Archive of Our Own

i’ll never give you away, ‘cause i’ve already made that mistake
if my name never fell off your lips again, i know it’d be such a shame
── lover of mine, 5 seconds of summer

If only Minho knew what all of it would lead to, he would have probably done it sooner. Or never. He still can’t quite decide on that part.

But—

It all comes down to one of his students at the preschool, a six-year-old girl named Han Siyeon, and the fact that it’s September, and since the school year started in March, her guardians haven’t signed up to see him. Usually, the parents are eager to see him even outside of the usual conferences the preschool holds at the end of the term. They schedule appointments whenever they have questions or concerns or just want to discuss their child’s progress.

But it’s not the case for Siyeon. 

He hasn’t seen her parents even once since she started attending preschool this year. After class, she gets picked up by family friends or relatives—most often it’s the aunt who has a daughter in the elementary school in the next building over, her father’s sister-in-law, if he’s grasping it well, probably fetching her out of convenience.

Minho understands that.

He also gets that a lot of guardians work late, weird shifts, or in a different city. Still, he likes to think he’s being as accommodating as he possibly can. He has been working here for over four years by now, and not once has anyone complained about his methods of communication. For every parent-teacher conference, he sends out a list with office hours to sign up for so that no one has to wait in line and waste their precious time. He even meets some of the parents online if they aren’t able to see him face-to-face.

So he doesn’t really understand why no one has ever checked in for Siyeon, especially that there’s no reason for him to think she’s being neglected in any way, or that her parents aren’t interested in her progress—she talks about them often, babbling to her friends or even to Minho, about how she reads with her dad every evening now, about how her mom took her on a trip to the zoo last Sunday. Her parents clearly aren’t absent. They just don’t seem to want to talk about her improvement at school, which, well—Minho can’t share the sentiment. He loves talking about his students and how they’re doing in the classroom, especially that his group this year is full of lovely and bright kids.

So on Wednesday, three days before the scheduled conference, when Siyeon’s aunt comes to pick her up, Minho decides to finally take the matter into his own hands and make it clear that—at this point—at least one meeting to discuss Siyeon’s situation is mandatory.

“Although it’s fine for family and friends to pick Siyeon up from school, at the end of the day, there are things that I can only disclose and talk about with her legal guardians,” he tells the woman. “I would appreciate it if you could relay the date of the parent-teacher conference to either of her parents. I’ve sent them both emails with all the information, so I hope they can make time to talk to me about Siyeon’s progress.”

“Oh,” she says, but she sounds more conflicted than surprised, and her face contorts in concern. “I’ll make sure to let her father know. Her mom lives on the other side of the country, so she definitely won’t be able to make it.”

Minho nods in understanding. He caught the gist of the family dynamics in class, so he was expecting it, but he still didn’t want to assume.

“As long as one of the guardians shows up, it’s just fine,” he says. “Thank you very much.”

The sign-up confirmation comes when Minho is already eating dinner at home, Siyeon’s name written down as the last slot of the day, at 7:45 in the evening. It’s going to be a long day, he knows, but at least he will get the meetings done over with in a few hours and be mostly free for the rest of the school year. And—well, one of the most satisfying parts of his job is the sight of a guardian’s expression when he points out how their kid excels in this and that and has great manners and gets along with their peers well and cleans up the toys after playing and Look at their drawing right there on the wall, isn’t it just amazing? So he’s looking forward to it, even if he knows he’ll be dead on his feet the moment he gets home.

When Friday comes, thankfully, every meeting goes smoothly. Minho praises his students beyond belief, asks parents to try working with their child on practicing some things more at home, and gets told that he’s doing an amazing job as the teacher, which, honestly, makes up for the fact that he has way much more caffeine flowing through his system than a doctor would recommend.

It’s only when the clock mounted to the wall opposite his desk reads 7:50 and the seat in front of him remains empty that things start to deteriorate.

Siyeon’s father is late. 

That’s fine, Minho tells himself. Work happens. Traffic jams happen. A few minutes of a delay isn’t going to kill anyone. So he sits at the desk and keeps looking between the open door and the clock, waiting, watching the minutes tick by. Two. Five. Ten. Fifteen. He checks his school email account three times, even, searching for any notice of being late or even a cancellation of the appointment, but he finds nothing. 

At that point in the day, after a whole week of work and overtime hours, with a frozen pizza and his beloved cat waiting for him at home, faced with the fact that Siyeon’s father basically stood him up, Minho quickly grows annoyed.

He waits another five minutes, and then, with a sigh of defeat and exhaustion, he gets off the chair and starts gathering his things off the desk. He slides his laptop into his bag and downs the remainder of coffee that has long gone cold in the mug. But as he’s just about to slide all the papers he prepared for today into the drawer, loud, frantic footsteps sound down the hallway, echoing into the classroom through the open door. 

Alerted, Minho stops in his tracks until the very moment a man dressed in black from head to toe stands in the doorway. He yanks his mask off just as Minho turns in the direction of the entrance, and the face that has been hiding behind it ends up being the face Minho never thought he would see again in his life.

The sight nearly pulls him to his knees. 

Han Jisung comes to an almost screeching halt, his eyes widening when they fall on Minho, his jaw practically on the floor. He looks so painfully real, so flesh and blood—it sends a jolt of pain through Minho’s heart. He stumbles forward into the classroom, looking like he has just seen a ghost, while Minho’s fingers curl against the edges of the folder he’s holding.

No, he tells himself. There is just no way. 

But then Jisung opens his mouth to speak, and the momentary doubt about it being just a man that eerily resembles him slips away. 

“Minho hyung?” he asks, breathless, like he, too, finds it hard to believe that this, of all places, is where they meet again.

Minho has never given his name much thought before, but when Jisung says it after so many years—nine damned years—his voice sweet like honey and softened by surprise, it feels like he’s hearing it for the first time.

You can run but only so far. Isn’t that how it goes? Minho has been running away from someone who wasn’t even chasing him, and—ironically—that someone has caught him anyhow. Completely off-guard.

“Jisung,” he says, barely able to make out the sound of his own voice with how loud his heart is pounding in his ears.

He has grown accustomed to seeing Jisung’s face on bus stop advertisements and in television commercials, to the sound of his voice coming from the radio when he drives to work in the morning. He thought that after so many years, if all those things didn’t hurt so much anymore, it meant that he had finally moved on. But all it takes is for Jisung to stand in front of him, and Minho feels like he’s being unmade all over again.

He waits and waits for his brain to provide something to say, but it’s Jisung who beats him to it and speaks up first. 

“Hyung, I’m sorry for being late,” he says, coming closer to the desk. “I got caught up at work and lost track of time, and then the traffic—I’m sorry to keep you waiting.” 

All at once, Minho remembers where they are. Who he is. What he’s here for. 

And his world unravels.

“You . . . You are Siyeon’s father?” he asks, stupid. He does mental math—Siyeon is six years old, Jisung had to have her when he was twenty-two. More or less three years after Minho packed his bags and left. But—

Of course, he thinks. Of course that kid is Jisung’s daughter. 

Jisung just nods. He rests his hand on the back of the chair on the other side of Minho’s desk in a silent question, and then, when Minho jerks his head in an absentminded nod, pulls it out, sitting down. With nothing else to do, not wanting to keep on standing and risk his legs truly giving up on him, Minho takes a seat, too. 

“Don’t you have it in your records?” Jisung asks him. “My name?”

Minho recalls the shock in his face. This genuine astonishment that took over Jisung at the sight of him inside this classroom. He wasn’t expecting to see him, either. Probably, just like Minho, he assumed that the familiar syllables spelling out their names were nothing more than a coincidence. Still, he asks, “Didn’t you know mine?”

“I knew your name,” Jisung says quietly. “I just assumed it was one of the many Lee Minhos I’d have to come across and be reminded of you.”

Minho’s heart rate kicks up a notch. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, not for an embarrassingly long moment, during which Jisung regards him with lingering surprise and vast interest. Minho’s eyes, on the other hand, skitter all over his face and the classroom behind him, too afraid to meet his gaze dead-on.

“Well, I—uh, I’m glad you could make it,” he says in the end, busying himself with the task of finding Siyeon’s report card in the folder. “I was concerned about the fact that neither of Siyeon’s guardians came to talk about her progress in class the last time.”

At his words, Jisung straightens his posture. “I’m not absent,” he assures immediately, his voice firm, but not angry. “Her mom is not absent. Siyeon lives with me, I’m her primary guardian, but Yeseul calls almost every day after school so that Siyeon can tell both of us about everything that happens at school—”

“I’m not saying you’re absent,” Minho interrupts. The last thing he needs is to add a giant misunderstanding to the plate of his faults. God knows there are a lot of them to deal with already. “I just mean that it’s important for you to hear how she’s progressing from someone other than her. That it’s important for me to know how both you, as parents, and her, as a student, feel here.”

Jisung’s shoulders slump. “I wanted to come to the conferences. I wanted to hear her teacher talk about her because I know just how amazing she is. But . . .” he trails off, and then looks at Minho like he’s begging. “Hyung. No one knows that I have a daughter.”

Minho sucks in a breath. In reality, he suspected that was the case the moment Jisung sat down in front of him. He would have to never use the internet or leave his house not to be subjected to conversations about Jisung and his band, and over those nine years, he has never heard a single news outlet even dabble in a rumor of this kind, when a topic as scandalous as a beloved superstar having a child would break the entire country. 

“And Siyeon’s mom lives all the way in Ulsan,” Jisung explains. “She sees her on the weekends, sometimes less often if work gets in the way. It just didn’t feel doable for either of us to come.”

“Alright, I understand it’s a peculiar case,” Minho says. “You don’t need to worry about anyone finding out about Siyeon. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

Jisung relaxes. “Thank you,” he says. “I just—It’s the only way I can protect her. The only way I can keep her safe.”

Right. Because nine years have passed since the night they last saw each other, and Jisung is an internationally recognized vocalist, guitarist, and songwriter of one of the most beloved rock bands to ever step on stage, MANIAC, and he has an ocean of fans and news outlets following his every move. Minho doesn’t doubt that if anyone knew about Siyeon, they wouldn’t let her have a single normal day. Jisung lives like that, takes it on—it must be so hard for him. And Siyeon is so young. She’s just a child. 

“You’ve done a good job,” Minho tells him. He’s trying not to freak out as the reality of it all slowly dawns on him part by part, so he hopes he actually sounds genuine. 

Jisung exhales. “Thank you,” he says. “Yeseul and I have been trying to raise her as best as we can, despite everything. I’m just glad it’s working.”

“It really is,” Minho says earnestly. He looks at his notes, just glances down to anchor himself to something other than Jisung’s face, and takes a deep, but hopefully subtle breath. 

And he tells Jisung everything there is to know about his child’s school experience.

“Siyeon is a good kid. It’s obvious that she’s eager to learn and studies easily. She’s quick to understand concepts and memorize them, especially when it comes to math,” he says. “It’s really amazing that she’s always asking for additional exercises and that even when she makes mistakes, all I need to do is to make her think about it again and she’s going to find a way to correct it.”

He glances at Jisung as he says it, watching a satisfied, proud smile stretch across his mouth. He remembers that Jisung never liked math much at school, and it’s not a guarantee that Siyeon will like it once more difficult concepts are introduced, but Minho hopes she will. 

“She makes me find worksheets online to print out for her,” Jisung says with a smile. “I’m also just thinking of finding some textbooks so that she can go through them at home, but I have no idea what would truly be useful.”

“I can help you find something,” Minho proposes immediately. “There are a few reliable publishing houses that lots of teachers use, so I’m sure at least one will be just right for Siyeon.”

When Jisung smiles at him, something in Minho breaks. He tries to school his expression to make it less obvious while Jisung, completely unaware, offers his gratitude for how helpful Minho is being.

Minho glances at the notes he jotted down on the post-it stuck at the front of Siyeon’s folder in search of something to use as a distraction. He’s way too good at changing the topic.

“On the other hand,” he starts, “she writes quickly, and because of that sometimes her handwriting gets sloppy and intelligible. It’s something we’ll keep working on, of course, but if you’d like to practice with her at home, I can also send you some worksheets.”

Without even waiting for Jisung to answer, he grabs a cube of sticky notes and a pen to write it down—textbooks and worksheets and Han Jisung. 

Then— “She’s doing great in Japanese too. It’s only been a few months, but she really seems to enjoy learning it, so I hope you’ll enroll her in a hagwon to keep her interested once she starts elementary,” he suggests gently. “There are a few very good ones that I can recommend, and they also offer other classes, so I can always refer you to them if you’re interested. But we still have time, so.” 

Minho smiles.

“She’s obsessed with that one song about cats and mice,” Jisung tells him, amused. “She’s always singing it at home, getting it stuck in my head too.”

“Ah, right,” Minho grins. It’s a song he uses to teach the kids how to count in Japanese, a true earworm. Very effective. He catches Jisung’s gaze briefly, the eye contact immediately flustering him. He lowers his eyes to the papers lying on his desk and clears his throat. “Uhm, her English teacher said he was really surprised by how well she could speak the language,” he continues. “Did she take classes before?”

“No, never. We just watch a lot of cartoons in English together, I guess that’s where she gets most of it from,” Jisung says. He has always been good at learning languages, so it’s no wonder his daughter shares the trait. “And it helps that Chan hyung is around. He teaches her through conversations, practically always talking to her in English, translating things for her when she can’t find a word, all that.”

Minho inhales sharply at the mention of their shared past. A friend—Jisung’s, not Minho’s, but a part of his life through him nonetheless. 

“That’s really impressive,” he says, so as not to allow himself to linger on the thought and have it venture any further. “It’s great that you’re surrounding her with languages from all sides. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how important that is.”

Jisung smiles. “That’s why we chose this preschool in the first place.”

Well, Minho already knew that. The fact that they teach two additional languages has helped place their facility in the solid top five preschools in Seoul. Most guardians enroll their kids here for that exact reason. 

“I’m glad to hear that,” Minho says, redirecting his gaze to his notes so that he doesn’t focus too much on the way Jisung’s gentle smile is the same even after so many years. “In general, in the learning department, Siyeon is doing great. She doesn’t seem to like physical activity that much, though, even when the group goes out to the playground, so I’ll be thinking about some other ways to engage her.”

“She’s a bit of a couch potato, like me.” Jisung laughs, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “But she likes dancing. I mean, at least at home. I’m not sure how doable that is in the classroom, though.”

Minho perks up. “It’s doable. We mostly do some stretching with music in the middle of the day, but dancing could also be good on its own,” he says. “I’m sure the kids would like that.”

Their eyes lock, and the world goes silent. Minho’s heartbeat falls off-rhythm when Jisung smiles at him, and he has half a mind to hold his breath to slow it down, but he thinks better of it and just—clears his throat and looks away.

“I—I think that’s all, but I’ll be forwarding you a detailed report tomorrow,” he says in the end. He hates how tied his tongue is around Jisung. Hates that it’s his own fault. His own doing. “Do you have any questions?”

If he asked that nine years ago, Jisung would definitely respond with a flirty remark, or maybe something that would have Minho rolling his eyes, something that would have him annoyed if it came out of anyone else’s mouth. But here, Minho is just Jisung’s daughter’s teacher. He’s no one. A nobody. 

So Jisung asks about his daughter, of course.

He asks about how she interacts with other kids, and if she volunteers to do things in class, if she likes reading out loud, because she often doesn’t want to do it at home. Minho tells him everything he wants to know that isn’t told through Siyeon’s own point of view—the small squabbles resolved with an exchange of heart-shaped stickers at the end of the school day, how Siyeon won’t volunteer to read in front of the class on her own, but she’ll do it just fine if Minho asks her to. 

Jisung seems satisfied when he’s done answering all the questions.

“I regret I didn’t come to the previous conferences,” he says as he stands up, and something in his voice makes Minho think he might not only be talking about Siyeon’s preschool progress. “Thank you for taking the time. You’re an incredible teacher. I’m happy Siyeon can be one of your pupils.”

Minho feels his ears heat up. “Well, thank you,” he says, getting up from his seat, too, watching Jisung take a step back in the direction of the door. He wants to make him stay, but he knows he doesn’t have a right to. 

So he settles on that. Watching Jisung leave. 

He looks back at Minho, his eyes sliding from his shoes up to the tip of his head, almost as if checking him out, but most probably taking him in after almost ten years of not seeing each other.

“I didn’t think I’d see you in a place like this,” he says eventually. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Minho’s throat closes up. He wants to apologize, if he has to be honest. Wants to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness, because even after those nine years, even after—once again—reassuring himself that he did the right thing, the guilt is insurmountable. 

Before he can say anything, though, Jisung puts the mask back on over his face, turns on his heel, and walks out. Minho can only watch him disappear around the corner, just as untouchable as he has been for days and weeks and months and years.

Seeing Jisung after so many years leaves him unbalanced for the remainder of the day. It doesn’t really hit him until he crosses the doorstep of his apartment and sees his own reflection in the mirror, how absent his gaze is, how his hands just don’t stop trembling. 

He saw Han Jisung. Han Jisung, who has once been everything to him, who is now a stranger. Who is beautiful and all grown-up and exactly just as charming as he is through the screen, even if a bit more timid, even if he’s only talking about his daughter. 

