in a couple of days, and he still has enough for it, but he’s skirting dangerously close to the line already. That money was supposed to cover all of his food and transport in December.

The art print for Minho had been ₩80,000. The second-hand McQueen jacket from two days ago was ₩34,600, a steal, but still a cost. He also had to replace two cleansers, a serum and favourite sunscreen out of his skincare routine, ₩75,000 for the lot. There are a bunch of 7 Eleven purchases, ₩8,950 here, ₩12,740 there. Cigarette runs mostly, but he always ends up grabbing whatever else he’s craving at the time.

It really does all add up.

Jeongin hangs his head, running a hand over his face, squeezing his fingers into his eyes. He’s so tired of dealing with this money stress he doesn’t even care about his make-up at this point.

With the way Chan and Seungmin were ordering when they arrived, dinner is easily going to rack up to ₩350,000 each or more. Indulgent, even for them. Jeongin only brought ₩100,000 cash with him, assuming it would cover his share. He should have known. Of course, they would splurge on ultra premium sake and Hanwoo beef. Depending on how much it ends up being, it could push Jeongin below the amount he needs for rent. And when that comes out, he’ll be in his overdrafts.

f*cking, f*ck. He’s going to have to play maknae and puppy dog eyes one of his hyungs.

It would be easy too. My fiance broke my heart and I got kicked out of France, least you can do is pay for this one meal for me, weh weh.

Just the thought of having to do that makes Jeongin’s dignity threaten to shrivel up and die.

He doesn’t know what to do.

And if he takes too long in here, one of the guys will get worried and come looking. They might even think he’s run away again. With no grand ideas of how he’s going to get out of this predicament, he finishes up in the bathroom. To add pain to injury, when he slams his hand on the soap pump, half of it squirts all over Hyunjin’s green jacket. “f*ck,” Jeongin mutters. At least it’s just soap, and that Hyunjin gave him this jacket, but it’s gotten all over him now. How embarrassing. Jeongin takes some time to pat himself down with paper towels, but eventually he has to bite the bullet and head back to the table. Why does he always have to be such a clumsy f*ck?

No, no. A clumsy, jobless f*ck.

A clumsy, jobless f*ck who can’t even afford to pay his share of a dinner with his mates.

His life is in literal shambles.

At least Minho wants to put his dick in him. Whoopee. One point for Team Jeongin.

If only instead of sticky, white release, Minho could come money instead. That would be… so f*cking baller.

Jeongin finally departs the bathroom, making his way outside to where the tables are. Because the guys can never be normal, they’ve chosen a trendy but gimmicky barbeque restaurant, and it’s a popular spot because of it. The outdoor terrace sits right on the Han River, with a series of clear, dome-shaped tents that imitate a glamping experience. Jeongin had heard about this place, even before he left Korea. Someone might have even suggested it to Minho back then, to which he probably said something like, “why would I go fake glamping when I can go real camping?”

Carefully padding across the outdoor decking, Jeongin ducks under some string light bulbs it’s been adorned with. The night has gotten very cold now, a chill sweeping the city. Jeongin really does think it will snow soon.

Will he be with Minho when the first snowflake falls?

Ugh.

Get it together, man!

Arriving back into the tent, Jeongin comes midway into a conversion, but it seems like Seungmin is seriously considering buying a yacht at Jisung’s behest, so they can come back to this restaurant but arrive in style. Jeongin slots back into his seat between Chan and Felix, with Changbin on Felix’s other side. Across the table are Minho, Seungmin, Hyunjin and Jisung. Jeongin catches Minho looking at him, and tries to busy himself with pouring another beer, hoping he’s not blushing. Minho has been pretty reticent all night, but especially since getting into the restaurant, he’s barely said a word, playing observer.

It’s not too dissimilar to the old days, Minho could be sensitive to overstimulation, especially in social situations. Sometimes it seemed he’d have endless energy, be so loud and the life of the party. Other times it was like he retreated fully into himself, staring into middle space, completely zoned out and depleted. That’s not quite the extreme that’s happening here, but Jeongin can tell he’s certainly past his limit for tonight.

Jeongin’s pretty wiped himself. It’s depressing, in a way, he thought that if he managed to hang out with the guys again, all of them in an eight, it would be like how it used to be. That warm, healing feeling of friendship. But that’s not what this group is anymore. They don’t live together, don’t work together, don’t see each other everyday. Now Jeongin’s conversation with them is largely small talk. Catch up.

Maybe he really will never get back to that easy comfort with them again. That’s such a sad thought to have.

Jeongin wishes he could go back. Changbin once warned him to appreciate the time as an idol while he could. That it wouldn’t last forever. Of course, that hyung was right.

Now, so much time has passed, so much has happened, and he regrets taking it all for granted.

“Hydration check! Especially you, Changbinnie-hyung!” Felix yells, abruptly bringing Jeongin out of his mind and into the tent. Diligently, everyone around the table puts down their beers, swapping for a cup of water and downing it. Jeongin blinks at Felix, who is staring at him expectantly. “Drink your water, baby-ah.”

Jeongin pouts at him, but does as he's told. He’s not even drinking that much but he knows he’ll be thankful for it tomorrow.

Changbin, on the other hand, is maybe seven drinks deep after an hour and a half. Wasn’t he supposed to have a lowkey one?

Doesn’t he need to be back in Cheongju by midnight?

That is going to be one expensive cab.

“Oh my god, did you hear about Chaemin?” Hyunjin says to Changbin, excited enough that he leans over the table to slap the chopsticks out of Changbin’s hand. “I just remembered!”

“Chaemin?” Jeongin asks. “The choreographer?”

“Yes,” Hyunjin says.

“Oh, I hated that guy,” Jeongin mutters, more to himself than anyone else, and loads kimchi and pork belly into a lettuce wrap. Then, he carefully shoves the entire thing in his mouth.

Chaemin was an absolute slave driver of a dance teacher back in the day. He’d been on JYPE’s payroll, usually assigned to the less popular groups, and Changbin in particular had gotten on his bad side shortly after debut. Since then, Chaemin would come up with the most impossible, ridiculous choreographies for them, designed to tire them out while they still needed to sing. Like he was trying to sabotage them. Poor Minho had to step up and fight him on the routines every single time to make them actually doable for a rookie group. Jeongin thinks they all were relieved when they got more successful and could afford to work with guest choreographers.