When Minho gets into bed that night, he’s still incapable of thinking about anything other than him. The sound of his voice, the sparkle in his eyes, unchanged despite all this damned time. He can’t stop thinking about how much he wants to see him again, if he has to be honest. 

It’s not something he has thought about in a while, too. After so much pain and effort put into looking straight ahead, an unexpected noise behind his back made him look over his shoulder. And now Minho’s heart aches a little more than it did before, and his thoughts are left reeling, bringing back all the memories he put in a box and shoved under his bed, out of sight, but always safe.

He remembers those times a little too well for something that happened over ten years ago. They had an enormous impact on his life—Jisung did—so it’s no wonder, but Minho still marvels at the capabilities of his brain when it works hand in hand with his wretched, traitorous heart.

It was over three years of hushed conversations over the phone in the middle of the night, kisses exchanged for every correctly answered math exercise, and love songs with lyrics too profoundly emotional to not be turned into a joke, no matter how sincere they actually were. It was everything a teenage romance should be: fun, all-consuming, and destined to fall apart and leave both hearts involved in pieces. 

When everything unfolded, Jisung was nineteen, having just graduated high school. Minho already had one year of university under his belt. They were just kids, Minho sees it in retrospect, now that he’s so much older. They were just kids that weren’t supposed to make adult decisions. 

MANIAC, the rock band Jisung started on a whim with three other guys a few years earlier, was slowly spreading its wings. The members—Chan, Changbin, Hyunjin, and him—were running around the city, either busking or pushing their demo CDs into the hands of renowned producers, begging the world for a chance to be heard.

That, all the constant rehearsals, and the process of recording music in Chan’s basement meant that even with school out of the way and the summer vacation in full swing, Jisung often got home late. 

Time slipped past him even on days when he and Minho were supposed to see each other, leaving him to sit waiting, waiting, always waiting. Minho could only stomach it because he knew how important music was for Jisung, and he knew that—at the end of the day—Jisung would always find a way to make it up to him.

One afternoon, when they finally found the time to spend an entire day together, with no part-time work or band responsibilities to attend to, Chan called. Jisung was conflicted, clearly. He didn’t want to pick it up, not when Minho was already so annoyed with the constant ditching and rescheduling. But Minho couldn’t do it to him. He pulled away and said, Just pick it up.

It turned out Chan had the news that would change their lives forever: the people at one of the agencies they sent their demo to heard their songs and were interested in seeing where the band could go.

Minho was happy for Jisung, of course he was happy. How could he not be? The person he loved so much was just one step away from his dreams coming true. He was proud. But as Jisung hastily gathered his things and ran out, promising him—once again—that he would make it up to him, promising him some other, distant afternoon, Minho was also just . . . tired.

They didn’t see each other the next day, Minho’s messages left uncharacteristically unread, but on Sunday, Jisung asked him to come over. All it took was stepping inside the house to realize that something was terribly wrong.

“If we want to sign the contract, we have to move to Seoul right away,” Jisung said as they sat on his twin-sized bed, his voice breaking in tandem with Minho’s heart. “They want us one million percent focused on preparing to debut. No distractions.”

Minho’s stomach sank. “Distractions,” he echoed quietly. “That means. . .”

But before he could even finish the thought, Jisung burst into tears. He leaped forward, wrapping his arms around Minho’s shoulders, pressing himself so close against him that Minho’s body shook along with him. 

Neither of them had to say the words out loud. Neither of them dared to.

“I don’t want that,” he cried, clutching the fabric of his hoodie so desperately, it seemed like he was afraid Minho would have disappeared if he wasn’t holding him tightly enough. “I will never be able to do any of it without you.”

Minho felt like he was going to throw up. His stomach felt hollow, the sensation making him want to retch. It was a visceral and an over-consuming dread, something he felt in every single cell of his body.  

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Jisung kept crying against his shoulder, and Minho was just—there. Holding him, but unable to find the words to comfort him or the solution to the problem he had never thought he would have to deal with. 

And then Jisung said, “I’d rather not do it at all than be without you,” and all of it came crashing down on Minho. 

His heart sank.

Minho felt responsible for his pain. He was the cause of it, after all. If he wasn’t in the picture—if Jisung didn’t have to worry about leaving him behind, none of this would be happening. Jisung wouldn’t be hesitating. Throwing away his dreams. 

Minho could try to convince him—that they could take a break, keep it on the low for the time being, to be careful and focused on their responsibilities. But he knew it would never work. Jisung wouldn’t be able to do it long-distance, to rely on phone calls and messages when all he wanted was to sink into Minho’s arms and put his head on his shoulder and kiss him until they were both breathless. Minho would never be able to do it, either. 

He broke his own heart because Jisung loved him too much to ever do it. 

“We’ll work it all out, don’t worry,” he whispered, hugging Jisung tighter. But his throat was already closed-up with heartache and unshed tears by then, wrapped around with a barbed wire, and his mind was made up. 

He would have never been able to live with himself if he allowed Jisung to toss away his biggest dream—his one in a lifetime chance—for them. No matter how much he loved him. Or maybe precisely because he loved him so much. Minho just couldn’t stand in the way of his future. 

Even though he wiped Jisung’s tears and hugged him until he finally fell asleep that night, promising to find a solution, the truth was, the moment Minho heard the words leave Jisung’s throat, he had already known what he was going to do.

By morning, he was gone.

He didn’t even leave a note. He sent a text. He was the worst kind of person, someone who ended relationships built on years of trust and love over a stupid electronic message. Maybe he was even worse than the worst, since he also completely disappeared from Jisung’s life as if he had never been its resident in the first place.

Minho doesn’t remember exactly what he wrote in it, but the gist was: I’m sorry. I can’t be the thing that holds you back. I love you. I know you’ll be successful, so you have to go. I’ll always be your number one fan. Just not like that. Please, go to Seoul and don’t look for me. 

Then, he blocked Jisung’s number and went into hiding. 

That night was the last time he had seen Jisung before fame snatched him away. 

For the remainder of summer, he stayed at his parents’ house, begging them to tell Jisung he left the town each time Jisung came to ask about him—which was practically every day before he finally left for Seoul. In reality, Minho was hiding upstairs, listening to the sound of Jisung’s voice, how it always broke when he said Minho’s name, practically begging to see him. Each time it was getting harder and harder not to run back into his arms.

It was all Minho wanted, but it was also the only thing he couldn’t have.  

“You are torturing him,” his mom said, angry and disappointed after yet another time she had to tell Jisung, I’m sorry, honey, but he told me not to let you know where he’d gone, and see him break into tears on their porch. She always wanted to invite him in, brew him a cup of tea, but after the rejection, Jisung always went straight back home. 

“I’m doing it for him,” Minho told her. “He’s crying now, but he’ll move on easier this way.”

His parents didn’t understand what he was doing, and he wasn’t sure, either, flailing around and living life taking it one day at a time until he finally found his footing. He took a break from his studies and enlisted in the military soon after, becoming truly unreachable for anyone other than his parents.

Then, after getting discharged, he resumed his university career, started majoring in Education, learnt Japanese, and ended up becoming a teacher in one of the top ranking preschools in Seoul.

All the while Jisung was taking the world by storm.

Some days he regretted the way he had dealt with it. The way he had run away. Sometimes, a part of him still regrets. But then he’s reminded that it would have been selfish of him to hold Jisung back. To be the reason why his dreams had to be put on an indefinite hold. Not only his, but his whole band’s too.

Lying in bed that night after the conference, he can’t stop himself from looking Jisung’s name up on the Internet. What it offers him is his whole profile: a picture from a photoshoot that makes Minho’s stomach flip—Jisung standing in a bathtub full of vinyls and wires, looking up at the camera with a dark, heavy gaze—and basic information that he already knows, like his birthday and where he’s from and what school he had gone to.

But what the page also tells him is that additionally to all the music he has released with MANIAC (a whopping amount of fifteen albums and EPs), he also puts out solo music. Minho knew about a few songs, but although he wanted to support him, he was afraid his heart wouldn’t be able to handle the pressure, so he never really listened. 

Something about today’s encounter, about seeing Jisung face-to-face after such a long time, though . . . Something about it all makes him want to listen to nothing but Jisung’s songs. He wants to stare at the ceiling and listen to each and every single one of them, turning the lyrics over in his head, memorizing the words, analyzing them. But he also, just like for the past years, doesn’t want to risk coming across something a little too personal. 

Not just yet. Not when he still feels so . . . raw. Maybe he won’t feel like it in a few days—or weeks. When his heart settles and he comes to terms that Jisung is, once again, just an arm’s reach away from him. 

He scrolls through the abundance of interviews and music videos linked to his page, past the picture of his electric guitar in the shade of tobacco burst and comes across a photo of him actually playing it, a snapshot from a concert. In the picture, Jisung is younger, maybe by three or four years, his hair is even longer, permed. He’s wearing a white shirt with the sleeves pushed up, and he’s smirking down at the strings as he plays, an addictive spark in his eyes. He looks unbelievably hot—so in his element. 

Minho’s heart clatters against his chest, that absolutely pathetic thing. 

He groans, tossing his phone away to disappear in the sheets and shoving his face into the pillow. He’s thirty years old and acting like a teenager, thirsting over his super sexy ex-boyfriend from high school days. It doesn’t get any more embarrassing than this.  

(Minho is in for a very fun, very embarrassing ride.)

🎸

“What’s going on with you?” 

Minho snaps his head up, looking over to where Jeongin is standing by the window of the faculty room, a mug in his hand. It’s obvious he’s been keeping himself busy watching Minho for a while, also because his glasses have slid down the bridge of his nose too much and he hasn’t made the effort to fix them.

“I’m just trying to read my book and enjoy an hour of peace,” Minho says, “which, thanks to your babbling, I can’t do now.”

“You’ve been looking at that same page for the past fifteen minutes,” Jeongin points out with a nod in the direction of Minho’s book. Interesting so far, really interesting, a thrilling murder mystery, but so hard to get into on this cursed day. “You’re not reading shit.” 

Minho gives him a look, but he doesn’t even bother telling Jeongin off. 

It’s true that he hasn’t been able to focus much today. But how can he tell Jeongin—or anyone, for that matter—that the reason why he’s suddenly feeling so untethered is because of a high-school boyfriend whose heart he broke by running away in the middle of the night like damned Cinderella? Jeongin would think he’s insane and tell him to get a grip—or he would demand gossip, which is somehow worse, because no one can know that all those years ago, he was dating Han Jisung of MANIAC.

“I just didn’t sleep well,” Minho says in the end.

Jeongin gives him a long look. After years of being friends and working together, he knows now that when Minho is tired and sleep-deprived, he’s also groggy and whiny. Not so on the edge. Almost jumpy. Another teacher came by with some hot news of Did you guys hear that— and Minho spilled hot water all over the counter instead of pouring it into the mug and then dropped his spoon to the floor.

“What did you do over the weekend?” 

Minho rolls his eyes. “I ate pizza for three consecutive days, planned every single class until the end of the school year, and had to look my elderly neighbor in the face and tell her that my child is my cat when she saw me with a stroller in the elevator,” he says with a straight face.

And thought about Han Jisung. Thought about him in the morning because his face appeared in his dream, and then some more when he realized that the giant T-shirt he has been wearing as his pajama, well-loved and faded, actually belonged to Jisung, and then he thought about Jisung because he had to grade Siyeon’s worksheet and at that point in the day his brain was so overridden with thoughts about Jisung that he wanted to scream. 

“Fascinating plans,” Jeongin comments. “Did you do all that alone?”

Minho raises an eyebrow. “Are you trying to ask me—during work hours, mind you—if I got dicked down during the weekend?”

“If you gave me gossip like a normal person, I wouldn’t have to ask.”

“Honey, there’s no gossip,” Minho says. If you omit the part where I’m once again feeling the fact that I’m part of the scandalous past of the frontman of the hottest band in the country. “I’m a kindergarten teacher. After five days surrounded by chattering kids, I’m spending my weekends taking hour-long bubble baths and lying in bed with my cat, not going to the club so that a mediocre man can buy me a drink.”

Jeongin sighs in an exaggerated pity, and finally fixes his glasses. “Your only chance of going on a date is if a hot single dad hits on you while picking up his child,” he says. “That’s just sad.”

Minho gawks at him for a moment, begging his cardiovascular system to calm the hell down as his heart rate speeds up and blood rushes to his face. And the most embarrassing part of it all? His thoughts immediately venture in the direction of no one other than Jisung. 

It makes him look pathetic, this constant reminiscence, as if nothing more interesting has happened in his life other than him. As if he’s hung up on him, badly enough to not have dated anyone else in over nine years. 

But it’s not true. Plenty of marvelous things have taken place for Minho, and he has dated enough. Some of the guys were more serious and long-lasting than others, but he hasn’t been pining like a fool after his high-school boyfriend. He has dignity. 

It’s just that Jisung has had the most impact on him, on his still-developing brain, and he’s suddenly around again, and Minho kind of doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

Ugh. He hates Jeongin for doing this to him. He only has an hour of a break per day when Felix takes over his group to teach English, and his precious absolutely the most amazing coworker is clearly on the mission to ruin it for him by making him think about Jisung again. About how, when he gets back in the classroom, he’s going to be faced with Jisung’s daughter. About how it’s probably the only thing he’ll be able to think about—that’s she’s Jisung’s flesh and blood, and all this time, Minho had no idea. 

Everyone is out to get him. 

He realizes that when Siyeon is handing over her Math worksheets for Minho to check, beaming, so glaringly excited. “My dad will come pick me up today!” she says, completely oblivious to the fact that Minho’s heart stutters in his chest, threatening to arrest.

“He will?” he asks dumbly.

“Yes! He promised we would go to the store and buy a big, big ice-cream box and watch Barbie!”

Minho softens. “That sounds like a great afternoon,” he says, and he means it. The only reason why he doesn’t outright envy Siyeon is that his evening will look the same. Except he will be hugging his cat and not Jisung, and maybe Barbie won’t be on the repertoire, but—whatever.

But as Siyeon runs off to her classmates again, Minho can’t stop his thoughts from wandering.

It’s surprising that after hiding in the shadows for half a year, not wanting to risk being found out, after one parent-teacher conference, Jisung has suddenly decided to pick his daughter up from school. Is Minho being foolish, thinking that it’s because of him? Because he wants to see Minho again?

But it makes no sense—for Jisung to seek him out this way; to not be holding a grudge, to not feel resentment for the way Minho left him all alone without an explanation. It doesn’t matter that it’s been nine years and any normal person would have already moved past it. Called it water under the bridge. But Jisung has never been one to forgive easily.

Minho doesn’t know. But either way, he would be lying to say he isn’t looking forward to seeing Jisung again. An opportunity is being handed to him. He would be a fool not to take it.

By the time Jisung does come, shortly before five in the afternoon, the class is practically vacated: there’s only Siyeon and Jiwoo, both of them playing shop in the corner of the classroom. Jisung takes that in when he tentatively opens the door, and his shoulders relax at the sight. Then, he looks at Minho. He pulls the mask down, hooking it under his chin, and gives him a gentle smile.

It has only been two days since they last saw each other. It feels like a lifetime, somehow. 

Siyeon has her back turned toward the door and she’s too busy laughing with Jiwoo, so she doesn’t notice Jisung come in. To be honest, Jisung doesn’t look like he’s in a rush, either. Instead of calling his daughter over, he makes his way towards Minho—who stands up from behind the desk to meet him half-way. 

“Hi there,” he says, schooling his expression into kind mundanity. He’s trying to appear friendly, but at the same time, not too friendly. He doesn’t want Jisung to think he’s coming on too strong or being over-eager. He points out, “You’re picking Siyeonie up today.”

“Yeah, my niece got a cold, I got out of the studio early, and I didn’t want to bother my sister-in-law,” Jisung explains. “I’m sorry for coming so late, by the way. I just didn’t want to risk getting recognized by a parent or anything.”

Minho smiles. “It’s fine. This is a good time to pick her up if privacy is what you want,” he says. “For future reference. If you’d like to come by more often. I mean, to pick her up. Not for any other reason, of course.”

He cringes at himself. 

It’s entirely his fault that the past has rendered him completely useless around Jisung. He was never like this before—and he still isn’t. But something about all the things left unsaid between the two of them makes him run his mouth without thinking.

Siyeon snaps him out of it when she finally realizes that her father has arrived. She runs up, calling out, “Dad!” and crashes against Jisung’s legs with all her weight. He doesn’t even budge.

His gaze stays on Minho for a moment longer—and maybe he does look slightly amused instead of weirded-out—before he redirects it to Siyeon and puts a hand on top of her head, cradling her closer.

“Hi, pumpkin,” he says fondly. “Did you have a good day at school?”

“Yeah!” Siyeon grins. “We danced to songs from cartoons today!”

Jisung looks at Minho again, disbelief written all over his face. “Right off the bat, hyung? You did it?”

Minho shrugs, but an oddly self-satisfied smile plasters itself to his mouth under Jisung’s gaze. “I had to see if it worked, and it did. And the kids were so happy, it broke my heart to turn the music off,” he recounts. “Your idea was great.” 