Jeongin’s nape prickles, and he glances over to Minho, who has been watching him eat the whole time. Minho blinks back, cheeks already flushed and neck bobbing as he swallow. He kind of looks like a panther and Jeonginis the meat.

What? Jeongin thinks at him, raising a brow, still chewing.

Minho presses his lips together, cheeks blowing up with air and looking all contrite. He sinks into his shoulders and goes back to drinking his sake, trying to act unbothered, but it’s poorly feigned.

God, this is hopeless.

“– and then he filed for bankruptcy!” Hyunjin announces, and Jeongin realises he missed all the meat of the story he was actually curious about.

“No way!” Changbin says.

“A boba shop!” Hyunjin goes on, bursting into gleeful laughter. “Like, his own. Not franchise.”

“What?!” Chan yells, at the same time Changbin goes, franchise?!

“Oh my god, what a f*cking idiot,” Seungmin says, one corner of his mouth pulling up and dipping a very charred slice of mushroom in sauce.

Felix looks lost. “I don’t get what’s so funny?”

“Independent boba shops always fail here,” Hyunjin explains for him. “Like, he would’ve been better off going into the cafe or restaurant business. Not boba shop.”

“When was the last time you got a mom-and-pop boba?” Jisung asks Felix.

Felix pouts. “But I would just get a Gongcha– oh. Oh, I see. Oh. He’s dumb.”

“So, he’s, like, got no money now?” Changbin asks eagerly. “At all?!”

“Let’s just say his finances are a little strained at the moment,” Hyunjin says with pursed lips and lidded eyes, one hand placed sassily upon his chest.

Laying on the table, Jeongin’s fingers go cold, heart starting to beat irregularly in his chest. Like, Jeongin wishes Chaemin would trip into a muddy ditch as much as the next, but for all of them to find so much joy in one of their old enemies going bankrupt. Jeongin’s literal predicament…

Changbin goblin laughs, so loud, nearly falling off his chair in doing so. Oh, he is drunk. “You hear that Minho-hyung, we never have to deal with that untalented piece of sh*t ever again!”

The table turns to Minho, who simply smiles, something smug behind the rim of his beer glass. It’s at a lower volume, but he speaks clearly when he says, “Well. If he’s going to be that irresponsible with his money, then he deserves to be broke.”

Jeongin’s body goes into cold shock.

He is so stunned at those words he can barely breathe. Barely think.

Meanwhile, the table is in an absolute uproar. Strangely, Jeongin finds himself laughing as well, not a conscious thing. Though quickly swallowed up, the sound is stiff, a survival instinct perhaps. Jisung and Seungmin seem to be the most delighted by Minho’s burn, falling over on each other in hysterics. Seungmin with actual tears in his eyes. That seems so unfair, somehow, when those two are the most wealthy of them all. Changbin knocks his beer over, causing three of them closest to stand up, making the table shudder violently. Jeongin doesn’t register it, though. His vision is starting to phase.

Jeongin, who spent all his money on irresponsible things.

Who can’t pay his own way for dinner without risking homelessness.

Something which is his fault and his fault alone. He deserves to be broke.

He deserves to be broke.

Jeongin grips the edge of the table hard to ground himself. He can’t spiral again. He’s already done it once today in front of everyone. It will bring attention to himself, and he knows he can blame it on fear around the photo, but he also doesn’t trust himself to break down and blurt out the real truth of why he’s been so stressed out for the past two months.

It’s not like he was going to tell Minho about his financial situation, but now he never can.

Jeongin can’t tell any of them.

Touch shocks Jeongin out of his racing thoughts, looking down to see Felix winding around Jeongin’s arm and snuggling into his side. Jeongin isn’t sure if Felix has noticed his weird behaviour, or if he’s just feeling tipsy and cuddly, but he’s appreciative for it regardless. It’s a comfort that warms Jeongin’s insides. Felix’s affection has never been unwelcome, so Jeongin leans into him in kind. It’s the only thing that is keeping him tethered to his sanity right now. Everyone has thankfully moved onto the next topic of conversation, onto something that doesn’t involve laughing at someone who has fallen upon financial hardship.

“When do you leave, hyung?” Jeongin asks Felix, hoping talking will help ease the sick feeling in his chest. It would be nice to hang out with Felix again, after all, maybe just the two of them.

Felix looks up at him with big, apologetic eyes. “Tomorrow night. It was supposed to be the 30th but we had to move our flight, and I’ve got a photoshoot in the morning.”

Christ. Even Felix has more modelling gigs than Jeongin, and he doesn’t even work in industry anymore.

It’s a shame. Out of them all, no one ate up a fashion pictorial more than Felix did. He came alive in front of the camera, always had a knack for it. Beautiful angles, great body and that face. His runway walk was stunning too. Despite Jeongin making it his whole career, Felix had always been more successful at modelling. For good reason, too.

He didn’t even need nepotism to get into the MET Gala. Anna Wintour personally wanted him there.

Jeongin was just lucky to be the plus one of a Givenchy heiress…

“Hyung,” Jeongin says quietly, hoping Felix can make him out over the other chatter. “The Gala–”

Felix pauses, the meaning behind the words slowly sinking in on his expression. Quickly, he shifts, sitting up so he can hold Jeongin’s cheek with a hand. Look seriously into his eyes. “Jeongin-ah. If you’re going to apologise, don’t. It’s really okay. Please don’t ever think that I was upset at you that night.” He frowns, his face so pretty. “Yeah, I wanted to talk to you, but it was because I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Jeongin’s bottom lip worries. “I’m sorry,” he whispers out anyway.

A soft smile on his face, Felix brushes his thumb under Jeongin’s eye. “I love you, my baby. I loved you then, and I still do. That hasn’t changed.”

Jeongin drops his head into the curve of Felix’s neck, hugging him. Cooing, Felix wraps his arms around Jeongin’s back, pulling him close, petting his hair. They’re like that for a while, before Felix turns his head roughly, barking out in English, “We’re having a moment!”

Even though it’s so rowdy in the tent, Jeongin stays quiet, just enjoying the close affection of a hyung he has missed so much. Although he still feels like a moon to a planet, that outsider looking in, it’s nice. It’s the closest he’s gotten to this type of comfort in a long, long time.

“Do you want another drink?” Felix asks him. “Here.”

“Okay,” Jeongin says with a small smile, holding his glass out and receiving the golden drink with gratitude as Felix pours. “Thank you.”