Before Jisung can say anything—or act on that flush that’s deepening on his face—Siyeon processes what she has heard from them and latches onto the only odd word in the dynamics she knows. Which is—none.

“Hyung?” she repeats as she looks between the two of them, confused. Of course she doesn’t know who Minho is, what he meant to her father once. Of course she doesn’t realize they even know each other’s names. “You’re friends with Teacher Minho?”

Jisung stammers. “I—Uh, we—we went to high school together,” he says. Briefly, he glances over at Minho, obviously unsure how to proceed and what to say, to finally settle on, “We were very good friends.”

When Siyeon looks at him for confirmation, Minho gives her a shaky smile. He and Jisung used to be so many things. The renewed reminder that someone who was his soulmate once upon a time is now a stranger pains him more than Minho wants to admit.

He hasn’t missed Jisung in years, but now that he’s standing beside him, it’s as if that hole in the shape of him that tore his heart apart those damned nine years ago has started bleeding over again. 

“If you were very good friends, why aren’t you hanging out now?” Siyeon asks without any inhibitions. “Did you fight?”

Jisung looks at Minho, and Minho looks right back even though holding eye contact with him remains a great feat. He feels all rattled, his heart hammering in his chest. He knows he’s not being helpful here, but it’s not his place to tell Jisung’s child anything about what happened between the two of them. He’s not privy to knowing what Jisung wants now. 

“Not exactly, pumpkin,” Jisung says with a sigh. “We. . . we lost each other’s numbers.” 

More like Minho took his things, blocked Jisung’s number, and left him all alone in the middle of the night. But, well—Minho is grateful that Jisung doesn’t seem to intend to ruin the image of him in his student’s head. That’s kind of him, but Jisung has always been so kind, so he isn’t surprised.

“Does that mean you will swap numbers now and meet often?” Siyeon asks, breaking into a toothy grin. 

“Hmm. Good question,” Jisung says. He pats his daughter on the head, tender and sweet, and smiles down at her. “Go help your friend clean up and grab your things, baby.”

Once Siyeon has run off to help Jiwoo put all the things they played with back into their respective places, Jisung turns around to face Minho. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, choosing to instead regard him with a kind of intensity Minho has never been subjected to from him, his expression unreadable.

And Minho thinks, That’s it. Jisung has been acting like he was alright with seeing Minho all over again after what Minho did to him, but he has had enough. 

“Listen,” Minho speaks before he can hold his tongue and think about it. “You don’t have to give me your number or—or talk to me—”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Jisung interrupts, raising his eyebrows. 

Minho makes a noise of disbelief. Better question: why would he? 

“The way I left—”

“It’s been almost ten years, hyung,” Jisung tells him. The way the corners of his mouth lift is more a promise of a smile than the actual gesture, but Minho feels it in his bones. “I understand why you did what you did. I’ve made my peace.”

“Jisung,” he says, and it sounds like he’s begging. “I’m sorry.”

Jisung lets out a sigh. “Let’s not talk about this here,” he says, glancing briefly at his daughter, who has seemingly forgotten that she was just supposed to take her backpack and come back to him, because she’s now peeling a sticker from her book and pressing it gently against Jiwoo’s arm. He looks back at Minho like he wants to punctuate his words. “I want to talk. I’ve been wanting to talk to you about everything for so long, hyung. Just not now. Not here.”

Minho’s knees feel weak. 

“I wanted to reach out to you and talk, too,” he admits, uncharacteristically shy at the admission. He has always had a hard time hiding his truth and his emotions in front of Jisung; it’s oddly comforting to know that it hasn’t changed with the flow of time.

“Why haven’t you?” Jisung asks, frowning. “You thought I wouldn’t let you in?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe,” Minho says with a shrug, but the answer is, unfortunately, Yes. “But I was—I am—afraid you might regret it.”

Jisung sighs. “I’ll regret it more if I don’t take this chance to reconnect,” he says, like it’s that simple. Like the great divide of ten years can be crossed in a single step, with sheer longing and a dream. 

When Minho doesn’t say anything for a moment, trying to come up with something that isn’t the string of apologies sitting on the tip of his tongue, Jisung clears his throat and straightens his posture like he doesn’t want to look too eager about it. Minho sees past the façade just as easily as he did years ago. It all shows in Jisung’s eyes, expressive and hopeful. 

“I miss you,” Minho says, too honest for his own good. The temperature of his body rises drastically, and he knows that his ears and neck must be visibly red by now, but he doesn’t back down. 

Jisung’s expression softens. 

He glances at Siyeon, chatting away with Jiwoo as she finally packs her stickers into her backpack, getting ready to part ways, and says, “Siyeon’s mom is spending Wednesday with her. If you have time—and if that’s something you’re comfortable with—you could come over to my place so that we could talk in peace.”

It’s a conversation that can’t be had in public, Minho knows that and it’s the last thing he wants, for strangers to witness him unravel, but the thought of immediately jumping into Jisung’s home terrifies him anyway.

He doesn’t have another choice, though. So he nods and says, “I should be done with work at five,” just as Siyeon comes running back, finally ready to go home. 

Jisung puts his hands on her shoulders, keeping her close, and sends Minho a smile. His voice is quiet when he says, “If you haven’t changed it, unblock my number, alright? I’ll send you the address.” 

Minho’s cheeks turn red in embarrassment. “I haven’t changed it,” he says.

Siyeon, blissfully unaware, beams up at him, calling out, “Bye, Teacher Minho!”

“Bye, Siyeon-ah,” he answers. “See you tomorrow.”

As she takes off in the direction of the door, skipping away happily, Minho looks back at Jisung, once again unable to quite believe that he’s seeing him face-to-face again. He must have done something right in his life after all, to end up here, to have Jisung look at him with something akin to tenderness and so far from the resentment he had been expecting all this time.

“It was good to see you,” Jisung says before he pulls the mask back over his face. He takes a step back, lingering, but the need to follow Siyeon out to the cloakroom wins over the want to keep looking at Minho for a moment longer. 

When he walks out, Minho takes a deep breath. He feels so much like a dumb teenager twice his age, which is at least laughable since he wasn’t this easily swept by emotions and timid when he was one. He supposes it’s justified when you’re faced with the person you once loved enough to move mountains for after years and years of running, but—still. He’s embarrassed about the hold Jisung still has on him, especially that it’s not the same the other way around.

“Teacher Minho, can you give me some paper?” 

Minho shakes the thoughts off. “Sure, Jiwoo-yah,” he says, walking over to the cupboard to grab a few blank sheets for her. “What do you want to draw?” 

🎸

Unable to wait any longer, Minho pulls his phone out of his bag the moment Jiwoo’s mom comes to pick her up, even before he leaves the classroom. He sits back against the edge of his desk, scrolls through his contacts until he finds the one that remains fondly named mine ♡ (Jisung’s doing, not his!) despite the passage of time, and unblocks the number.

He also spends an ungodly amount of time debating what message to send to let Jisung know that he can contact him freely now. Typing, deleting, typing some more, groaning at the ceiling, deleting again. In the end, what he sends is a stupidly simple, Hi. It’s Minho with a pleased face emoji. He feels the need to throw his phone across the room the moment the message goes through, so he shoves it into his bag and decides to not check it until he gets home. 

What awaits him is Jisung saying hi, asking if he got home safe, and wondering if Wednesday is still fine. 

He and Jisung don’t talk much over texts, though—they agree on a perfect time for Minho to come over (5:30 on Wednesday) and Jisung sends him his home address, saying that he’s going to let the security know he’ll be coming over so he should get through with no problems.

Flash forward to Wednesday, Minho is driving into the parking lot of Jisung’s gated apartment complex after having flashed the security guard his ID. Despite the impatience and the need to clear the air between them, he doesn’t rush out after he kills the engine. Instead, he rolls his shoulders back to relax the taut muscles, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath to stabilize his rattled heart. Once he deems himself ready enough, he grabs his phone and the cake he bought as a gift, and, with one last look into the rearview mirror, he leaves the car. 

On his way into the building, Minho wonders what he’ll say once he’s standing in front of Jisung—alone, in a place that’s safe and private, without a child to tiptoe around, without anyone to judge. He has spent the entire evening trying to come up with a speech, but now, once again, his mind is blank. He should probably just focus on apologizing first. That seems like a good place to start. Wherever the conversation leads him to next, he will simply have to adapt.

He takes the elevator up to the twenty-fourth floor of the pristine and modern complex, but not without a slight, unwelcome dizziness. He blames it on the unease he feels in too-tall buildings, but a part of him is certain it’s not his fear of heights that’s entirely at fault. 

Next to the door of Jisung’s apartment sits a tall pot with a pretty cute dracaena. Minho didn’t think Jisung was a plant guy, but—well, obviously a lot has changed within the last nine years. 

It turns out that he doesn’t even have to practice a soft smile to greet Jisung with, because the moment the door swings open, it involuntarily appears on Minho’s face. 

“Hi,” he says, a little breathless. Will this feeling go away soon? This astonishment and disbelief that he feels every time he sees Jisung? As if he’s nothing but a figment of his cruel imagination? 

Jisung smiles right back at him as he steps aside to hold the door open. “Hi. Come on in.”

Minho is careful when he crosses the threshold, uncharacteristically timid and tentative. The entryway is painted light beige, with a wall coat rack on one side and a shoe rack beneath it, full of combat boots and loafers and Converse and colorful sneakers that are so small they must belong to Siyeon. On the other wall, there’s a tall mirror with two dark wood shelves next to it housing a bowl with keys and another, smaller dracaena.

It’s muted, but warm. 

“I brought cake,” he says, holding the box out for Jisung to take. He didn’t want to come empty-handed, and he was also hoping to confirm that at least one thing hasn’t changed—Jisung’s affinity for sweet things.

Jisung’s smile widens, and so Minho’s shoulders relax. 

“You didn’t have to bring anything, but I’m very happy you did,” Jisung says cheekily. He carefully sets the box aside on the shelf to find Minho a pair of house slippers.

Minho takes off his shoes and puts them in the empty spot on the rack, thanking Jisung for the slippers—purple and fluffy—and putting them on. Then, he leaves his denim jacket on the hanger, Jisung grabs the cake box, and they share a look. Ready? they seem to ask each other. Finally, they head further into the apartment. 

When they walk into the living room, Minho lingers. He takes a minute to absorb the details of his surroundings, how lively the apartment feels. Jisung’s presence in it is so strong, with one acoustic guitar propped up in the corner and two electric ones displayed on the wall, a collection of vinyls on the shelf, artworks on the wall. But there’s also Siyeon—her toys, books, colorful blankets. There are signs of life everywhere he looks—someone is breathing, eating, sleeping, living here. 

Jisung leads him to the kitchen, lit up by the under-cabinet lights as the late-September afternoons quickly succumb to the dark. In the corner, right by the giant windows overlooking the city, is a round table. Minho takes a seat.

“What do you want to drink?” Jisung asks. “Coffee? Tea? Juice? Water?”

“Tea sounds good,” he says. 

Jisung gives a hum of acknowledgement and shuffles around the kitchen in preparation, filling the kettle with water, taking mugs out of the cabinet, tossing tea bags into each. Minho watches him—both because he has nothing better to do, and because Jisung is a sight to see, even when he’s just slicing a lemon. 

The years have been kind to him. Minho has seen him over these years, of course, on billboards and on the screen, but it’s an entirely different thing to be faced with him in person. He’s not hiding behind a face mask and a hat, he’s not obscuring himself, so Minho can stare and take him in—his beauty, magnified at least tenfold since the last time he properly looked at him.

Minho hates that he missed the moment his youthfulness faded and gave way to obvious maturity. 

“Did you have a good day at work today?” Jisung asks, friendly, making small-talk, but still sounding genuinely interested. 

“Mhm. The weather was good, so we went to the playground today,” he recounts. “And then we did some reading exercises, so it was very fun.”

“Did you continue reading Zombie boy? Yesterday Siyeon had me order all the books from that author, Ko Moonyoung, she liked it so much.” 

Minho laughs. “Yeah, we did. And it was obvious that she liked it, so I’m not even surprised,” he says. “And you? What have you been up to?” 

Jisung washes the knife under the tap water and turns around, leaning back against the counter to look at Minho as they talk.

“I was at the studio today, just going through some old demos collecting dust on my laptop. Scribbling some lyrics.”

He shrugs like it’s nothing that exciting. 

Minho props his cheek up on his hand and asks, “Are you guys preparing a new album?”

“Well, yes, but it will only be released next year,” Jisung tells him. “Hyunjin will have a solo coming out at the end of November, though, and I’m supposed to sing on one song with him, so we’ve been working on that.”

“Wow.” Minho smiles. “That sounds amazing.” And before he can even think about it or hold his tongue, he says, “I can’t wait to listen.” 

Jisung blinks. He looks at Minho for a second too long and opens his mouth to speak, but the water in the kettle begins to boil, and he seems to abandon the thought. 

He makes the tea the way Minho has always liked it. Earl Grey, with raspberry juice and a slice of lemon.

“Careful, it’s hot,” he says as he sets the mug down in front of Minho, and then his own on the other side of the table. But instead of sitting down and therefore starting the conversation  that looms above them, he goes back to the counter to cut them each a slice of the chocolate cake Minho brought. 

Then, finally, silence settles over them, and the old wounds are ready to be opened again, all so that they can heal better this time around. 

Not everything can be fixed with words, of course. Some things are simply like that—unrepairable. But Minho is—maybe foolishly—hoping that this is not one of those things.

He contemplated reaching out, when enough time had passed for Jisung to build up his own career, to be better off without him. More than once, even. But he didn’t think Jisung would ever answer. He had a new life—a life that Minho had no place in. Shiny, and beautiful, and faraway. 

And yet, he’s here now, his hands wrapped around a mug, seeking warmth, his expression timid and unsure. Despite that, he’s the first to break the silence and admit, “I’ve been practicing this in my head for years.”

Minho takes in a sharp breath, staring at him with his heart in his throat. He doesn’t know how to make things right again, and he’s afraid of making them worse. He hesitates.

“At first, when the heartbreak passed, I came up with a hundred different speeches, all of them angry and cruel,” Jisung says, his gaze fixed on the tabletop. “I was so furious—if I had seen you again, I would have said all these things I didn’t even mean and make you think you made the right choice leaving me.” 

I could never blame you for being angry, Minho wants to say, but he comes up short. Jisung sounds like he’s not done, either, and he doesn’t particularly want to interrupt him, even though hearing those words coming out of his mouth already hurts.

“And then I came to terms with it,” Jisung says. “I made my peace. And I wanted to tell you all that even more. I wanted to find you and tell you that you hurt me but I forgave you, and I kept imagining it. Running into you at the supermarket. Seeing you in the crowd during a gig. Going back home to see my parents and finding you there.”

“Jisung,” Minho whispers. “I’m sorry.” 

Jisung looks up, and their eyes lock. He doesn’t look all grown-up anymore, for some reason. Or he does. Minho just sees the youth in him. The nineteen-year-old Jisung he left behind that night, scared and hesitant.

“Why did you leave?” he asks. “I mean, I know why. I just. I want to hear you say it.” 

“Because if I didn’t, you wouldn’t,” Minho says. His heart hurts. His chest does. And his head. He’s hurting all over. “You were going to toss everything away because of me, and I couldn’t let that happen. You would have woken up one day, regretting it all, and you would have hated me, and I—” He stammers. “I wouldn’t be able to take it. You hating me.”

Jisung nods like he understands. Like he has thought about this enough times to come to this exact conclusion. But his jaw is set with emotion, like he can barely contain it. 

“I’m sure you know, but I tried to look for you,” he says, his bottom lip quivering like he’s trying not to cry. “I asked your parents, your friends. I called, texted, I just wanted you to come back. But everyone kept their mouth shut, said they didn’t know where you’d gone, and I realized there was no way I would find you if you didn’t want to be found. So I decided to respect what you wanted. I left the town, and that was it.”

Minho’s heart breaks. “I just didn’t want to hold you back,” he says. “I wanted you to be happy.”

“And I wanted to be happy with you.”  

Jisung looks away, blinking furiously. He looks like he’s about to cry for real, and Minho doesn’t feel any better. His eyes sting, and his hands are shaking where he’s hiding them under the table. He should be stronger than this, all grown-up and mature. But it feels like a fist has closed around his heart and it’s refusing to let go until everything is said and done. 

“I didn’t like the way you made that decision for me,” Jisung admits, looking over at him again. Although he’s burning under his gaze, Minho can’t bring himself to look away. “I know you selflessly put me and my dreams first. But you disappeared, hyung. I woke up and you weren’t there and suddenly you were breaking up with me and I couldn’t even get through to you and it was awful.” 

He speaks with so much pain in his voice that Minho immediately feels the guilt wash down on him over again. 

“I know. I should have stayed to talk to you,” he says. “I should have had an actual conversation with you about it. But at the time it felt like the better decision to just go. I was just afraid of what you would have done.”

“I would have chosen you,” Jisung says. “If you let me, I would have chosen you.”

Minho swallows. “I know,” he tells him. “That’s why I couldn’t let you choose. I was so in love with you. I knew you would have given up everything to be with me, because it’s exactly what I would have done for you, too.”