Jeongin sips the top shelf whisky, trying not to think about the price of it, and slips his phone out of his pocket to check the time. It’s actually a lot later than he expected. Let’s just say Changbin’s not going to make it home on time. With the way he’s smashing a spoon into another somaek to chug with Seungmin, Jeongin wonders if he even remembers he has a family at all.

“Noraebang after?” Seungmin says, after slamming the glass down and making a refreshing sound through his teeth. He’s pretty loose too, face flushed with alcohol. “There’s heaps close to here. Yes, yes? Changbin-hyung?”

Jeongin’s chest sinks. Not karaoke again. He wonders if there’s any way he can weasel his way out of this one–

“No,” Minho shuts down. Heart skipping a beat, Jeongin’s eyes flick up to him.

“Aw, c’mon, hyung,” Seungmin slurs, throwing his arm over Minho’s shoulders, who grits his teeth, a cat with its hair standing on end. Seungmin puckers his lips close to Minho’s cheek. “Scared to rip your pants again?”

“No,” Minho repeats, harder. Like he’s warning Seungmin. “No noraebang.”

Seungmin does not get the warning. “Jeez. Wet blanket. Not like we’re gonna play SIRIUS B, or anything.”

A horrible clang shakes the table, Minho slamming his fist on the surface.

First, the clatter of jostled plates and glass, before the remains of laughter taper off, all eyes turning to him, the space deathly quiet. Jeongin’s finding it hard to breathe, staring widely at Minho, who shoves Seungmin’s arm off his shoulders roughly. Minho isn’t looking at anyone, dark eyes focused solely on the table, cheeks pink at having brought all the attention to himself.

“What happened?” Chan asks, cutting through the table’s silence.

“Nothing,” Seungmin grumbles. “He’s just being an asshole for no reason–”

A screech of metal chair legs across ground signals Minho’s exit. Closest to the entry bit of the tent, he stands and undoes the zipper, shoving into the outdoors without a coat. He doesn’t even rezip it, which is most surprising, letting a draft of cold air into the tent. The silence is awkward and awful.

“Jerk,” Seungmin mutters under his breath, reaching for the sake bottle. Felix snuggles up to Jeongin closer, rubbing his upper arms, though Jeongin isn’t even shivering.

“What did you say?” Chan asks, firmer. Leader mode is on, it seems.

“How is this my fault?!” Seungmin explodes, exasperated. “He’s been weird and antisocial all night. We have no idea the next time we’re all going to be together like this, if ever, and he’s shooting down ideas like he has any f*cking say when he hasn’t made any effort with us for years.”

Oh.

Seungmin’s just hurt, and the alcohol is obliterating his emotional filter. That makes sense, at least.

“Seung, it’s alright,” Jisung soothes, bending down to try and catch Seungmin’s scrunched up expression, rubbing his back. Dull chatter starts up again, most of it localised to Minho and his behaviour. Jeongin stays quiet, frowning and fiddling with his rosary ring. He’s so embarrassed.

All that fuss made for his sake. Minho saving him once at his own party, and again tonight.

“Someone should bring him his coat,” Felix tentatively raises. “He’ll catch a cold.”

“Iyen-ah should do it,” Hyunjin says, and Jeongin’s eyes whip up to him with quiet surprise. A tight smile is returned, but Hyunjin doesn’t seem overly happy with it. At a loss, Jeongin turns to Chan for his consultation.

“Go on, Iyen,” Chan encourages gently.

Awkward, Jeongin gives everyone a little nod, rising out of his seat. He takes a moment to put on his jacket, winding someone else’s scarf around his neck. He finds Minho’s puffer jacket in the pile and scrunches it between his arms, bending out of the tent opening and zipping it closed behind him.

There’s a windchill out here, and Minho is standing off by the far railing of the veranda, where there aren’t any tents, his arms pulled around himself. Jeongin walks to him and shakes out the coat to put it over Minho’s shoulders. This frightens him, but once Minho realises it’s Jeongin, and what Jeongin is trying to do, Minho doesn’t hesitate to shoves his arms through the sleeves, pulling it around himself. He’s shivering.

Jeongin’s heart crumples.

“Hyung,” he murmurs, stepping closer to him. He unwinds some of the scarf to put it around Minho’s neck, tying them together. This brings so close, hugging distance without the added arms.

“Are you okay?” Minho asks in a tiny voice.

“The guys can talk about the last comeback,” Jeongin says softly. “I don’t mind.” He really doesn’t, either. When SIRIUS B was announced, then went ahead amidst its own controversy, it hurt, of course, but once Jeongin came to terms with it, it was fine. It wasn’t about him. Stray Kids was a business at the end of the day. They needed to release music and make revenue, with or without Jeongin.

It wasJYPE'S very lastchance to squeeze money out of them. The second seven-year contract reneual was up shortly after the comeback, and then Stray Kidswas over.

“No,” Minho gruffs out. “I don’t want to talk about that time. Don’t want to think about it. It was awful.”

The pain in Minho’s voice sends Jeongin’s heart racing. He places his hand over Minho’s chest, under the scarf, feeling the thump of his heart too. Both of Minho’s hands curl around Jeongin’s, holding it against his body, trembling. Jeongin doesn’t know if it’s from the cold or anger.

“I should have left earlier,” Minho admits, the guilt wracking his words. “I should have left when–”

“Stop,” Jeongin says firmly, cutting him off. He doesn’t want to hear about all of Minho’s regrets, actually. “It happened. Hyung. It’s done.”

Minho stares at him for a long moment, then frowns, defeated, bowing his head to bring their foreheads together. “I want to kiss you,” he whispers, the steam of his breath curling around Jeongin’s chin and cheeks.

“We can,” Jeongin whispers back. “Later.”

Something about this feels like when they had been outside of the veterinary hospital. Jeongin had been in such a state of panic, an uncontrollable whirlwind, and Minho became a rock for him. Steady and true. Jeongin doesn’t know a lot of what went on with Minho between then and now, but he’s starting to piece more of the mystery together. When Minho is unsteady, Jeongin wants to be a rock too. He at least has to try.

So, he winds his arms to hold Minho’s torso under the coat, in a way that won't make it fall off. He holds his head closer to Minho, too, so that their cheeks can touch.

And just like in that veterinary car park, they stay there, this time with Jeongin holding Minho. Just the two of them. Completely quiet.

“Are they looking?” Minho asks after a time. It doesn't sound like he's worried about it. He just sounds tired.

“I don't know,” Jeongin murmurs. “Probably.”

There’s something cold on Jeongin’s face, a little wet. He pulls back and looks up. Again, something cold, but not rain. This time on the tip of his nose.

“First snow,” Minho whispers, wondrous, staring at Jeongin’s nose.

It’s barely snow, a flurry if anything.

Jeongin blinks. He can’t believe it.

The universe is toying with him.

Witness the first snowfall with the person you like, and true, long-lasting love will blossom, they say. Silly, romantic trite for someone like Jeongin. There’s no way Minho believes in it too. Not pragmatic, grounded, capable Lee Know.

The same Minho who dries wishbones on his windowsill.

Minho, who remembers when Jeongin wears the same pointy black boots. Who asks him for facts on Catholic cathedrals, because he knows Jeongin can answer and it will make him feel smart. Who cuts strawberries into roses to feed Jeongin with his fingers, for no reason at all.

Minho, who would laugh at Jeongin if he knew why he is broke.

Jeongin’s heart is so numb.

“Hyung,” Jeongin whispers.

Minho’s eyes are round and soft. “Mm?”

“I need to ask you a favour.”

Jeongin’s hands are shaking. He really can’t believe he’s actually going to ask this, considering what happened in the tent. But he doesn’t know what else to do. He doesn’t have any other options.

“I need you to pay my share of dinner tonight,” Jeongin says, swallowing his pride, a hard boulder lodged in his throat. “I'll pay you back of course! There’s, like, something weird going on with my bank card at the moment? Apparently it’s been happening to a lot of people, and it’s an ongoing problem with their system, so I’m hoping it can get sorted out in the next few days and then, yeah, I’ll pay you back immediately.” Jeongin hopes that’s believable, resisting the urge to chew on his cheek, before realising he doesn't have an alibi for knowing his excuse. “– It’s only because I tried to pay card when I was paying for your painting – I mean, thankfully I had cash on me, so – that's how I'd pay for dinner now, but I don’t have enough of it left over to–”

“Jeongin,” Minho says, stopping him in his tracks. He seems really confused. “I’ll always cover you if you need it. You don't need to justify it to me.” He says it so easily, so nonchalant, and gives Jeongin a twinge of a weird look. “But, Jisung already said he’s paying?”

It takes a full moment for the words to process. Jeongin’s whole body goes frozen, and not from the piss poor snow flurry. “What?” he hoarses out. Then, more frantic, “When did he say that?!”

“When we got here. Said he’s going to write it off as a business expense.”

When they got here? Jeongin doesn’t remember that. What was he doing when they got here? God, if he’d been zoning out or something…

Jeongin feels like he’s in freefall. He just–

He just told Minho he is having money problems. Oh god. Oh god, no.

Minho is going to find out.

“Let's go back in,” Minho says, then giggles a little. “You're so cold even your pupils are shaking.”

Jeongin looks at him, cold fear gripping its claws into his heart.

“Hey.” Minho, then, looks bashful, pinching the material of Jeongin's black overcoat. He averts his eyes. “Thank you,” he utters out.

Jeongin is confused. “What for?” he manages out, completely on auto-pilot.

“For coming to rescue me,” Minho confesses. “I was cold. I was hoping it would be you.”

Jeongin opens his mouth to respond, though he doesn't know what to even say. Thankfully (or not, he's not sure anymore), they're interrupted by Hyunjin, who has car keys in hand and his handsome face pressed into two flat lines.

“You two. We have a problem.”

–

“Drive safer, I get woozy,” Changbin groans on the other side of the backseat, words slurred and head heavy against the car door. The windows have been opened all the way down, blowing freezing air through the vehicle as Hyunjin careens down the highway. Changbin hiccups loudly, then moans in pain, shifting to curl into a ball towards the interior, as much as his seatbelt will allow.

“Do not chuck up in my car,” Hyunjin snaps.

“Iyen-ahhh,” Changbin says pathetically, reaching out.

“Do not chuck up on me!” Jeongin says, horrified, pushing Changbin so he’s facing the window again.

To the surprise of none, Changbin is not making it back to Cheongju tonight. He is going back to Minho’s, to crash out on the daybed in his study. He also passed out there the night of Minho’s party. It might as well be his second home, at this point.

“I'm supposed to take the kids to swimming tomorrow morning,” Changbin cries out suddenly, more to the universe than anyone else in the car. He inhales, a hitching sob, before yelling out, “Somin-noona!” his voice immediately swallowed up by the roaring highway.

In the passenger seat, Minho snorts into a chuckle. Jeongin can't hold it in either, bringing a hand over his mouth to hide his own laughter. He can see the shape of Hyunjin’s profile from the back seat, also curled into a suppressed but entertained smile as Changbin continues to complain about how everything is pulsing, and what kind of husband lets their wife down like this. She’s so pretty and I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy~.

“Uh. Maybe play some music, hyung,” Jeongin says, to either Minho or Hyunjin. Literally anyone. “Something light, like lofi.”

“Here,” Hyunjin says, tossing his phone across the co*ckpit to Minho as Changbin launches into a sloppy rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody. With Minho directly in front of him, Jeongin can’t see what he’s doing, but it’s been a while and Changbin has forgotten the order of the lyrics, the unique rhapsody jumping all over the place. Finally, Hyunjin lightly snaps, “You type like an old man.”

“I am an old man,” Minho tells him.

“Thunderbolt and lightning!” Changbin interjects. “Very very frightening me!”

Eventually, actual music starts to play and thankfully tempers Changbin’s personal soundtrack. Minho has chosen something classical, played with a piano. The piece has a gentle, repetitive theme, like the descent into a hypnotic dream-world and Jeongin realises he knows this one. Automatically, his fingers play along on his own thighs to Debussy’s Rêverie. It’s one of the composer’s earlier works, before he had developed his own style. No explosions of texture in this, that he would later be known for. This particular rendition is lovely, and Jeongin’s hands already itch to get back to the keys and workshop his own interpretation. He wonders how it would sound just a tad slower. Dreamier. Like the mornings he’s been having recently, waking up to the cradled warmth of Minho’s apartment.

“What did you look for for this?” Jeongin asks.