Jisung lets out a shuddering breath. “It wouldn’t have been giving up everything. Signing with the label was easier, yes, but it wasn’t the only way,” he says. “Another chance would have come sooner or later. Something that wouldn’t have forced us to break up.” 

“It was too much of a risk. It wasn’t just you, in the end. The other guys would also have to suck it up and keep trying and trying and trying. It wouldn’t have been fair.” 

For a long moment, neither of them say anything. Jisung just sniffles and takes a long sip of his tea. It has cooled down by now. And because he has nothing to do with his hands and his mouth, Minho brings the mug to his lips, too. The warmth that spreads through his system feels a lot like relief. 

It only hurts this much right now, he tells himself. Jisung said he had forgiven him. They’re just talking about it. It doesn’t mean they’re going back in time and putting all that pain back on their shoulders. 

“What did you do after?” Jisung asks. “Where did you go?” 

“I took a break from university and enlisted,” Minho says, to Jisung’s visible surprise. “And then, after I got discharged, I spent the summer with my friends, just traveling here and there. Then, I went back to school, graduated, and started teaching.” 

Jisung hums, bringing the tea to his lips to take another sip. “I never imagined you becoming a teacher,” he says. “I mean, not in a kindergarten. Even after you started university, I always thought you’d go back to dancing sooner or later.”

Minho smiles with nostalgia. “I wanted to, but I knew that it would’ve been a shot in the dark. And I needed something stable.”

“It turned out well for you in the end, didn’t it?”

He looks at Jisung, sitting in front of him after nine damned years, all thanks to the job that he has endured despite how tiring it is and the frequent headaches it gives him, and thinks, Yeah. It worked out so well. 

They’ve been apart longer than they were together, but that time was filled with intense emotions—emotions that lingered for much longer than it was probably healthy. He didn’t think of Jisung every day after he left, especially with the passing months and years, of course. But he did it often enough for the fondness to never really go away. Each time, he was just hoping that Jisung was doing alright—that he was healthy, that he was resting and eating well. That his heart wasn’t aching for Minho anymore. 

He’s curious about it now.

“How about you? How were things with the band?” he asks. And then, after a moment of hesitation, he adds, “With Siyeon?” 

Jisung drinks some more of his tea and takes a moment to collect himself. 

“It was hard at first,” he recounts. “I didn’t really see the point of doing it. My support system disappeared, and so it felt like the whole world just . . . fell apart. It was Changbin hyung who convinced me that I should get my shit together and not waste the chance that you helped me get. That you did it for me. That you left so that I would put myself first.”

Minho says, “I’m glad he did. I thought—I thought it would save you the hurt. That in the long run, it would be better than false hope or long distance.” His voice quiets down. “That maybe you would hate me for it, and it would be easier for you to move on.” 

The look of disbelief Jisung gives him throws his heart into a quicker beat. It crashes against his ribcage almost violently for a few seconds, so hard it makes his chest feel tight, but then Jisung runs his hands down his face, sighing, and it settles again.

“Maybe it was,” he says in the end. “Things did get better with time, obviously. They dragged me to the studio, even though I couldn’t bring myself to either sing, or write a single line. And then, one night, when I couldn’t sleep, I was watching this documentary and I just thought, Huh. Collision would make a good song title. So I opened the notes on my phone, and just started writing.” He regards Minho for a quiet moment, his gaze somewhere on Minho’s face, but not meeting his eyes, and he smiles, sounding equal measure amused and fond when he says, “You’re responsible for more than half of the songs from the first two, maybe three years of our discography. I think I still, unconsciously, draw inspiration from you these days. From us.”

Minho’s chest hurts. “Jisung,” he says, and it’s him now, him that sounds all tearful, like there’s something lodged in his throat preventing him from saying anything more than one word. 

Jisung lifts one corner of his mouth in a smirk. “You don’t have to worry,” he says. “Not all of the songs are filled with rage and murderous urges.”

Minho snorts. That does make him feel a bit better, though it’s not like he could ever blame Jisung or be angry with him for expressing his own feelings. Minho hurt him—there are consequences. That’s just how it is.

“But because I was so out of it for so long and each time I had to sing a song about us I was on the verge of breaking down, they thought we needed some vocal support,” Jisung continues, and Minho’s face explodes with warmth of shame. “Seungmin was one of the new talents at the company, but it would’ve been a long time before he debuted. So we pulled him in—and he was perfect. I really can’t imagine the band without him now.” 

“Does he play an instrument too?”

Jisung hums. “Yeah. The guitar. But he just mostly sings.” 

He seems to remember the cake sitting on a plate in front of him, then, because he takes a break from speaking to finally taste it. Minho watches him with much more attention than it’s probably proper, studying his face to make sure he likes it. He brought the damn cake, after all. He would throw himself down the stairs if, on top of every crime he committed against him, the sweet treat he picked out at the bakery after ten whole minutes of internal debate, was an utter mistake. 

Thankfully, Jisung’s eyes widen and even before he says, “God, this is so good,” it becomes obvious that he likes it. 

A little more relaxed, Minho also takes a bite. The cake is all about chocolate: the buttercream, the sponge-cake, the glaze on top. It’s a little too sweet for his tastes, but Jisung has always liked everything much sweeter. The thought that at least this hasn’t changed comforts Minho more than he would like to admit. 

 “And, well. Siyeon,” Jisung starts, smiling. “I met Yeseul three years after I left for Seoul.” 

There’s a certain fondness in his voice when he says her name. They’re not together anymore, that much Minho knows, but at the same time, that doesn’t mean there are bad feelings between them. He doesn’t know a lot of people who can not only be amicable after ending a relationship but even more so raise a child together. It takes a strong bond and two mature people. 

“I’ll spare you the details of how we met, because aside from the fact that it happened in the zoo during a feeding of sea lions, it’s not really important,” Jisung says.

But Minho raises his eyebrows, intrigued. He almost asks him to take it slow and recount the whole story, but he holds his tongue. Maybe, if everything goes well, he will be able to ask about it some other time. In the future.

Ha, what a thought.

“But it was—it was just fun, being with her. At least in the beginning,” Jisung continues. His smile, although it’s still there, has dimmed. “We started dating, and everything was going well until the band’s career really took off. We went on tours, traveled so much. We were always in the studio. And with Yeseul busy with her own career, we just didn’t have much time for one another. And we were just—fighting a lot, at the end.”

He grimaces. 

Minho asks, “Did Siyeon come after your break-up?” 

“We found out after we decided to split,” Jisung confirms. “Despite it all, Yeseul decided she wanted to keep the baby, and I couldn’t even imagine leaving her, so that was it. But we knew that we wouldn’t work in a relationship, so we became partners for Siyeon instead.”

“That’s a really mature decision,” Minho says. “I know that a lot of parents choose to stay together ‘for the kids’ and only end up causing more harm. And you two are providing her with a steady, loving home without any pretense and damaging examples, and clearly it’s working out well, because she’s an amazing kid.” 

Jisung gives him a soft smile. “Yeah. We knew we would just end up hating each other, and she would have to be the one handling the consequences,” he says. “It was just the right thing to do.”

“You didn’t take a break from the band when Siyeon was born, did you?”

“No, but thankfully at that time we weren’t touring, so I could be with them most of the time. And when I wasn’t, there were our families helping us,” Jisung says. “But, well. Yeseul truly took the best care of her. And she had to practically give up her career, so now that my schedule is flexible and I have a stable income, she’s staying with me while Yeseul is working. She comes to visit almost every week, she calls every day, so it’s not like Siyeon is missing out on that part of her life.” 

Minho smiles. “It really does sound like everything worked out well.” 

“Yeah.” Jisung returns his smile and then ducks his head when their eyes meet, as if talking about something so private is making him shy. Or maybe it’s just Minho. “Thankfully, the agency was also a great help. Actually, it’s only like . . . four people in the entire company that know of Siyeon’s existence, but that’s really what the help is about. Making sure she’s protected.”

Clearly, Jisung has spent the last years doing everything in his power to make sure Siyeon not only stays out of the spotlight his fame would thrust her into, but is also always safe. 

“I don’t have to work as much as I did in the beginning, but we’re still releasing music, we’re still touring—we still have a lot of fans, and among them, there are people who think they have the right to peek into our private lives,” he says. “I would never forgive myself if anything happened to her because of my job.”

Minho toys with the idea of reaching out to touch his hand, hold it in a gesture of support, but he decides against it. A conversation, an overwhelmingly intimate and sincere conversation, is one thing. Physical touch is something entirely different.

“You’re doing a good job,” he says instead. “Both raising her and protecting her.”

Jisung smiles. “Thank you, hyung.” 

They fall silent after that, focusing on clearing the cake slices off their plates. Minho’s tea has gone cold, but it’s still perfectly sweet and tasty, so, of course, he just has to put some bitterness on his tongue.

“It must have been even harder than you’re saying it was. After I left, I mean,” he says. “I’m sorry for having put you through all of it. I’m really sorry.”

Jisung sighs. “I know it wasn’t easy for you either,” he says, ever so understanding. “You loved me, and you left me. Of course that hurt you, too.” 

Minho might have not cried himself to sleep every night, but for over a year, it felt like his heart had been ripped in two and all he had to stitch it back together was not enough thread, a needle made of cold steel, and his two shaking hands. It took a lot of time to get the pieces to fit against one another, a lot of effort—leaving Jisung had changed him irreversibly, and everything that came later did, too. 

“What I’m trying to say is that although I’m sorry and I wish I could take it all back and deal with it differently, I know that I hurt you and I know that something like this can be hard to put—”

“No,” Jisung interrupts, his voice firm. He looks Minho in the eye, and it almost seems like he’s begging. “What’s past is past. I forgave you a long time ago. And I forgive you now. I will forgive you as many times as it takes.”

“Jisung,” Minho says over an exhale. “I—”

“Hyung, please,” he whispers. “I just want to start clean. I want you back in my life. I’ve wanted you back in my life all these years, and now you’re here—I can’t just let you walk out again.”

Minho swallows harshly, but the lump in his throat doesn’t go away. When he twists his mouth in a smile, it wavers because of all the emotions that are suddenly coursing through him, making him feel like he might just burst at the seams. 

He had been hesitant to assume this meeting meant anything. He thought that the hurt he had caused Jisung was irredeemable. But now he’s looking at him, and the sincerity in his expression is just so obvious. His heart is open—ready to take Minho back. 

“Alright,” he says. “We can start over again.”

Jisung breaks into his disarming, heart-shaped smile, unchanged despite the passage of time, just as comforting as it was when Minho was just a teenager and only one step into his journey of getting used to the reality of the world around him. 

His shoulders relax, and he feels it—this deep sense of contentment making itself at home in his chest, as if everything is beginning to fall into place. 

Once their mugs are devoid of tea and there’s nothing but slices of lemon in them, and when the sky outside turns such a deep shade of blue that Jisung has to switch on the kitchen lights, Minho decides it’s time for him to head home. (And process this entire conversation in the quiet and comfort of his own bed.) 

Jisung looks disappointed—looks like he wants to ask him to stay a little longer. But instead of doing that, he says, “We’ll see each other soon, right?” 

Minho nods. “You know where to find me.”

Jisung accompanies him to the door, waits for Minho to put on his shoes and his jacket. Stares with a smile lingering on his mouth. Stares the same way he did back when they were kids, fond in an inexplicable way, always saying, Because I can when Minho asked him why, even if Minho doing the same thing to him always rendered him a flustered mess. 

Minho doesn’t immediately reach for the handle, because although he knows he should, he doesn’t really want to go. He has missed Jisung so much—he kind of doesn’t want to let him out of his sight for the indefinite future, until his heart is settled and his emotions feel less like a hurricane.

He looks at Jisung, and feels the overwhelming urge to—despite the forgiveness—make everything up to him, to compensate for all the time they’ve lost by always being there for him.

“You can talk to me anytime, okay?” he says, hoping he doesn’t sound as desperate as he feels. “Call me. Text me. Come by unannounced. Anything. Hyung’s going to take care of you, okay? I will. I swear I will.”

Jisung looks taken aback for a split second, so Minho definitely does sound desperate. He just hopes that Jisung knows he would never say anything that he doesn’t truly mean. His expression softens like he believes him wholeheartedly.

“You too, hyung,” he says. “Don’t be a stranger.”

🎸

“Hey, hyung!” 

Minho whips around at the sound of Jisung’s voice, confused. He’s outside the school building, heading to the stop down the street to catch the bus home, and, for some reason, Jisung is also there—jogging up to him from the parking lot, masked-up, with a beanie over his head, but unmistakably him.  

“What are you doing here?” he asks, quite unable to hold back the smile that fights its way to his mouth. Fuck. He’s happy to see Jisung, of course he is—he just wishes his expression didn’t betray it so easily. 

Jisung says, “I was waiting for you to finish work,” and when Minho raises his eyebrows, his smile gaining an amused edge, he adds, “Well, I didn’t know when your classes ended. I know the kindergarten is open until five something, but if the kids get picked up earlier . . .”

He trails off, visibly sheepish, while Minho just stares at him, smiling like an absolute fool, his body temperature rising at the notion of Jisung waiting for him for god knows how long even though there was a possibility of Minho slipping away earlier in the day. 

“You could’ve just texted me,” he points out.

Jisung sighs, but even with the mask obscuring his face, Minho can tell he’s smiling. “It felt awkward. After last Wednesday,” he says. “After all that honesty.”

“It felt less awkward to show up at my workplace out of nowhere?” 

“Well,” Jisung says with a shrug. “You did say I could come by unannounced.”

Minho opens his mouth, but he has nothing to counter that with. He did say that, and these past few days, he has been hoping Jisung would somehow take him up on the offer. And he did. So he smiles and asks, “What do you want to do?”

“How do you feel about barbecue?” 

“Mhm. You’re lucky. I haven’t eaten anything big for lunch,” Minho says, smiling. “Do you have any particular place in mind?”

Jisung takes him to a restaurant that’s a ten-minute drive away from the kindergarten, tucked into a quiet neighborhood. Minho has never been there before, but he takes an instant liking to it. He likes the interior—every table is separated by a screen for privacy, and surrounded by an upholstered banquette on both sides. Two of the walls are lined with sand bricks, and the other two are beige, decorated with minimalist paintings of trees. Quiet, instrumental music flows through the speakers, but besides that, the restaurant is relatively silent; there’s only an elderly couple and a group of teenagers inside. 

They take the table in the corner and order three servings of meat and a bunch of side dishes, deciding that they’ll just order more if they feel like it. When the waiter brings their order and sets up the grill, Minho takes the tongs and gets ready to grill.

Back in the day, when the two of them went out, he was always in charge of the cooking. Most of the time it was because Jisung could never focus on two things at once, and telling Minho whatever he had to say was much more important. And—well, Minho never minded. He just liked doing things for him.

He still does.

Minho starts laying the slices of meat on the grate when it’s hot enough to sizzle, as Jisung, on the other hand, doesn’t waste time digging into the cucumber salad with his chopsticks. 

“You weren’t heading to the parking lot,” he points out. “Do you live close by?” 

“Hm. A twenty-minute drive away from the school on a good day,” Minho says. “I usually come by car, but the kids are doing this project about the environment and living more consciously, so I’ve joined them, and I’ve been commuting this week.”

Jisung looks positively delighted by that. He laughs, and says, “So that’s why Siyeon has been turning lights off all over the apartment all week.”

“And she gets a gold star for that.” Minho grins. The kids are supposed to share what they’ve done to be eco-friendly on Monday, and he will definitely be looking forward to hearing all about Siyeon’s ideas. “Is she spending the weekend with her mom?”

“My brother is taking her and my niece to the cinema, and then they’re having a sleepover,” Jisung explains. “So I thought, Hm. I wonder what hyung is doing today.” 

Minho bites down on his lips to stop himself from smiling and pretends to be busy checking how the meat is cooking so that he doesn’t let it show how happy he is that Jisung thought about him—that he’s having an evening off, and he wants to spend it with Minho. 

“You’re lucky my cat has an automatic feeder at home or you’d be eating alone.”

Jisung’s jaw slacks. “You have a cat?” 

With an answering hum, Minho unlocks his phone and pulls up the gallery to show Jisung the absolute love of his life—his four-year-old gray tabby, Dori. He can’t quite explain the warmth that floods his chest when Jisung gasps and then breaks into the fondest smile Minho has ever seen on him.

“Oh, god, what a cutie,” he coos, swiping through the pictures, each of them cuter than the last, even those blurry ones that Minho refuses to delete even though they didn’t come out right. “What’s his name?”

“Dori,” Minho tells him, smiling at the meat as he flips the slices onto the other side. “My friend’s cat had two babies and she asked if I didn’t want to adopt one of them, and I did, so now I have a cute guy that waits for me at home every day.”

Jisung juts his lower lip out in a pout, way too adorable for a grown man, and although he looks like he wants to keep staring at Dori, he slides Minho’s phone back across the table. “Siyeon is always asking me if we could get a pet,” he says. “But she doesn’t really understand the responsibility of actually raising one, so I’m just telling her, You can play with Bbama when you see your grandparents, but you’re too small for it now.” 

Minho laughs. “She’s going to hold you to that until you say yes, going around and asking if she’s big enough already.”