Minho turns around in his seat so he can face Jeongin, shoulders twisting awkwardly to do so. “I just typed in pretty classical music and the playlist was called: you're inside monet paintings.”

“Oh, I love Monet,” Hyunjin puts in, flicking the indicator and veering onto an exit.

Streetlamps flicker across Minho’s face, highlighting the tall shape of his nose, the hopeful glimmer in his eyes, like he might be praised for his music choice. It’s just as one of the Dm arpeggio bits trills in, which just happens to be Jeongin’s favourite moment of the piece. Bar 84, if he’s remembering correctly.

Of all the Debussy’s, Rêverie was never one that stood out to Jeongin. Hearing it now, in this new setting, with the glittery tones framing Minho’s delicate face, Jeongin understands better, how incredibly clever Debussy was with his compositions.

Green floods over one half of Minho’s face and he snaps a look out the window, the moment gone. He turns urgently in his seat, his visage vanishing along with the rêverie. “Can you pull over here? I just wanna grab something,” Minho says. Hyunjin obliges, manoeuvring the car smoothly on the curb of a 7 Eleven. This allows Minho to throw off the seatbelt and hurl himself out, Hyunjin yelling after him to also buy a packet of tteokbokki snack chips and an electrolyte drink.

“Are we home?” Changbin asks, groggy. He peels his head up, blinking through red-rimmed slits. Good god, has he been crying?!

“No. Minho-hyung’s getting snacks,” Hyunjin says.

Changbin’s head slumps back on the car door. “Arin-ah. Doyoonie,” he calls out to the ether. “Daddy’s sorry!”

“You blew it, Seo Changbin,” Hyunjin quips back, who’s on his phone, looking through the group photo taken earlier. He tests a couple of his chosen ones through a filter app to improve the contrast and sharpness. He’d thrown a few versions of the photo in the group chat earlier, and Jeongin couldn’t bring himself to look at it. He doesn’t dare open the group chat now, though Felix and Jisung have been gleefully requesting Changbin updates.

Jeongin looks out of the window, listening to the song now playing in the car. He doesn’t recognise the song itself, but it sounds like it might be a Sibelius with its sweeping melody line, majestic and romantic. The kind of music which fills the soul with bravery, followed by relief.

Thinking about it, Seungmin was right, earlier. One way or another, the media is going to find out that Jeongin is back in Korea. He wishes he had his own PR agent to ask for advice, but he doesn’t, so he just has to weather that storm, whatever it brings. That photo being online can’t possibly make his life any worse than it is now, he thinks.

He just, has to be brave. Somehow.

“Hyunjin-hyung,” Jeongin says, turning back to the front.

Hyunjin pauses, looking over his shoulder and blinking at Jeongin in question.

“You can put the photo up,” Jeongin says. “I know you want to.”

Hyunjin frowns. “But? Chan-hyung said–” He chews his lip a little, unsure. “I don’t want to if it will make you uncomfortable.”

“I don’t wanna keep hiding,” Jeongin admits, because he knows Hyunjin. He knows how much he wants to proudly show off his friends, before he leaves the country for good. “I just– I hope it doesn’t affect you too bad.”

With a touched smile, one of Hyunjin’s sweeter ones, he reaches into the back to rest his hand on Jeongin’s knee. Jeongin hesitates, then places his hand over Hyunjin’s too. “Honestly, Iyen? I don’t give a sh*t how it affects me,” Hyunjin says. “And neither do any of the other guys. You being here, safe and home, is more important than all our reputations and careers combined.”

A roll of emotions through him, Jeongin can’t do much else but squeeze Hyunjin’s hand tightly. “Hyung,” he chokes out.

Hyunjin gives Jeongin’s knee a little shake, squeezing back. “I mean that.”

There’s a sudden wailing sound, like a zombie in a horror movie, and Jeongin jumps with fright, seatbelt jutting into his chest. God. For a second, he forgot Changbin was even in the car with them. “My baby!” Changbin cries out, slumping his whole body across the backseat, grabby hands out for a hug. Jeongin makes a grimacing frown, pushing back on Changbin’s shoulder to stop his efforts. “Don’t leave us again. We were so sad! You didn’t see it. All your hyungs, crying so much!”

“Please stop now,” Jeongin says patiently.

When Minho returns, it’s with a bloated plastic bag, and he doles out anti-hangover drinks to Changbin and Jeongin before passing Hyunjin his requested Gatorade. Jeongin quickly dabs under his eyes, just to make sure there isn’t any evidence of tears, but Minho doesn’t seem to notice there was a heart-to-heart while he was in the shop. Hyunjin makes a clipped comment about how much Minho bought, to which Minho responds that he doesn’t have beef chuck or shiitake at home. That means he’s planning to make haejangguk back at his. The big softy.

The remainder of the trip finishes up without incident or vomit, thankfully, and both Hyunjin and Minho have to help Changbin’s useless mass out of the car once they’re outside Minho’s apartment building. Jeongin also gets out, collecting up his roller luggage from the trunk, along with Minho and Changbin’s outerwear. Don't forget Minho's rolled up art print, housed in its own cardboard tube. This is when Hyunjin disengages from Changbin, taking a concerned step towards Jeongin.

“I’m taking you home, yeah?” Hyunjin says, a sort of frantic note to his tone that confuses Jeongin.

“Oh,” Jeongin blinks, holding the coats closer against his body, fingers flexing in the material. “I’ll help hyung up and I can get a taxi later, it’s fine.”

Hyunjin’s brows furrow. “But, it’s easier if I just take you home. You don’t need to spend that money unnecessarily.”

It’s not that Jeongin was planning to sleep over at Minho’s, more that he cannot have Hyunjin take him home. Full stop.

Breath short, hands clammy, Jeongin shoots Hyunjin a more expectant glare, lips pursed. A don’t make me say it look. Hyunjin glances to Minho, who’s pointedly staying out of it, mouth pulled tight into his cheeks. There’s a stalemate brewing. Hyunjin clearly doesn’t want Jeongin to stay at Minho’s, and Minho doesn’t want to deny Jeongin of anything.

“It’s just fishy to me,” Hyunjin ultimately says to Minho, though it’s with resignation, “that we don’t see you for years, and suddenly that Jeongin’s back–”

“Hyung,” Jeongin interrupts with mortification. Minho averts his eyes, burned.

Hyunjin snaps his mouth shut, then holds his hands up in frustrated innocence. “Someone had to say it!”

“Please.”

A beat. “Fine,” Hyunjin concedes, reaching out to pull Jeongin in for a rough hug, probably because he’s a bit embarrassed at himself for that. “I’m gonna see you soon, yeah? Come over so you can choose what clothes you want.”

“Yeah,” Jeongin says quietly.

The goodbye with Minho is far more awkward, a handshake that Minho struggles to lift his hand for, while juggling both Changbin and the heavy 7 Eleven bag. Hyunjin gives Changbin a couple of firm goodbye taps to the cheek, telling him to say hi to Somin and the kids for him, before folding back into the car. The sleek Mercedes rumbles to life before slowly peeling away, tires squeaky on the treated drive. Only Changbin waves after him, slurring about how pretty Hyunjin’s eyes are, like vintage lightbulbs. Whatever that means.

When the car is completely out of sight, Jeongin and Minho look at each other. Minho’s chest is rising with quick breaths, shame written all over his face.

Then Changbin doubles over, throwing up all over Minho’s nicest sneakers.

–

It’s another half an hour, almost 1 a.m., and Minho’s hosed down both the apartment pavement and the inside of Changbin’s mouth before they’re able to haul his drunk ass into the building. It’s a challenge, he’s not being cooperative at all, Changbin simply refuses to walk on his own two feet. He’s applied himself to Jeongin like a koala and not letting go. He also keeps trying to press his lips to Jeongin’s neck, whining little incoherent nothings, desperate to pepper him with kisses. Jeongin hates it. He's sensitive and that kind of touch. It sends sparks of arousal under his skin which he has to work to tamper down. Always did.

“Hyung,” Jeongin grunts, trying to angle his face away, grimacing.

“Iyenie, Iyenie. This hyung loves you forever, you know that?” Changbin professes, voice and clothes stained with the sharp stench of beer, whisky, soju and sake. “Your best hyung. Favourite hyung!”

“He's trying to give me a hickey!” Jeongin complains to Minho instead, seeing as appealing to Changbin’s sensibility is a lost cause.

They reach Minho's door, f*cking hallelujah, and Minho keys in the code. “Straight guys always get like this on a night out,” he says, rolling his eyes and pushing the door open.

Buh, what?

Straight guys don't get like this with Jeongin. What straight guys has Minho been hanging out with?!

“I love you guys so much!” Changbin honest to god blubbers, so loud it pings off the walls of the hallway, burying his face in Jeongin's collarbone. The man is a whole mess.

Minho takes over once they’re inside, helping Changbin into the shower, and Jeongin couldn’t be more grateful for it. He’s wrecked from the day, completely overstimulated, drained emotionally. All he wants to do is have a shower and wash up before passing out on Minho’s amazing, perfect bed for, like, a million years.

Still, Jeongin wants to be useful while Minho takes one for the team here, so he busies himself with preparing the daybed in Minho’s study. First, he fills up a large glass of water from the kitchen sink and leaves it on the edge of Minho’s desk, where it will be in arms reach from the bed. Jeongin thinks he remembers where the linen is kept, he’s seen Minho get it out of a storage cabinet built into the wall next to the guest bedroom door. Multiple times, because they have wrecked a lot of linen since Jeongin started staying over more often.

It occurs to Jeongin, as he’s pulling out a spare comforter and two pillows, that he’s never been into the guest room, and that the door is always closed. That’s weird, isn’t it?

Or, maybe it’s not. Maybe Jeongin’s just never had any reason to go in there, and Minho, equally, has had no reason to show him.

Though, coupled with Hyunjin’s words from earlier, Jeongin can’t help the sense of dread that begins to brew in his stomach.

Guilty for it, he pushes it down, closing the linen closet’s doors with a foot and returns to the study to finish what he started.

While Changbin was in the shower, it looks like Minho also got himself into a change of clothes and brushed his teeth, judging by the minty smell on him. Jeongin really hopes that if he put his shoes in the bath to wash them down, he didn’t use hot water. He should have warned Minho about that when they first got in.

Though, it likely doesn’t matter. Minho could just buy himself a nice new pair of sneakers if his get wrecked.

Both Jeongin and Minho work together to lay Changbin down onto the daybed, tucking the comforter around him. There’s something comical to it, like he’s the child and they’re the parents. It seems the beast has finally been tamed. Thank the lord. Changbin stares up at them both dreamily and Jeongin can’t help but smile back. He feels Minho’s small hand sliding around his back, anchoring into his side.

After such a day, it’s a sweet, almost perfect, moment to end on.

Until Changbin reaches up to grab both of Jeongin and Minho’s heads, attempting to force their faces together as he orders, “Now kiss!”

Jeongin howls like a drowning animal, just managing to shake out of Changbin’s strong grip before his lips are smashed onto Minho’s. “f*ck!” he curses loudly. “Hyung!”

“I’m so happy for you both!” Changbin whines out, high-pitched, throwing his hands down on the bed on either side of him, a tiny tantrum. “My hyung and my baby. You deserve each other. You deserve happiness!” He stares up, rounding his eyes to make them as pleading as possible. “I love you!”

“I love you too, now goodnight,” Jeongin admonishes, while Minho breaks out into laughter. What the hell is he laughing for after, he had to clean someone else’s chuck off of himself?! How is he not in the worst mood ever?

Fed up, Jeongin turns and slams his hand on the lightswitch to turn it off, leaving the room.

Jeongin comes to a stop halfway into the kitchen, hands dragging down his face when he hears Minho say something to Changbin before softly closing the study door. A moment later, he feels Minho’s arms around him, hugging him from behind. For a moment, they stay still, then Minho whispers, “Thanks for doing that.”

Finally, it’s just them again. Jeongin relaxes back into Minho’s body, letting out a slow, healing breath.

“Hungry?” Minho whispers.

“No,” Jeongin says.

“Drink?”

“Maybe.”

“Cigarette?”

“God yes,” Jeongin agrees, a deep sigh.

They have to rug up to go outside again, though any wind must be coming from the other side of the building, shielding them from the worst of the chill, which is one blessing. Honestly? Jeongin is absolutely sick of his stupid, fashionable clothing, looking forward to when he can just rip it all off and put on some of Minho’s comfortable clothes instead. Though, once they’ve both washed up, they’ll probably go to bed naked, as they have gotten into the habit of doing lately.