“I’ll give in when I think she’s ready to clean its poop without whining and crying,” Jisung says with a click of tongue, and then— “Oh, this one looks like it’s already grilled well. Do you want it, hyung?”

“Mhm, you take it,” Minho says, but instead of letting Jisung transport it to his own plate, he takes care of it for him, even going as far as grabbing the scissors to cut the slice up. 

They fall into comfortable silence as they eat, but Jisung breaks it here and there, saying, “Woah, this is so tasty,” as if he has never eaten grilled pork belly before in his life. Minho is endeared, to say the least, and he hums along to whatever comment Jisung makes. 

He enjoys this evening as it is, without the obsessive need to remember every moment or talk about a million things like they are never going to see each other again. There’s so much Minho wants to ask—so much he wants to find out about Jisung’s life, about his family, about his career. It’s unfamiliar territory, an unfamiliar Jisung. He might like his meat cooked the same way and he might joke the same way and his smile might still take on the shape of a heart when he’s particularly happy, but he’s a stranger now, in reality—and Minho wants to know him, learn about him all over again. 

But he eats his dinner with a smile on his face, unhurried and quiet, and enjoys it, this silence, too, because he can leave all the questions for another day without turning today into an interview he needs to do before he runs out of time. 

It should be mundane, but it’s an incredible feeling—knowing that his friendship with Jisung has a future. Or that it still exists at all and hasn’t been lost in space and time separating them. 

He’s thought about this, of course. About what it would feel like to have Jisung back in his life again. But he cursed himself out each time the thought lodged in his brain, telling himself that he needed to move on with his life. 

And then Jisung ended up crash-landing into his world again without a warning. An older Jisung, someone Minho hadn’t seen in years, someone Minho should have probably been avoiding at all cost—someone who shouldn’t have been talking to Minho with so much care and understanding after everything he had done.

So now, Minho has this—an indefinite amount of moments, and a promise to himself that he will never let them run out. That he will pay attention and be there, and find out everything there is to know about Jisung, twenty-eight years old, a dad, a superstar, someone who was once his best friend, someone who will hopefully become it again. 

🎸

Siyeon has been in a bad mood all day, quiet and distanced from her peers. Not even the episode of Doraemon they watch for their Japanese class is enough to make her lose her frown, especially that she seems to not pay attention much. 

Minho, worried that she might be sick, at first asks if she’s feeling unwell, but she tells him she’s fine, not even looking up from the storybook she’s been reading. With that response, he sends Jisung a message during his break to let him know. What Jisung tells him is that Siyeon’s mom was supposed to take her to Busan next weekend, but she had to cancel because something at work came up, and Siyeon has been upset ever since she found out. There’s nothing you can do, Jisung’s text says. I’ll make it up to her. 

He does—by coming to pick her up. She’s the only child left in the classroom when Jisung arrives, so busy drawing that she doesn’t even lift her head at the sound of the door opening. 

Minho sits on the other side of the small table for kids, having spent the last hour accompanying her in silence, flipping through a textbook in search of some fun exercises he could print out for the next class. He locks eyes with Jisung and gives him a small smile in place of a greeting.

Then, he looks back at Siyeon and softly calls her name. “Look who’s here,” he says, nodding towards Jisung, who sinks into a crouch next to her and puts his hand on the back of her chair. 

She only gives him a brief glance and says, “I’m not done with my drawing,” before grabbing another crayon and doodling something on the bottom corner of the page. 

Minho and Jisung exchange a look. Sure, they might know where the problem lies, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy to watch it unravel, waiting for the perfect moment to plant a solution—which sometimes poses as a completely separate problem: say the wrong thing at the wrong time, and instead of a quiet child, you have one throwing a tantrum and bursting into tears. 

Jisung is gentle when he proposes, “I’m sure you can take the drawing home or leave it here and finish another day, pumpkin.” 

Minho is still not used to seeing him in this role, as a dad, but he would be lying if he said it wasn’t tugging at his heartstrings. There’s something so different about him when he’s around his daughter—aside from being all grown-up, that is. A kind of energy that is so. . . comforting.

“I want to finish now,” Siyeon insists. She draws a bird gliding across the sky above the castle with a black crayon. 

“Baby,” Jisung tries again. “Don’t you wanna go home and have dinner? We can order whatever you want today. I won’t complain even if it’s unhealthy. I promise.”

Siyeon doesn’t budge. “I’m not hungry,” she says, continuing to draw without much hurry.  

Letting out a sigh, Jisung turns to Minho and sheepishly says, “I’m sorry.”

Minho smiles. He understands how stubborn kids can get—especially when they’re upset. “It’s fine.”

“It’s really not,” Jisung says, and then he turns to address Siyeon again. “You have to pack up. Teacher Minho just wants to go home and rest after work. We can’t hold him back like this.” 

At this point, it’s obvious she’s going to refuse to leave until she has finished the piece she’s working on, and if they keep pushing, then she will only get more distracted and upset, and neither of them really needs that on top of everything.

So Minho says, “Just let her. If you don’t have anywhere to be, we can sit here until she’s done.”

Jisung shakes his head. “Hyung, I don’t want you to do overtime because my kid has decided to sulk all day and then refuse to go home.”

“She’s not feeling well,” Minho says. “And she’s almost done with the drawing, right, Siyeon-ah?” He waits for her to let out a hum of affirmation, and continues, “It’s fine.”

Jisung remains unconvinced, so Minho gives him a look and repeats what he said. It’s fine. He doesn’t mind sitting here a few more minutes, he really doesn’t. He does have plans for the evening (Jeongin and Minju are supposed to come over to watch a drama), but it’s still early—he has time. 

Finally, Jisung relents. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” Minho affirms.

He doesn’t reveal that he’s not just doing it out of the goodness of his heart. That he’s selfish, he really is, wanting to keep Jisung here, for a minute or two or ten, keep him around, and be with him, because he’s so, so greedy.

They spent the Sunday evening on a call, talking about everything and nothing after Jisung got home from rehearsals. He told Minho about the festivals and award shows MANIAC is performing at at the end of the year.

They’ve talked for hours.

And Minho still wants more.

He watches Jisung pull out the chair next to Siyeon and try to make himself comfortable despite the lack of legroom. There’s not much to do while they wait except talking, so when Jisung starts drumming his fingers against the tabletop, obviously in need to do something with his hands, Minho pulls a sheet of paper from the pile and slides it over to him with a smile. 

Jisung grins back, a silent thank you.  

He asks Siyeon, “Can I use your crayons?” 

“Just not the gold and silver,” she says, exchanging her green crayon for a gray one and beginning to work on drawing stone slabs on the castle walls. 

“Alright, I’ll take the orange.”

When Jisung gets to drawing, Minho is just content watching them, his cheek propped up on his hand. He’s especially happy to watch Jisung, tongue against his cheek, deeply concentrated until he’s got the contours of his cartoonish animals worked out. Then, once he gets to the coloring part, he starts asking the two of them questions, something silly like, Should I give him a bow or a headband? He does it mostly to pull answers out of sulking little Siyeon, just as stubborn in her sadness as Jisung has always been, but he also seeks out Minho’s opinion— dots or stripes for the shirt? Should the eyes be bigger?

By the time Siyeon is done with her drawing, Jisung’s page is also filled to the brim, with hamsters with enormous ears and cute cats and bunnies and flowers. He has always been good at drawing, and it’s obvious Siyeon has taken after him in that department, but even Minho, who has known that Jisung is truly talented, has to point out the exceptional cuteness of his artwork.

“Should we hang your dad’s drawing on the board, Siyeon-ah?”

Jisung snorts at the question. “Wow, you think it would pass as a six-year-old child’s?” 

“We should put it on the fridge at home,” Siyeon proposes instead. Despite her poor mood, she sounds sincere about it.

Jisung hears it, too, because his expression melts from amusement into something sweeter. “You think it’s that good, pumpkin?” 

“It’s cute,” she says with a shrug as she pulls a folder out of her backpack to store her drawing—and Jisung’s, because she takes it from the table and puts it in there, too. “So it won’t fold,” she explains.

“Crease,” Jisung corrects, giving her a soft pat on the head. He seems to really like doing that. “Thank you, pumpkin.” 

Minho smiles. 

After Siyeon’s drawing is finished and all the paper and crayons are put away, they can all finally head home. While Jisung takes Siyeon to the cloakroom so that she can change her shoes and put on her jacket, Minho does a sweep of the classroom to make sure everything is in its place, grabs his things, and switches off the lights. He doesn’t have to lock the classroom since the cleaning staff will be arriving shortly, so he just leaves the keys on the desk and runs to fetch his jacket from the break room. 

Both of them are waiting for him at the exit, Jisung studying the display of artworks made by kids from the preschool, Siyeon clinging to his hand. Minho’s heart does a sudden (and pathetic) flip in his chest, still unused to the sight. 

“Ready to go?” he asks as he comes to a stop next to them.

He directs his question more at Siyeon than at Jisung, but when she doesn’t grace him with a response, Jisung shakes his head with a grin and says, “Ready, hyung-ah.”

Minho smiles and holds the door open for both of them, and then, shoulder to shoulder, with Siyeon walking two steps ahead of them, they leave the building and make their way down the concrete slabs path that leads to the parking lot. 

Minho’s car is parked farther away than Jisung’s, and he’s neither in a hurry nor particularly fond of the idea of just strolling away with a simple bye, so he stays around while Jisung opens the backseat door for Siyeon and makes sure the seatbelts are fastened after she clambers up into her seat. Then, Jisung shuts the door and, fiddling with the keys, comes to the front of the car. 

He says, “Thank you for staying behind today.”

Minho rolls his eyes. “It was, like, fifteen minutes of sitting in peace and watching you draw,” he says. “You didn’t inconvenience me in any way.”

“But, still—” Jisung shrugs. “Siyeon isn’t usually like this, and I don’t usually cater to all her demands, either, so it would’ve been fine if I just took her home, really. But she would only get more upset, and you helped me avoid that, so I just want you to know that I appreciate it.”

“Message received. You’re welcome,” Minho says, tilting his head to the side, amused. Then, he glances at Siyeon through the windshield and sighs softly. “I hope she feels better soon.”

“I’ll try to find something fun to do with her over the weekend, so hopefully she’ll have stopped sulking by then,” Jisung tells him. 

To be fair, the next morning, when her aunt drops her off at school, Siyeon seems to be doing much better. Her frown is long gone, and she’s back to playing with the group, and when Minho comes by their table later in the day and asks what they’re all drawing, Siyeon tells him she’s drawing the ocean.

“I’m drawing it deep, deep, so there are mermaids,” she says, that gold crayon she withheld from Jisung now in her hand as she expertly draws a mermaid’s locks trailing behind her in the water. 

Minho smiles. “That looks great,” he says. “Make sure to draw some ugly fish. They like to hide right at the bottom.”

“And whales!” Juwon, one of the kids, says.

“And dolphins!” Mirae adds excitedly. 

They all jump into a conversation about which animal Siyeon should draw and then which one of them is the best and the strongest and the ugliest. Minho lets them argue a little, resuming his walk through the classroom with an amused smile on his face.

Later, when only a handful of kids are left under his care and he’s taking a book about sea life off the top shelf for Siyeon, he asks her, “What’s with the sudden interest?”

“Dad is taking me to the aquarium this Saturday,” she says, grinning up at him, toothy and adorable.

Minho smiles back and sets the book on the table in front of her, glad that Jisung has apparently found a way to make the failed weekend plans up to her.

“That’s exciting! You’re brushing up your knowledge before you go, then?” 

“I want to know more facts,” she says. “Dad always knows a lot. And mom. She is a sea biologist!” 

Blinking in surprise, Minho clarifies, “A marine biologist?”

As Siyeon nods in confirmation, repeating the word, he hums to himself. He didn’t know that. But it doesn’t surprise him, not really, that Jisung fell in love with someone who’s clearly very profoundly curious about the world. And that they met in a zoo. It’s cute.

“That sounds really fun,” he says. “Did she and her colleagues find out something about mermaids yet?”

Siyeon shakes her head. “She says they’re hiding too deep to see them.”

Minho lets out a thoughtful hum of agreement. “That sounds right. I’m sure that in a few years we’ll have better technology to explore the ocean, though,” he says. Siyeon flips the book open, then, so he assumes the conversation is over. “I hope you have fun with your dad. Make sure to remember the creatures well so that you can draw them later, hm?” 

“You should come with us!” 

Minho forces out a laugh. “I don’t know, Siyeon-ah. It’s your weekend with your dad. I’m not invited.” 

Siyeon frowns. “But dad said he wants you to come!” 

“Huh?” Minho blinks, taken aback. His heart rate gains speed as he thinks, Fuck. “He said that?”

There’s no way he actually—

“He asked me, Wouldn’t it be fun if Teacher Minho came with us? and I said yes—” Siyeon pauses to give him a little grin. “And he said that he wants you to come too. He was afraid to ask!”

Minho almost chokes on his tongue. “What do you mean he was afraid? What?”

Siyeon shrugs. “He wanted to call you, but he chickened out. I told him he’s silly, and he said it’s a lot and you might not want to go, and it’s better if I ask you myself. But it’s the aquarium!” she says, all excited and adorable. “Everyone wants to go to the aquarium.” 

Despite his best efforts, Minho absolutely cannot act normal after being presented with that kind of information. Jisung wants him to go out with him and his daughter, but he thinks it might be a lot for Minho? And he asked Siyeon to ask him?

God, he doesn’t have enough caffeine in his system to process all of that. 

“So will you come with us?” Siyeon asks, pulling him out of his thoughts, blissfully oblivious of the emotions she has just caused in him. Her big, brown, doe eyes, practically begging him to say yes, aren’t helping at all.

“Uh, I—I will call your dad later and ask him about it,” he promises. 

He does it later in the evening, when he’s cooking himself a hearty pot of ramen for dinner. He dials Jisung’s number—the contact name unchanged because he hates himself like that—and counters Jisung’s soft Hi there with, “Siyeon invited me to go to the aquarium with you.”

Jisung falls silent on the other side—so quiet that Minho thinks, for a split second, that he’s holding his breath. Just when he’s about to check up on him and make sure his words didn’t kill him, Jisung asks, “She did?”

Minho presses his mouth into a thin line, trying to keep himself from laughing at the sound of his voice. “Mhm. She was very insistent. And convincing. Told me it would be so fun if we all went together,” he says. “You wouldn’t happen to have come up with the idea, would you?” 

Jisung isn’t even fazed. He probably realizes that Siyeon has babbled about much more than just how fun it will be. “Are you asking me if I would succumb to the dishonorable plan of using my cute daughter against you so that I can spend time with you on your day off?”

“Wow,” Minho laughs. “You’re lucky she’s so adorable, then, because if you asked me, I would’ve said no.”

“And you’re saying yes right now?” 

The happiness in his tone is unmistakable. Can it be true that something so small is the reason behind it? That Minho is? 

“Mhm. I don’t have plans for the weekend, and the aquarium sounds like fun,” he says. 

“And me,” Jisung adds. “There’s also me.”

Minho lets out a long hum, pretending to be thinking about it, only to finally shrug and say, “I guess.”

“Hey!” 

He bursts into sweet, sweet laughter, delighted as he always is when indulging in his favorite pastime—teasing Jisung. In reality, they’re both well aware that the reason why Minho is agreeing to go in the first place is just Jisung. Sure, Siyeon is a cute kid, but she’s still, first and foremost, his student. And Minho doesn’t just tag along for his students’ family outings—if it were anyone else, he would have declined. 

They agree that—since Jisung insists on paying for all tickets—Minho will be the one to drive. He comes to pick them up at 2:30 and, to avoid wasting time getting through the security at Jisung’s apartment complex, he parks on the curb. He doesn’t have to wait for them too long—not even two minutes later, Jisung is striding his way, Siyeon skipping happily a few steps ahead. He points her to Minho’s car, and then looks at him through the windshield. 

Minho waves, unable to hold back his smile. The weather is beautiful, the sun warm against his face, making up for the early October wind, and he’s about to spend the afternoon in great company. Of course he’s happy.

“Good morning,” he greets when Jisung opens the backseat door.

“Hi, Teacher,” Siyeon says as she climbs into the car seat, smiling from ear to ear. Jisung makes sure she’s strapped in correctly and comfortably, though with her level of excitement, it’s obvious that comfort is the last thing she has on her mind. 

“Ready to see the mermaids?” Minho asks as Jisung shuts the door and takes the passenger seat next to him. They’ve planned their trip around the feeding of otters at 5:00 and the mermaid show at 6:00, making sure they have plenty of time to walk around the aquarium until the closing.

“Ready!” Siyeon exclaims, kicking her feet. Minho has never seen her that excited—not even when they had a guest puppet show at the preschool a few months ago, and that felt like the peak of happiness.

Jisung laughs. Taking off his mask and hooking it under his chin, he tells her fondly, “Calm down, pumpkin. We still have a few hours until the show.” 

He looks pretty. He’s wearing a pair of black skinny jeans and a long black coat with a red knit sweater underneath. Round, thin-rimmed glasses sit on his nose, reminding Minho of their high-school days and how much Jisung hated having to wear specs, to the point he got lasik the moment he could—and now he’s putting them on as a fashion item.

Minho adores him. 