On the veranda, Minho rearranges his little balcony garden, most of it dormant for the incoming frost, though it looks like he’s been trying to grow some kinds of hardy leafy vegetables. Cabbage or kale, maybe. Minho brushes down a wooden stool which had been the home for a half-used bag of soil, offering it to Jeongin. The other seat is a worn-down cobalt blue plastic stool that looks like it belongs in front of a bunsikjip eatery. Did Minho steal it? Jeongin’s pretty sure he wouldn’t do that. Almost.

After Minho's also sat down, there's that comfortable quiet between them again, only the gentle whistle of air and the faraway hum of the streets far below joining them. Jeongin smokes his cigarette, focusing on the fizziness it brings between his brain and skull, like a thousand tiny little kisses. It’s the relaxation he needs after the long, socially draining day. Minho doesn't talk, but he does press his knee to Jeongin’s, hands in the pockets of a fleece pullover.

The hand not balancing the cigarette is over his knee, Jeongin picking at the fuzzy material of his jacket. Eventually, Minho takes that hand into his and starts to play idly with the fingers. Fanning them, squeezing them with gentle, fluid movements. Jeongin watches him do it. Mesmerised, for a moment.

“I didn't realise you were so distanced from the guys,” Jeongin does break the silence, looking at the veranda railing and not at Minho.

“I said,” Minho replies, “trying to coordinate things was like getting the planets to align.”

When Jeongin looks at him, Minho doesn't bother to mask the remorse pulling his face into a frown. “Don't lie to me,” Jeongin says.

“I don't have an excuse for it,” Minho admits after a beat, almost a sigh. He looks down at where he's still poking and playing with Jeongin's fingers. “I'm still close with Jisung and Seungmin, but only because they put in all the effort.” The frown deepens, emotion notching hard between his brow. “It's selfish, I know.”

Jeongin studies him. The discomfort Minho is sitting in, waiting for Jeongin to alleviate him. He won't.

What a revelation this is. Minho was lonely. Alone.

Just like Jeongin.

“Hyung,” Jeongin murmurs. “Why are you like this?”

“I don't know,” Minho whispers, sounding awfully sorry for himself.

After that, the veranda is almost a morbid quiet, Jeongin turning over the events of the day as he continues to smoke. All the conversations that were had. All the things he picked up on when he wasn’t spacing out, or on the verge of panic attack. It really is cold. They should go inside. Why are they out here, when they could be within the warmth of Minho’s bed?

Neither of them make a move to.

“Why did you organise your party then?” Jeongin asks, realising the discrepancy in Minho’s story as he sounds it out. “Did you suddenly want to reconnect?”

“Jiseok-hyung and Chaewon organised it, actually,” Minho says, more sheepish than ashamed, and Jeongin just thinks, oh hyung. “They’d been bothering me about a party for years. I think they were fed up in the end, and took things into their own hands.”

“Why were you such a dick to me, then?” Jeongin challenges him. “You said I had bad manners!”

“I panicked!” Minho blurts out, holding Jeongin’s eye contact with desperation. “I– didn’t realise you were back, or that you’d be there. No one told me. Seungmin warned me like five minutes before you walked over–” he’s squeezing Jeongin’s fingers now, so quick and fast that Jeongin doesn’t think he realises he’s doing it, “and you were right– there and talking to me and, and–”

Jeongin silences the rest of it with a kiss, Minho making a cute, surprised sound into his lips. The cigarette gets tossed to the ground, almost done anyway. Jeongin will clean it up after. He brings both hands to Minho’s jaw, cupping him. Their lips are slow, devoted, tongues rolling over each other, needy for it. Jeongin can feel Minho starting to smile, a brush of teeth, the nipping of lips, Minho’s tongue flicking out and licking across Jeongin’s upper teeth.

The passion deepens, Minho running his fingers through Jeongin’s hair, nails scratching along his scalp. Jeongin’s hands slide down to around Minho’s neck, who groans breathily in response, holding the base of Jeongin’s head to keep them pinned together, mouths still licking at each other, wet and soft. Jeongin tilts his head back, needing to draw a breath, and spit bridges their tongues before Minho is chasing him again, like he wants to eat him whole. Like he wants to somehow bury himself inside of Jeongin’s body and stay there for eternity.

Kisses slowing, Minho draws away, holding Jeongin in place, staring into his eyes. They’re both breathing in tandem, steam blowing over each other’s mouths. Then, there’s a flash of fire across his gaze, intensifying it. One that worries Jeongin. Like Minho wants to do something impulsive, or something he’s been holding back, but can no longer.

Like, take the next step.

“I like you so much, Innie,” Minho says, completely serious, his pupils flickering back and forth.

Oh no, Jeongin thinks, heart pounding, the world unstable beneath him. Don’t–

Minho seems nervous, unsure even. The next words come out in a rush, spilling out of him without control, “I don’t know what to do with these feelings–”

“Hyung,” Jeongin gasps, leaning back. At the sharp tone, Minho goes quiet, a thread of fear creeping onto his face as he senses Jeongin’s withdrawal. It feels cruel to tug on that. It will unravel their happy little dream, but Jeongin cannot allow whatever it is Minho wants to materialise into reality. “This is too much for me. It’s too soon.”

Minho also moves back now, just an inch or two, bottom lip dropping down and gaze searching Jeongin’s face with dread.

Jeongin feels so awful. He’s so awful.

“You’re so much further ahead than I am,” Jeongin says, the cortisol bubbling under the surface of his skin which he works very hard to keep down, needing to focus everything on annunciating his feelings clearly. He learned early on in his previous relationship that he could not speak up when he was upset, or felt slighted, because she would become defensive, passive aggressive, or counter attack. It had been so different from the band, where they all had a vested interest in working out their misunderstandings, even if a fight preceded it.

Jeongin assumed there would be a vested interest in relationships too, but now he’s not so sure. He never had the experience with her of talking through a problem to peaceful resolution. Even though she never raised her voice at him, never threw anything at him, somewhere along the way, Jeongin developed a fear of being the cause of the problem. She never understood his point of view anyway, he was always the one to compromise his needs in the end.

Sometimes, it was like she switched from being his soulmate to his worst nightmare. He always felt like he was messing up, that he wasn’t good enough, that when everything went wrong, it was entirely his fault.

But this isn’t her. This is Minho.

Like Paris, Jeongin is full of fear again, but Minho deserves an opportunity to prove to him that this fear is misguided.

So Jeongin goes on, “It’s been, like, two and a half months, barely, since I was dumped. I know what you’re trying to do, and this thing – us – is very fun, but you, like– you’re not– I don’t think you’re seeing me for how f*cked up I am right now. Like you’re seeing me through pink. I’ve been away for so long, hyung. I’m not the same person you remember. I’m– I’m not him. I’m not baby bread.” A pause. “You’re not seeing me.”

f*ck. He explained that terribly. It’s over.

Jeongin drops his gaze, hands flopping into his lap and waits for the guillotine to drop. For the disagreements, the accusations, the threats.

Instead, Minho guides Jeongin’s chin up with a hooked finger and says, “Then help me see you.” Confused, Jeongin stares at Minho, stricken. Minho looks steady, though, and he continues. “Jeongin-ah. I want to be on your page. I want to meet you at your middle. I can’t do that if you don’t tell me what you’re afraid of. If you don’t– feel like you can be fully honest with me.” Minho takes a moment to roll his lips together, wetting them. “Are– you being fully honest with me?”

Time seems to slow.

Jeongin is staring back, horrified. He doesn’t know what to do with this.

“I’m afraid–” Jeongin starts to say, because, no, he can’t be fully honest with Minho. When he breathes, it’s shaky, and not from the cold. He can barely feel anything right now, completely numb. “I-I’m afraid that we have chemistry, that we somehow work, and that if we do fall into this, we’ll be together for a long time, and I’ll never have the space to heal from– to–”

How does he say it? How can he explain it?

It wasn’t easy for Jeongin to express himself before, let alone now, when his brain has been rewired with so much trauma after everything he experienced in France.

How does he even begin to untangle that mess of cords?

A scoffing sound chokes out of Jeongin, frustrated at himself for his severe lack of eloquence. He’s supposed to be an adult. With the amount he zones out, spends time in his own brain, why won’t the words cooperate when they need to come out? A thirty-seven year old man! Why can’t he just say what he means?!

“I was abused, Minho!” is what ends up coming out of him. They’re Hyunjin’s words from earlier in the day, rocketing out of him, and they’re true, but Jeongin has barely admitted that in the privacy of his own mind, let alone say it aloud. Because that makes it real. He gasps awfully, bringing two fists up to his mouth, trying to catch a breath, but the air is thinning again. “N-No– I– I didn’t mean to say that! She didn’t– she–”

“Shh,” Minho says, bringing his hands to Jeongin’s fists, thumbs on the knuckles, a fingerpad or two gentle against Jeongin’s cheeks. “Baby. Hey.”

The tears come, Jeongin shaking with a sudden sob, two of them slipping down his cheeks. “I can’t do this,” he says, scared out of his mind. “See. I can’t.”

Minho frowns softly, reaching up and carding Jeongin’s hair out of his eyes, tucking some of it behind his ear. He doesn’t seem mad. Jeongin doesn’t understand. He expected him to be mad. Minho’s touch lingers on the skin behind Jeongin’s ear, before he sweeps his fingers back around Jeongin’s jaw to wipe away the tears.

Jeongin searches Minho’s face, desperate for the answers he doesn’t have, or isn’t giving.

And yet.

And yet–

“But I don’t want to lose you,” Jeongin blurts out, and immediately regrets it.

Minho’s face squeezes together for a second, eyes closed and mouth pinched, and he breathes deeply. Is he angry? Emotional? Relieved? Jeongin can’t tell.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Minho says strongly, more earnest than Jeongin’s ever heard him. He finds Jeongin’s eyes again, holding his gaze. Carefully, he removes Jeongin’s anxious hands from his own face, and draws Jeongin closer against his body, until Jeongin’s head slots into the space between the curve of Minho’s neck and also under his chin. He begins to pet Jeongin’s hair, rock him too, which feels so nice. “You are in the driver’s seat,” Minho whispers. “You are in control, okay? Whether we go slow or fast. Whether we do this at all. It’s all up to you. I don’t want to push you. I want to travel at your pace.”

Relief crashes over Jeongin in waves, and he sinks even deeper into Minho’s circle of comfort.

Because the truth is, Jeongin wants to keep eating Minho’s food, continue laughing with him, be taken to bed by him. Minho’s stupid, wonderful, luxurious bed where Jeongin gets the best sleep of his whole life.

He wants to keep living in the dream, just for a little longer. In this world of lush harmonies, delicate melodies, and rich textures.

“The– f*cking, is okay,” Jeongin starts, awkward as he is. Around him, Minho’s body vibrates, like he’s silently laughing. A tiny smile pulls at Jeongin’s mouth, unable to help it. “Just us, here. That’s okay. Eating dinner and talking and, um, f*cking. Yeah.” Lord help him. “I guess it’s all the other stuff around it, that’s not great, right now.”

Minho’s fingers wind into the back of Jeongin’s jacket, pulling it taut. Jeongin can feel the relief, Minho grateful not to lose Jeongin either.

“I just need to know that there’s an exit,” Jeongin adds, voice lowering closer to a whisper, the words steeped with deep shame. “Paris was like a prison, hyung. That’s what I’m afraid of. Being caged again. Having to make all the sacrifices. Not being heard.”

Minho tilts his chin, pressing his lips firmly to the crown of Jeongin’s head. Jeongin closes his eyes, leaning into it, the stress held in his shoulders melting away. When Jeongin’s eyes do flutter open, he finds Minho above him, warmth overflowing in his gaze, an earnest admiration which feels far too generous than what Jeongin deserves.

“I want to hear you,” Minho promises softly. “And if you tell me to walk away, then I’ll walk away. I won’t fight it. I promise you.”

A safeword. A way out. A nuclear option.

A big red button for Jeongin to slam his hand onto if things get too real.

Relief. Such relief.

“Stay with me?” Jeongin pleads, with Minho’s big brown eyes shining down on him.

And with a smile, Minho gladly swoops down to kiss Jeongin, their bodies warm against the chill of winter. Jeongin allows himself to bask in the glow of it. This hyung, who Jeongin cherishes so dearly.

This Minho, who is willing to meet Jeongin in his middle.

They are safe here, in this rêverie. As long as they stay in their dream, no one can hurt them. Not a fashion house’s scandal, nor group photo on the internet.

Not even an enemy in a whole other continent, halfway across the world.