They make it to COEX at three, instantly relieved at the lack of crowds. Since they’re in public and despite the masks pulled over their faces, it’s not impossible to recognize the celebrity that Jisung is, Jisung hands Minho his phone and lets him scan their mobile tickets. 

Just before they go inside, Jisung sinks into a crouch in front of Siyeon and says, “I know you’re very excited to see everything, but I don’t want you to get lost, so you can’t go too far away from me and hyung, alright, baby?”

“I understand,” she says. “I won’t go anywhere.”

She obediently stays near while they explore the first exhibition—six giant cylinder-shaped tanks with different species swimming around houses built from Lego. Minho and Jisung walk so close their shoulders brush, stopping to read the plaques and watch the colorful fish dash by.

“That’s Nemo and Dory!” Siyeon says when they get to the tank with the blue tang and clownfish, her eyes wide and full of wonder. She proceeds to read the description out to them, and then turns to Minho to say, “I’ll draw them next.” 

Minho smiles, resisting the urge to pat her on the head. “I think you’re going to have to make a whole artbook from this trip.”

Siyeon looks ecstatic at the idea.

“That would be great,” Jisung agrees with an encouraging smile. “You could show it to your mom when you’re done. I’m sure she’ll be very happy.”

Then, they proceed to the exhibition where the lights are dimmed and the path is lined up with artificial bamboo to mark the direction of the tour. There are tanks with fish native to Korean waters, but also enclosures that house squirrels and prairie dogs.

There are too many people in the interactive zone where you can shove your hand into a tank or play games, so, despite Siyeon’s sour face, they decide to skip it. 

“We can come back some other time,” Jisung promises her. “When there are less people. And then you can have all the fish to yourself.” 

But Siyeon surprises both of them and asks, “Will Teacher come too?”

Jisung looks over at him, and although his face is obscured by a mask, Minho can tell he’s smiling. “I’m sure he’ll say yes if you ask him nicely.”

“Your turn.” Siyeon huffs. “I did it this time!” 

Minho bursts into laughter while Jisung makes a noise of astonishment, looking at Siyeon with raised eyebrows, kind of like he’s thinking, How can you of all people be against me? 

He puts both hands on her shoulders and says, “Keep walking, pumpkin.”

Minho swats at his arm and follows them, still grinning from ear to ear. He’s actually glad no one can see his face. It’s kind of embarrassing, just how happy he is—how fun he finds it to hang out with Jisung, and with Siyeon. 

The aquarium is wonderful, too, of course, but—if he has to be honest with himself—his focus settles on Jisung and doesn’t really leave him. Minho watches him look around in amazement, watches him read every fun fact, watches him add another one of his own here and there, and wonders, with amusement, if the trip is just as for him as it is for Siyeon. 

What Jisung finds the most fascinating, though, are the sharks. When they get to that area of the aquarium, he links his arm with Minho’s and tugs him forward to get there quicker. 

“They’re so majestic and beautiful,” he says. He and Siyeon are practically pressing their noses against the glass, watching, completely entranced, as the sand sharks swim around, surrounded by other fish. “I wish I could pet it. Just—scratch it under the chin.”

He’s adorable.

Minho nudges his shoulder with his own. “It would bite off your fingers,” he says, following one of the sharks with his gaze as it approaches them. Just when it looks like it’s going to come right against the glass, it takes a turn and swims away. Still, Minho asks, “Siyeon-ah, aren’t you scared it’s going to eat you?” 

“Don’t be silly, Teacher,” she tells him. “They don’t eat people.”

Jisung laughs. He picks Siyeon off the ground, squeezing his arms around her and giving her a little shake to make her laugh. “And dad would protect you, right? He would punch the shark right in the face. Bam.”  

Minho’s heart soars at the sight of them. And when Siyeon starts wiggling so that she can comfortably wrap her arms around Jisung’s neck and be carried the rest of the way to the otters’ enclosure; when Jisung looks back at him and his eyes sparkle in a way that Minho knows means he’s smiling; when they start walking again altogether, he—strangely—feels like he belongs. 

How can it be so easy, after everything? 

He can’t find an answer. But it feels right—to slowly build his friendship with Jisung back up, on a stronger foundation, with much more maturity and understanding. 

Siyeon falls asleep in the car on the way home, a shark plushie Jisung bought in the gift shop clutched tightly in her arms. She had a day full of excitement and activity, and by the time they were leaving the aquarium, she already looked like she was barely keeping her eyes open. 

They were supposed to get dinner together, but with her sleep schedule in mind, they decide to do it some other time. Minho drives them home—the volume of the radio turned down, Jisung with a paper bag of overpriced books and souvenirs from the aquarium in his lap, and the feeling of deep contentment accompanying them. 

“Thank you for today,” Jisung whispers when Minho kills the engine in the parking lot. “I really had fun, and I know Siyeon liked having you around, too.”

Minho smiles. “I had a really good time, too,” he says. “So next time you don’t have to hesitate and get her to ask me to go out with you. Just say it.”

Jisung rolls his eyes, but when he opens the door and the interior light goes on, Minho can clearly see that his cheeks are flushed.

🎸

On Monday, Siyeon’s aunt comes to pick her up from school as usual. Siyeon gathers all her worksheets off the table—today they have learnt about body parts—putting them neatly into her folder, and runs up to the door, where Minho is saying hello. 

Without preamble, she asks, “Teacher, are you going to come over and hang out with me and dad again this weekend?” 

The question stuns Minho silent. His eyes widen, cheeks turning red when he glances at Jisung’s sister-in-law and sees her raised brows, how she looks between the two of them as if she’s hoping to get the answer to her question without even bothering to ask it. 

Minho’s tongue ties itself into knots.

“Uh, I—Siyeon-ah, I don’t know,” he stammers out finally. “I have to visit my parents this weekend, so probably not.” He sees the pout on her mouth—Jisung’s damned genes; adorable, too adorable—and he doesn’t want her to be sad, but he also doesn’t want to promise her anything, so he says, “But maybe after school sometime!”

“You can come over to our house!” Siyeon proposes, her mood ever-changing as she beams at him again. She doesn’t notice at all how flustered Minho grows, how he keeps sneaking nervous looks at her aunt. She just babbles on. “You know our address and—”

“Sure,” he says before she can break into a run through all of her activity ideas they can do together. “I mean, if your dad invites me, I’ll come.”

“I invite you, Teacher!” she says without missing a beat. “And dad wants you to come over too. Trust me.” 

She gives him that sassy look that kids sometimes regard others with, that kind of Look at me, I’m an adult too, and then, once she’s satisfied with how clear she has made her point, she says goodbye and runs out of the classroom, running across the hall and to the cloak room. Leaving Minho with a pounding heart and Jisung’s sister-in-law staring at him curiously like a hawk.

He takes a deep breath and turns toward her, begging heavens not to complicate his life any further. “Please, don’t misunderstand,” he says. “Jisung and I have known each other since high school. We recently reconnected, and on Saturday he invited me to go with him and Siyeon to the aquarium. It’s not—It’s not anything inappropriate.”

He’s absolutely flustered, the tips of his ears burning just like his neck. He wants to explain himself, but at the same time, he doesn’t know what to say—how much does she already know? Will she believe him if he says they’re just friends if she knows about their past?

“You’re that Minho,” she notes simply. 

Minho blinks. Then, slowly, “I suppose.”

“That’s crazy,” she says. “It was during the conference, right?” She waits for Minho to answer, but he doesn’t know how to interpret her expression, so he just settles on nodding. “Ha. Of all places in the world, a kindergarten was where you met again. That’s just—fate.”

The temperature of Minho’s body seems to rise one more degree at the implication.

That’s too grand—calling it fate. A coincidence, maybe. Pure luck, considering how things have turned out; considering that Jisung forgave him despite everything Minho had done, that they’re making plans and talking on the phone and watching the feeding of otters in the aquarium.

“It’s not like that,” he’s quick to affirm. “We’re just getting to know each other again.”

A corner of her mouth lifts in a mischievous smile. “Of course. And you’re clearly doing a very good job at it,” she says, gently jabbing at their joint outing. Then, she takes a step back, says, “Have a nice day,” and disappears out in the hallway.

Minho can only think, Fuck.

🎸

A few days later, during his break, while his kids are in English class with Felix, he’s inviting Jisung over to his place over text messages when Jeongin kicks him under the table and asks, “What are you smiling at?”

Minho tears his eyes away from the sleeping hamster sticker Jisung sent him and looks over at Jeongin, watching him intently from across the table.

“What’s with you and your nosiness when it comes to my private life?”

“I have nothing else to entertain me here,” Jeongin says, punctuating his words with an exaggerated sigh as evidence of his lethal boredom. “It’s just you and whoever is making you giggle like that.”

Minho rolls his eyes. “I’m not giggling.”

(At least he hopes he’s not. Did he giggle? He can’t remember.)

“Come on, hyung. You know you can tell me your dirty little secrets,” Jeongin says. Then, he pauses and reconsiders. “I mean, unless you’re like, sexting right now and you’re giggling at ass pictures. Then please do not tell me anything.”

Minho deadpans. “Do you really think I’m insane like that?”

“Do I think you’d be sexting at your ancient age?” Jeongin lets out a thoughtful hum, but the smirk his mouth has curved into gives him away instantly. “Yeah, no.”

Minho considers grabbing the empty mug off the table and throwing it in his face. But he’s a good friend, a great hyung, and he quite likes this mug, white with red little cat paw prints all over it, so he decides against it. He might also get fired for assaulting a coworker. Not worth it.

Jeongin gives him a hurrying look. Almost pleading. 

And Minho isn’t sure if revealing something he has kept a secret for years and years is a good idea. It would entail revealing the fact that there’s a part of him that Minho has been meticulously hiding from his best friend, a million of torn-out chapters in Minho’s life story that are all about Jisung. It doesn’t feel good to think about it—it doesn’t feel fair. 

To his defense, back when he met Jeongin, Jisung was a part of his past. He was never supposed to become his future once more. Minho never thought he would end up encountering Jisung again, and in consequence he assumed he wouldn’t have to share that with his friends.

Now, he’s still hesitant to let anyone know that he and Jisung are settling back into each other’s lives, that they’re becoming close anew—about all the conversations about everything and nothing and the frequent outings and long-winded phone calls and the way Minho thinks about Jisung first when he comes across something funny or adorable—like a part of him is afraid that if he says it out loud, he will somehow break it all.

“You’re not allowed to tell anyone,” Minho says in the end, because maybe—maybe sharing this will make him feel relieved. And the secrecy—it’s not about himself, or his past, that he’s worried about. He doesn’t want a word about Jisung’s private life, protected so meticulously, to get into the wrong hands. He doesn’t believe Jeongin would intentionally reveal any secrets—but his mouth can accidentally run too far ahead. Minho insists, “I’m serious.”

And yet, Jeongin jokes, “When have you ever been serious, hyung?”

Minho’s face hardens. He becomes guarded again. “Then I’m not going to tell you.”

“Wait,” Jeongin is quick to say, finally reading the situation and discarding his jokes. He straightens up in his seat. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, please tell me. I swear I won’t tell anyone.”

“Not even Minju?”

“Not even Minju,” Jeongin affirms, sticking his pinky finger out like they’re little kids. Minho sighs and links his own finger with his, sealing the promise.

And then—

“In high school, I was dating this guy,” he starts. He doesn’t go into the intimate details, doesn’t even use Jisung’s name, but he takes Jeongin through the story step by step. He makes the conscious decision to avoid explaining the way things ended—he simply says they broke up. “Shortly after that, he moved to Seoul and his band released their first album, and now they’re world-famous. I met him again a few weeks ago by complete coincidence. We talked things through and decided we wanted to be friends again, so now we’re here.” 

“What’s his name, hyung?” Jeongin asks, never satisfied. His eyes are wide as saucers. “Who are you talking about?”

Minho bites the inner side of his cheek. He told him all of it—he can’t really leave out this detail, the most important piece of the puzzle.

“Han Jisung,” he says, the taste of Jisung’s name on his tongue sickeningly sweet. It sounds like a song when he says it. “He’s a member of—”

“MANIAC,” Jeongin supplies. His jaw might as well be glued to the floor with the way he’s staring at Minho, disbelief written all over his face. “Holy shit.”

Minho looks away.

Part of him feels so relieved to finally tell someone the truth, but another part wishes he could pluck this secret out of the air between them and shove it back down his throat. 

A moment of silence passes over them, and once Jeongin has processed it all, he’s the one to break it.

“So . . .” he starts. “All those heartbroken love songs he wrote for the band have been about you all along?”

He seems to search for something in his face, and Minho does his absolute best to appear unbothered, fighting the urge to hide his face in his hands.

He stammers over the answer, because Jisung told him a bunch of songs were inspired by him— them, but that also doesn’t mean he’s allowed to disclose it. He doesn’t think Jisung goes around during interviews, saying he wrote some tracks about the guy who broke his heart.

“I mean, I wouldn’t know,” he says finally.

Jeongin lifts a brow. “Have you never listened?”

Of course Minho has, because he just couldn’t not listen. He never let himself linger on those gut-wrenching songs about love, though, never got past the one minute mark. Because he heard Jisung’s voice, heard the lyrics, so vivid, and he was too scared. He didn’t want to get influenced by that pain and start regretting his actions when he knew he did the right thing. 

There was one particular song they released that broke Minho into ten thousand pieces. The lyrics said, People who leave you don’t always stay lost to you forever, so I hope you come back and put my heart back together. And as soon as he heard Jisung’s voice, he was twenty years old again, crazy in love and standing in front of the most painful decision in his entire life.

Hearing him sing those words physically hurt him.

There were also the happy songs—those that Jisung had written during high school days, during summers spent in the shade of the tree in Minho’s backyard, during sleepless nights when he doubted he would ever get to sing them in front of an audience at all. Minho already knew them like the back of his hand—because Jisung had sung them to him a hundred times in the privacy of their bedrooms, and another hundred times to the small crowd that came to MANIAC’s early gigs.

Jisung has always had a way with words. He could craft them into something beyond beautiful and make it look effortless at the age of seventeen. Minho doesn’t even want to think about how gut-wrenching his lyrics have to be now, when he has grown so much, when he has learnt new ways to wield his pen.

Minho is pretty sure he would fall to pieces if he listened. But he will—he promised himself he would. He’s just not ready. Not yet.

“Hyung,” Jeongin says, “full offense. You’re dumb as hell.”

Minho can’t argue with that, but he can pretend to be annoyed.

🎸

“I was worried you’d get caught in the rain.”

“The clouds were on my side,” Jisung says cheekily as he takes off his jacket in the entryway of Minho’s apartment. “It wasn’t raining when I walked from the parking lot.”

He has dropped Siyeon off at his brother’s house so that she can spend the afternoon playing with his niece while he finally comes over to Minho’s place. It’s been a long time coming.

“Lucky you,” Minho teases. “I made tea. And I’ll have you know, I gave you my favorite mug instead of taking it for myself, so be grateful.”

Jisung hums, the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile as he follows Minho further into the apartment. “Let me guess. It has a cat on it?”

“A cat playing with cherry blossoms,” Minho confirms. Of course it has a cat on it. It’s Minho, hello. “But before you’re allowed to see it, first you have to meet Dori.”

A glimmer of excitement finds home in Jisung’s eyes. “It’s a test, right? If he doesn’t like me, I don’t get the tea in the cute mug, and I get kicked out, and you never speak to me again.”

“Wow, I’m not that heartless,” Minho laughs. He leads Jisung to the living room, where Dori is right where he left him—curled-up on the couch, soundly asleep like he has been since lunch. Oh, to live a cat’s life.

Jisung gasps. “He’s even cuter than in the pictures,” he says. “Do you think I can pet him?” 

“Come on,” Minho laughs, taking him by the hand to the other side of the couch, so that they can crouch in front of it and face cute little Dori.

He reaches out first, stirring the cat from his sleep. He chirps, like he always does, and slowly blinks his eyes open. They zero in on Jisung, a stranger in his home, and his ears stand taller, body on alert. 

“Dori-yah, this is Jisung,” Minho says, slowly caressing the cat’s back to help him relax. “He’s fine. I like him, so you know he’s fine.” Then, to Jisung, he says, “Let him sniff you.”

Jisung offers his hand slowly, but without hesitation. At first, Dori seems like he might spook and run off, but he gives Jisung’s fingers a sniff instead. It’s good—it’s enough progress for Minho to be satisfied. But Dori isn’t—he butts his head against Jisung’s fingers, prompting him to give him a scratch behind the ear. 

Jisung turns to Minho, amazement written all over his face, like he really wasn’t expecting anything more than a friendly introduction. “Wow, hello, there,” he says, and pets Dori gently, but in earnest. 

Minho watches this, happy and amazed. 

Although he has had the same circle of friends for years, the only person Dori likes enough to let himself be pet or held is Minju. He doesn’t scratch or hiss and he’s not afraid of any of them; he’s just indifferent to their presence. To see Jisung slip into his good graces so easily is astounding.

But maybe it shouldn’t be. After all, Minho knows just how charming and good he can be.

They stay there rubbing Dori’s belly and making him purr with delight until their knees start protesting. Then, Minho decides to give Jisung a proper tour of the apartment. It’s not much, but he has spent over an hour cleaning after work, so he has to walk him through the whole place. 

He shows Jisung the trinkets from his travels scattered across his bedroom and the living room, tells him names of all the plants under his care, makes him look at each and every funky mug he has in his cupboard—and there are a lot of them. 

When he introduces him to all his friends in the picture frames, he can’t get rid of the feeling that one of the friends is missing—and he promises himself to find that box he’s been hiding at his parents’ house and put the pictures up all over the place. He and Jisung during high school days—low-quality pictures spit out by Minho’s dad’s loud, old printer; pictures from photobooths they were always happy to blow their money on; pictures Jisung’s mom developed for them just because.

He wants them back. He needs to go through everything that’s in that damned box, no matter if he’s weeping by the time he gets to the bottom.

For now, though, instead of crying, he laughs—it’s hard not to when Jisung is next to him, spewing jokes left and right, saying that Minho’s plant looks like a dick the longer he stares at it. Minho has to physically drag him away and make him busy himself with ordering take-out to get him to stop. 

They put on a horror movie while they wait for the food, something recently released that popped out on the homepage of Minho’s Netflix when he’d opened it. It doesn’t look too bad when it starts, just a story of where strange occurrences start to plague a family that moves to a new town, but Minho finds it hard to get invested when beside him, Dori is making himself comfortable in Jisung’s lap.

It’s surprising in itself that he’s staying in the same room as a human that’s still virtually a stranger to him, but even more so that he’s choosing that stranger over Minho to cuddle up to. (Minho is a bit hurt over that, but—alright.) He kneads his thighs with his pin-needle claws, making Jisung wince in pain. It hurts, Minho knows just how much it can hurt, but Jisung handles it, too eager to make Dori really like him.

Minho laughs, so fond of both of them that his chest feels like it might not be able to hold that much affection, that it will explode and make a mess that’s impossible to clean up.

It’s really hard for Minho to think about the movie. That’s probably why he just doesn’t understand it. He can only groan and bemoan the stupidity of the teenage daughter’s girlfriend getting possessed. 

“She shouldn’t have gone back into the house,” he says. “Why would she go back?”

Jisung shrugs. “Because she might have not believed Yoohyeon, but she still didn’t want to leave her.”

“But she knew that it would be it. That if she came back, she wouldn’t be able to leave,” Minho argues. “It’s stupid.”

“Sometimes you do stupid things trying to protect the people you love,” Jisung says, stunning Minho silent with the pointed look he gives him. He seems almost amused with the way a corner of his mouth is turned up in something resembling a smile.

The doorbell rings, a savior in the body of the delivery person. Minho gets up to get it, and when he comes back, they focus on enjoying the food, so the conversation dies. Jisung refuses to let Dori move from his lap, and Minho understands the struggle, so he only pretends to be annoyed that he has to clean up all the containers after they’re done eating. They both know he would do that anyway, though.

When the clock strikes eight thirty, Jisung—with what looks like overwhelming sadness and reluctance—reminds that he has to go. 

“I would stay longer, but I promised hyung I’d pick Siyeon up before nine,” he says with a sigh. 

“I get it,” Minho says, scooping Dori up from Jisung’s lap to make sure the cat doesn’t hold a grudge against him later. He meows in protest, but then nuzzles against Minho’s jaw, quickly back to being half-asleep. “Dad duty calls.”

Jisung smiles. “I have to tuck Siyeon in before she gets to the ‘sleepless night’ stage, and ends up missing school tomorrow when she finally crashes.” 

His bones crack when he gets up, tired from sitting for two hours without much movement. Minho laughs at him and pats his back as he follows him to the entryway, Dori still in his arms. He’s desperate to steal a few extra seconds with Jisung while he’s putting his shoes on.

“Thanks for coming over,” he says. 

Jisung smiles. “Thanks for having me.”

Always, Minho wants to tell him. I will always have you. I will always welcome you with open arms. You will always have a place in me. But he keeps his mouth shut. 

Jisung reaches out to give Dori one last scratch under the chin. “Bye, baby. See you soon,” he says. And then, with a happy, toothy grin, he moves to pet Minho the same way. “You, too, hyung-ah.” 

Minho stands there, taken aback and flustered. He stutters out, “Drive safe. Text me when you get home.”

“Of course,” Jisung says. He grabs the door handle, ready to head out, but he stops when Minho softly calls his name once again. 

“I don’t think it was stupid,” he says, like an idiot. “I don’t think it’s stupid to do desperate things to protect the people you love. I think that if it was me, I would still—” He sighs. “I would go back into the house, you know?”

Jisung smiles. “I know. Me too,” he says, and then with a Goodnight, hyung, he walks out the door and leaves Minho standing there with a mess in his head and arms full of cat fur.

🎸

One thing about having a young child, it forces you to participate in more outdoor activities than you’d actually like to with your strained back and the adult need to spend your days lounging in bed. That’s what Jisung tells Minho when he invites him on a hike—or, more precisely, to spend the Saturday roaming around a forest without a purpose.

It’s not even that Minho doesn’t mind. He just wants to go. So even though Jisung thinks it takes homemade sandwiches for him to say yes, Minho knows that he’s going even before Jisung promises to make them lunch. 

“They’re worth it, right?” Jisung asks while they eat, sitting on the bench while Siyeon is in front of them, searching for colorful leaves to use for her art, though Minho is pretty sure she’s just playing with dirt. She devoured her sandwich in two seconds and ran off to play again, so now it’s just them.

The sandwiches are really tasty, though, so he doesn’t blame her for eating so fast. Jisung used freshly baked bread with the crust still crispy and wonderful, lettuce, a sliced tomato, cheese, smoked ham, and even avocado! He went all out making them. 

Of course Minho says, “So worth it.” And he’s not even exaggerating. If he wasn’t so pathetically into tagging along to whatever adventures Jisung has planned, the sandwiches would get him. “I’m going to need you to pack my lunchbox now.”

Jisung laughs. “Move in with me and you got it.” 

“Alright, but don’t try to take it back when I show up at your doorstep with a cat and a suitcase,” Minho warns, though something is telling him that neither Jisung nor Siyeon would mind the company.

“I would welcome you with open arms and a tasty sandwich,” Jisung says, sounding so sincere despite the obvious amused lilt to it all that Minho just has to believe him. 

He grins and lets his gaze skitter away from Jisung as they go back to eating their sandwiches, but the odd feeling of warmth inside his chest doesn’t float away and disappear with the autumn wind. 

Jisung tells him about the album his band is working on, that they’re slowly combing through songs and ideas and concepts they want to try out, and that the preparations are finally taking shape. They talk while keeping an eye on Siyeon, making sure she doesn’t venture too far away or disappear between the trees.

At one point, she starts running toward them, calling out, “Look, look!” and they both break into a harmonious, Don’t run, Siyeon-ah, that’s so oddly synchronous that they glance at each other and laugh. She comes to a stop in front of them and gently lies a rock in the size of her palm on the bench between them. “It looks like a heart!”

God, she is just so—Jisung’s. 

Minho’s lips upturn in an enamored smile. He looks down at the rock, and—she’s right. It looks a bit like a crooked heart. Gray with a few lighter spots, the edges uneven and sharp.

He’s not at all surprised when Jisung tells her, “You can take it home if you want to.”

“Really?” Siyeon asks, incredulous, as if the outcome could be any different. Minho needs to tell her about that one time he put an acorn on Jisung’s pillow and instead of throwing it away like a normal person would, Jisung kept it on his nightstand. He likes those kinds of trinkets.

“Sure,” Jisung says. He reaches out to fix her hat, pulling it down to cover her ears from the wind. “I can keep it in my pocket for now.”

“Promise not to lose it?”

Jisung sticks his pinky finger out for her to link with hers. “I promise it’ll be safe with me, pumpkin.”

She grabs it off the bench and hands it over, then, trusting her dad with her entire heart. Jisung handles it with utmost care, much more than a rock needs, as he slips it into the pocket of his jacket. 

“See? Warm and cozy.”

“Thank you,” Siyeon says, her smile so big it might as well split her tiny face in two. 

Minho melts watching her skip away into the trees again. She’s fearless and free in a way kids are supposed to be, always finding a new way to enjoy herself, her mind so curious and creative that he can just sit back and watch with amazement. It reminds him so much of Jisung from back when they were just kids, and he loves doing that—finding similarities between them, small mannerisms, patterns in behavior that are so obviously taken after him.

It’s fascinating. And it fills him with so much pride. Jisung is bringing up this amazing girl that’s just as lovely and smart as he is. Jisung. His Jisung. 

He keeps thinking about it when they continue their walk up the hill along the beaten forest path. A lookout at the top promises a breath-taking panorama of the city, but they’re not in a hurry to see it. Minho actually likes the trek uphill just fine, if not better, if he has to be honest. He wouldn’t mind it stretching in time, going on and on. The autumn sun is breaking through the crowns of the trees, pleasant enough to cancel out the chill in the air, the birds are chirping high up on the branches. Siyeon is a few meters ahead, so incredibly happy to be out in nature. And Jisung right next to him, their shoulders brushing with every other step. 

Something—something in the air, he would say—gives Minho the nerve to touch Jisung’s hand with the next step. Just a brush of fingers, a ghost of a touch, but purposeful. It’s enough for Jisung to glance at him. Minho can see it out of the corner of his eye, even though he keeps stubbornly staring ahead, like it’s nothing. Like his heart isn’t pounding in his chest at a pace that, with a few more years added to his name, could probably land him in a hospital.

Minho knows he’s completely fucked when Jisung slips his hand into his without as much as a word, intertwining their fingers with a gentle squeeze, and his first thought is, Finally. His heart beats even faster before it settles on a steady but strong pace, and Minho squeezes back. 

He glances at Jisung and finds him already looking, no surprises. They share a smile, just a small smile, and keep on walking, their hands tangled together.

🎸

“Do you have plans for your birthday?” Jisung asks over the phone a few days later. He’s in the studio, more distracting Minho from working than actually doing his own job, but it’s fine. His voice is nice to listen to while Minho is battling this damned lesson plan for next month.

When the question is out, he finds that he’s actually surprised Jisung even remembers that his birthday is coming up. It’s insignificant in the grand scheme of things, just another Friday of the year. Did Jisung think of Minho on the 25th of October the same way Minho thought of him each time September 14th rolled around? Some dates are simply ingrained in your memory like that, even when the people behind them are long gone.

That, in turn, makes him think about how strange the passage of time is. He can’t believe it’s already been a month with Jisung back in his life. It feels both like it’s been longer than that, years having passed in the blink of an eye, and like they have just come face to face after years of no contact yesterday. 

“Uhm.” Minho chases the thoughts away to focus on answering the question. “Does cuddling with my cat count?”

“Those sound like amazing plans,” Jisung says, laughing like he thinks they’re genuinely amazing plans. He would probably enjoy doing that, too. Maybe— “But what if I proposed a meal cooked by yours truly followed by a walk in the moonlight along the Han River?”

“I would think you want to impress me,” Minho answers cheekily, playing hard to get, though his heart is already skipping happily in his chest. That sounds romantic. 

“Well,” Jisung says. “You would be right. Is my proposition appealing enough for you to abandon your sweet child, though?”

“Hm. . . I don’t know,” Minho says, but he’s already reaching under the table to rub Dori’s belly apologetically as he sleeps. “If my sweet child allows.”

“Do you have him nearby? Can you put him on the phone?”

Minho blinks. At this point, his cheeks are hurting from how hard he’s smiling, and it leaves him aware of the fact that he’s smiling at all. But how can he not? Jisung is such a goofball. 

So Minho grabs the phone off the tabletop and holds it close enough for Dori to hear. Then, he pokes the cat in the side to stir him from his sleep and says, “Dori-yah. This crazy man wants to speak to you.”

Without opening his eyes, Dori chirps in response. 

Jisung coos at the sound immediately. “Hi, baby. You know how your dad’s birthday is coming up. I’m sure you have something very special prepared,” he says, so blissfully unaware of how much effect his words have on Minho, how the temperature of his body rises and his heart trips into a quicker beat. Dori purrs quietly at the sound of his voice. “But I’d really want to spend the evening with him. He’ll come back home to you before you even know it.”

Minho pokes Dori again to make him react. Ever so obedient and cute, he lets out another chirp, this time opening his eyes to stare at Minho, almost as if he’s saying, Why are you dragging me into your poor flirting? Let me sleep! 

“Was that a yes?” Jisung asks, amusement in his voice. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“I think it was,” Minho agrees. He scratches Dori behind the ear and lets him go back to sleep. “I’m also saying yes, if that matters.” 

Jisung laughs. “Of course it matters. And, for the record, I wouldn’t be upset if you preferred not to come.”

Is he stupid? Minho would cancel plans with Queen Taeyeon herself to hang out with him. Anytime, any day. Especially now that he has him back in his life after so much lost time. They have to make up for it. 

“Hm. I’m kinda curious about that dinner, though,” Minho says, feigning nonchalance. “I’ll be there.”

On Friday, he shows up on Jisung’s doorstep with a bottle of wine and way too dressed-up for what they have planned for the evening. He pulled his special occasion loose black dress shirt, with the first three buttons left open, and he’s also wearing those pants that make his ass look good, tight around his thighs and flared at the bottom. There are no ulterior motives there, though. It’s just his birthday—he wants to feel hot on his birthday, even if he’s just having dinner over at his friend’s house. Sue him. 

It makes him feel exceptionally good when he sees Jisung also thought to put on a fancier knitted sweater for the occasion. He’s wearing an apron when he opens the door, but that only adds to his look, if Minho has to be honest. Handsome and adorable. 

“Happy birthday, hyung,” is the first thing he says to Minho, even though he already sent him his best wishes over messages that morning. 

Minho smiles. There’s no doubt in his mind that this is one of the happiest birthdays he has had in a long, long time.

“Thank you,” he says as he takes off his coat. He leaves it on his usual spot on the hanger, and then on the slippers that are already waiting for him on the floor. “I’ve had a really nice birthday so far, actually.”

“Yeah? You have to tell me all about it,” Jisung prompts, letting his attention slip away from the bottle of wine he’s holding and back to Minho. He gives him a long once-over. Minho hopes Jisung thinks he looks nice. But, to his profoundly concealed disappointment, he hears nothing about it. Instead, Jisung says, “You arrived at a perfect time. The beef is just about to be ready.”

Minho can smell it in the air—the roasted garlic, the rosemary, the meat. His mouth is watering more with each step he takes toward the kitchen, where the lights are dimmed and the table is set for two, tall candles burning in the middle, a clear vase with two roses between them. 

“Wow,” is all Minho can come up with when he walks in.

“Is this too much?”

Jisung looks and sounds nervous, like he’s ready to put the candles out, toss the roses into trash, make it look more simple and casual. It’s the last thing Minho wants. His heart does a happy, juvenile flip in his chest.

“Not at all,” he says, resting his hand in the small of Jisung’s back. “It’s perfect.”

Jisung’s shoulders relax. “Alright. I’m glad you like it, then,” he says. “I’ll check on the oven, you can sit if you want to, pour yourself a drink.”

Minho hums, but instead of taking his usual chair at the table right away, he hangs around while Jisung opens the oven, waving the steam away from his face. He takes a look at the roasted beef and lets out a low, impressed whistle. He hasn’t even had a bite of it and he can already tell it’s going to be absolutely mouth-wateringly delicious. 

Jisung turns to give him a shy smile. 

“You didn’t know how to cook anything other than ramen back then,” Minho points out with amusement, giving his perfectly styled hair a fond pat. Jisung doesn’t even bother swatting his hand away. “This is tremendous progress.”

“Well, back then, I just didn’t need to cook. Now I have a child to feed, and she can be really particular about food, so I had to learn,” Jisung says. “I can make a lot of dishes, actually. As long as the recipe is clear.”

“I’m so proud of you.” 

Minho says it like it’s a joke, but there’s obvious endearment and sincerity underlining his words. Jisung hears it, of course. He puffs out his cheeks in embarrassment the same way he always used to when Minho flustered him too much. Years older, still just as adorable. Ugh. Minho hates him. 

(He doesn’t. He could never. But there’s cute aggression, so there must be cute hatred. You are too cute. I hate you for it. You owe me financial compensation for the mental damage. I love you so much.)

When Jisung grabs the glove sitting on the counter and swiftly pulls the pot out of the oven, Minho decides that he can’t just stand there and stare in the middle of his kitchen, so he asks, “Is there anything I can help you with?”

Jisung gives him a look. “You can sit back and relax.”

Minho rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he finds a corkscrew in one of the drawers, cracks open the bottle of wine, and pours it into the two glasses sitting on the table. And then, with nothing else to do, he takes his seat and settles on watching Jisung move, now less prone to getting caught in the act. 

The sleeves of his sweater are pushed up to his elbows. He cuts open the remainder of the foil the meat had been cooking in, waving away the steam that shoots right at his face, and gets to setting the plates. Grilled vegetables on the side, a scoop of rice, and the best looking piece of beef Minho has ever seen. 

He kind of can’t believe that Jisung cooked all of this for him. Because it’s his damned birthday.

He could take Minho to a fancy restaurant and buy him a five-course meal, but no matter how famous he has gotten, that clearly isn’t him. It isn’t them. It was perhaps just that they were perpetually broke, but back in the day, they had always been more into enjoying their time together in the comfort of their own homes.

Jisung could take him to a fancy restaurant and buy him a five-course meal and not bother with anything at all, but he chose to make the effort—to do the groceries, to find a perfect recipe, to spend his afternoon cooking a hearty meal, because it’s Minho’s birthday, and he so clearly wants it to be special.

He has no idea how special it is. 

He puts the plate before Minho with a self-satisfied smile. “Here you go,” he says, and then puts the other one across from him, finally sitting down. 

The candles burn high between them, fire reflecting in Jisung’s eyes, and it feels so romantic, Minho can’t think straight. He has to actively force himself to focus on the food in front of him instead of staring, staring, just admiring. 

“It looks amazing,” he says, grabbing the knife and the fork to finally get a bite. His mouth is watering at the mere sight and smell—rich, aromatic. Jisung clearly knows a thing or two about cooking now. 

Jisung watches him attentively before he even takes the first bite himself. He’s clearly anticipating Minho’s reaction, so Minho plans to make a show for him. It turns out that he doesn’t even have to exaggerate. The beef makes him want to fall to his knees right then and there, with a ring or another purpose in mind, doesn’t matter. 

“Fuck,” he says, “it’s really delicious.”

Jisung snorts out a laugh. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” he says, and then, satisfied with Minho’s reaction, he finally starts eating, too. 

This dinner is the kind of food that doesn’t just fill you up, but also nourishes you, body and soul. Like the soup Minho’s mom made him when he was sick as a child, the only thing he could always find an appetite for, it’s made with love. 

And it’s beyond delicious. First the sandwiches, now the roasted beef. There’s no way Jisung is getting out of cooking after putting this on Minho’s plate. 

But, just like he promised, he tells Jisung about his day: his friends from work bringing cake and giving him a birthday hat that they stole from one of the drawers in the staff room; his parents calling him to say hi and asking when he’s going to come and visit; his students being almost angelic, as if they all knew it was his birthday and decided to behave. Nothing special has happened, not really. It has just been a regular day.

Minho doesn’t mention that what truly made it so nice was the excitement, how much he looked forward to coming over for dinner. To seeing him.

“I’m happy you’ve had fun,” Jisung says. He nudges Minho’s foot under the table. As revenge, Minho traps his ankle between his calves. Jisung doesn’t even fight for freedom, they just share a look, two amused smiles, and keep eating. 

Later, they move to the couch, letting the drama that’s airing on television play even though neither of them has seen any of the previous episodes. They finish the bottle of wine Minho had brought and rest in silence, letting the food settle. And then, when the credits start rolling, Jisung sets his glass down on the coffee table and asks, “Do you want to go on that walk in the moonlight?”

Minho laughs. But he wants to. He really wants to. 

🎸

Minho doesn’t mean to waste his afternoon away looking through Jisung’s Instagram account, but he’s a fool, so it happens, anyway. He’s pretty sure he even sees the first post because someone is spying on him and listening to what he’s saying, and he’s been talking to and about Jisung a lot, so it’s really not his fault. 

He comes across a video of Jisung playing the guitar on his homepage. He’s dressed in the same black hoodie with a print at the front and a white beanie underneath that he wore when they hung out a few days ago, so Minho decides he must have filmed it then. He unmutes the video and lets it play, easily recognizing the song as MANIAC’s Cover Me just after a few chords. In the video, Jisung only hums the lyrics quietly to himself, but it still sounds magical. When he’s done, he reaches to turn the camera off with a sweet, bashful smile that turns Minho’s brain into mush.

He watches the video again, and then one more time.

There are more on his page: videos from rehearsals, him with his electric guitar, cute selfies and incredibly hot selfies, some of them taken in the comfort of casual clothes, but most of them come from performances. Some concert videos make it onto his feed, too, and Minho is past the stage of avoiding any content involving Jisung, obviously, so he spirals into scrolling and watching and admiring. 

He follows his profile in the end, because why not. It’s not like Jisung will see it in the ocean of his followers. He almost throws his phone at the wall when a notification pops up at the top of the screen right after he clicks Follow, but it turns out to be just a text from Jisung.

Which is worse, if Minho thinks about it. Like he summoned him by thinking about him constantly, just a string of Jisung, Jisung, Jisung, Jisung. That man is the bane of Minho’s existence.

🎸

Jisung shows up on his doorstep unannounced one Saturday. Minho doesn’t mind, of course—he’s happy to see him as he always is. He seems a bit on edge, though, if Minho has to be overly perceptive, just a tad bit nervous in the way he fiddles with his fingers and seems to have something on the tip of his tongue. 

But Minho doesn’t get to ask him about it, neither does Jisung get a chance to bring it up on his own. Just as he’s taking his coat off in the entryway, the doorbell rings again. 

“Oh, hyung, were you expecting someone?” he asks. 

But Minho shakes his head. He walks to the door and takes a peek through the peephole. When he sees who’s standing on the other side, he yanks the door open and asks, “What are you doing here?”

Jeongin grins at him, blissfully unaware. “There’s something I need your help with,” he says.

With no other choice, Minho lets him inside. It’s then that Jeongin notices they’re not alone. He looks taken aback when his eyes land on the other person standing in the entryway—just for a second. Then, he seems to realize it’s better to keep his emotions at bay.

It doesn’t matter that on the street Jisung is a celebrity; here, in the safety of Minho’s home, he’s just Jisung. 

Jisung freezes, too. He obviously hasn’t been expecting to come across anyone who might recognize him today. Minho moves to stand next to him immediately, puts a hand on his back to say, It’s okay. 

“This is Jisung,” Minho introduces him. “And this is Jeongin. We work together at the school.”

“Oh, it’s nice to meet you,” Jisung says. He smiles, extends his hand for Jeongin to shake, and moves back to press himself against Minho’s side.

“Likewise,” Jeongin says. He looks between the two of them and his small smile sharpens into a grin when his eyes catch Minho’s. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Ye—”

“No,” Jisung cuts in. “I was just leaving.”

No, you weren’t, Minho wants to say—he’s already opening his mouth—but Jisung shuts him up with a look, and that’s it. Minho relents. What else can he do? He understands that Jisung might not feel comfortable with a stranger suddenly being thrust into his orbit.

Jeongin isn’t exactly subtle, with what he thinks is going on here, a knowing lilt to his voice in every word he speaks. Minho isn’t sure if Jisung is uncomfortable with the implication, or maybe if he’s just uncomfortable about meeting Jeongin in general, but whatever it is, he really doesn’t stay at Minho’s place long.

In the end, Minho isn’t actually sure why he came over in the first place before Jisung is taking himself right back out the front door.

“You don’t have to go,” Minho assures him, even though he’s holding the door open for him already. He feels pathetic, begging like that. He lowers his voice. “I can tell him to leave. He won’t be mad.”

Jisung smiles. “It’s fine. He wants to talk to you about something. It sounds important. And I just came here to. . . to see you,” he says, but it doesn’t sound like the whole truth. Minho will let that bug him for the rest of the evening. “And I saw you. So it’s fine.”

Minho’s shoulders slump in defeat, no matter how flustered he is by the words. “I’ll call you later, we can talk,” he says. 

“Alright. I’ll put my phone off silent mode,” Jisung tells him, obviously just to make him smile. Minho does, because what else is there to do when being faced with a cute guy you like, and they just stare at each other for a moment like that, leaving Jeongin to fend for himself behind them. 

Finally, Jisung pulls the mask up his face and there’s nothing Minho can do to stop him from leaving. He’s being irrational, he knows. He can see Jisung some other time, call him soon, even see him on FaceTime if he wants to. But it’s always weird to watch him go. 

“Bye,” Minho says. “Sorry about this, Jisung-ah.”

“It’s fine. I’ll see you soon.”

Minho nods. He closes the door only when he sees Jisung step into the elevator, and then turns back around toward the apartment to see Jeongin taking off his weird little shoes. 

“Bad time, huh?” he says with an awkward grin. 

“You better have a damn good reason for coming over here!”

But it’s fine. Jeongin is his best friend—just like Jisung, he’s allowed to come over without letting Minho know first. Usually, Minho is at home alone so it doesn’t matter anyway. He would rather keep them both here, but he understands why Jisung might not want to. Not yet hopefully, but some other time. 

As they make their way toward the living room, Jeongin looks back at the front door almost wistfully. 

“I can’t believe he looks like that in real life,” he says.

“I know.”

“He’s so hot.”

Minho sighs. “I know.” 

🎸

But even that awkward encounter with Jeongin doesn’t stop Minho and Jisung from spending time together. 

That night, when they’re on a call, Minho already tucked in bed with Dori sleeping next to him, he explains everything to Jisung. That he probably should have told him sooner, but Jeongin knows about what happened between them. He assures that he doesn’t know anything about Siyeon, and Jisung says, “It’s fine. It’s your story just as it is mine. You’re allowed to talk about it, don’t be silly.”

The point is, when Jisung doesn’t have to be at the studio or filming something and Minho is off the clock, they find something to do in the evenings. They go to the cinema, to see a musical, or go out to the park with Siyeon, where the November cold bites at Jisung’s face despite how bundled-up in a scarf he is, rendering him flushed and groggy.

They come back to Jisung’s apartment, all frozen limbs and runny noses, and the first thing they do is put the kettle on for tea. Then, they order dinner—or cook, if they’re not too lazy, which, admittedly, they are most of the time. And Minho always says, “Do you want me to cut you some apples while we wait?” and it’s always both Jisung and Siyeon who say yes. 

At first, Minho wasn’t sure if things with Jisung could be as comfortable as they once had been, easy and full of conversation, the two of them jumping from one topic to another seamlessly. But his worries dissipate within a few meetings. Minho realizes that spending days together with Jisung feels familiar and fulfilling and not awkward in the slightest.

Jisung isn’t as much of a stranger as Minho thought. It’s a relieving realization to come to. 

One of those nights, when the cold outside forces them to stay in and hibernate, Minho cooks pasta, they crack open a bottle of wine to go with their dinner, and Jisung hooks his foot around Minho’s ankle under the table and gives him a secretive smile that turns Minho’s insides into mush.

Later, when they’re all lounging in front of the television, at one point, Jisung seems to snap into a state of parental realization and says that it’s so late that Siyeon should already be in bed.

Siyeon huffs and argues, “I’ll only go if I can show oppa my room.”

Apparently, it’s a crime that she hasn’t shown Minho all her books yet. 

Jisung looks like he’s about to try to save him from being dragged to the hell that must be his six-year-old daughter’s room, so Minho puts a hand on his arm and says, “Alright, but you have to promise you’ll try to sleep without complaints.”

“Promise,” she says, and then gets up from where she’s been drawing on the floor. She gathers her crayons up and puts them into the basket, takes her unfinished artwork, and gives Minho a hurrying look. 

He grins at Jisung and, with a lot of strong will and effort, peels himself off the sofa to follow her. Siyeon’s room is down the hallway, walls painted sky blue. A big bed with an array of plushies—the shark from the aquarium front and center—sits pushed up against one of them, a nightstand on the other side of it. A light curtain cascades down in front of the windows—Siyeon runs excitedly to switch it on and make the room glimmer. In the corner, there’s a beanbag surrounded by colorful cushions, and next to it a bookcase filled to the brim. There are toys scattered around on the carpeted floor, and the desk is littered with stray sheets of paper, but Minho has seen his fair share of spaces overtaken by kids—this one is actually tidy. 

Siyeon shows him everything—her collection of story books, and encyclopedias (which, she admits, she hasn’t been able to read yet, but she likes the pictures), and even the heart-shaped rock they found back when they went hiking, sitting on her nightstand along with some other trinkets.

“Do you think it misses the forest?” she asks him when she catches him looking at it, unexplainably full of emotion. 

Minho smiles. “I’m sure it likes its new home with you.”

“I’m sure the rock also wants to continue its nap,” comes Jisung’s voice from behind them. He’s standing in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest and a smile playing on his mouth.

“Ah, you’re no fun,” Siyeon whines. 

“Go change into your pajamas and brush your teeth, and I’ll tuck you in,” Jisung says. She makes a pleading face, begging for some more time, but it’s past nine already—she has to go to sleep. “You promised,” he tells her.

Siyeon sighs, but in the end, she finds her pajamas under the covers and marches to the bathroom. 

“It’s no wonder she can read so well so early when she has so many books,” Minho points out with a smile. 

“I’ll be honest. Children’s books nowadays have too many pretty pictures and interestings facts. I am also very much interested in them.”

Minho laughs, but he can’t find it in himself to disagree. He just says, “That’s true.”

When Siyeon comes back, promising that she has washed her teeth thoroughly and no, Jisung doesn’t need to check, she climbs into her bed and Jisung sits on the edge of it, pulling the covers up to her chin. 

Minho takes it as his cue to go back to the couch, pour some more wine into their glasses, and wait for Jisung to come back so that they can enjoy each other’s company in drunken silence. But then Siyeon asks, “Will you sing me something?” and the question keeps Minho in the room.

“What do you want me to sing, pumpkin?”

“Close,” Siyeon says. 

“Ah, I don’t know if I’ll remember the lyrics, but I’ll try my best.”

Minho smiles. 

There’s something so sweet about Jisung singing Siyeon to sleep. For a moment, he seems to rack his brain in search of the beginning of the song, but once he remembers how it starts it goes smoothly.

Minho leans with his shoulder against the doorframe, listening to his beautiful voice, how exceptionally softer it sounds when he sings for his daughter. He hasn’t heard this song before, but it sounds like Jisung’s pen. It’s beautiful. 

“Enough, baby?”

Siyeon nods. She already looks sleepy.

Jisung smiles. He leans in and plants a loud, wet kiss on her forehead, making her scrunch her face and rub the spot dry with the back of her hand. 

“Love you, Siyeon-ah. Sleep well.”

“I love you too,” she says. And then she turns to look at Minho. “Bye, oppa.”

Minho’s heart stutters in his chest. “Goodnight, baby.”

Jisung flicks off the light and closes the door of her room behind them quietly. They share a private smile and go back to the living room, where Jisung immediately falls back against the couch with a sigh. Minho refills their glasses with wine first, and then joins him.

Comfortable silence settles over them, and then—

“Have you ever thought about having children?”

The question takes Minho off-guard. Where is it coming from?

“I’ve never really thought about it, no,” he says honestly. “It’s just. . .  Aside from you, I’ve been in three relationships and neither of them were serious enough to even think about moving in together, let alone having children.”

“But do you want that?” Jisung presses. “I mean, you’re definitely good with kids. I can see it. And you wouldn’t be a teacher if you weren’t.”

“I think so,” Minho admits, but the truth, he knows, is a little different. “With the right person. Not alone. I don’t think I could do it alone.”

The truth is, he has never wanted kids. He never thought about having them. When he realized he was gay, he thought about that even less. But lately, he has been thinking. Not about having children of his own, adopting or anything else. Just. . . becoming a parent figure.

He’s not sure how to put it into words. 

Jisung is sporting a small smile when Minho looks over at him. “I understand,” he says, and it really feels like he does.

He rests his arm along the back of the couch, and Minho needs to stop himself from scooting over closer and pressing himself against Jisung’s side. He fights the desperate need to touch Jisung all the time, but it’s worse when they sit like this: comfortable, a bit wine-drunk, talking about things that feel so big.

“I’ve never thought about having kids either,” Jisung admits. “I mean, I was going to be a star. That was always my dream. Where would I fit all the time and attention a child deserves into that? That’s what I thought. But then Siyeon happened, and now I can’t imagine not having her. Not being a dad.”

Minho understands. He smiles, and reaches out to brush Jisung’s unruly hair out of his eyes. Starts petting his hair. Jisung leans into his touch.

“I already told you that, but you’re doing such a great job,” he says. “Siyeon is such an amazing kid. I love her.”

“Yeah?” 

Minho nods and says, “Of course.”

Jisung smiles and closes his eyes, his head comfortably resting against Minho’s palm.

Between the last drop of wine left at the bottom of his glass and the incessant ticking of the clock signaling the late hour of the night, Minho can’t find any excuse to linger there any longer.

“I should get going,” he says finally, although he really doesn’t want to—stop playing with Jisung’s hair, talk to him, leave. 

Jisung doesn’t seem to want that either.

“You could stay.”

It’s tempting, but Minho knows he can’t. “I don’t remember if Dori has enough food in the feeder,” he says, an easy excuse. “Some other time.”

Jisung sighs. He can’t argue with that. He seems to relate Dori with Siyeon, in a way. A priority in Minho’s life. His child. It’s funny. And it’s true. 

“Let me get you a cab, at least,” Jisung says, and before Minho can start arguing, he’s already pulling out his phone from under one of the couch cushions and opening the right app. He taps away at the screen, to finally say, “It’ll be here in ten.” 

It might be just that Minho’s tipsy brain is playing tricks on him, but he sounds truly regretful. Is Minho staying over for the night that important? They can see each other soon. Tomorrow, even, if he wants to.

Minho starts gathering the glasses to at least help him clean up, but Jisung smiles. “Leave it, I’ll take care of it later,” he says. 

He walks him to the entryway then, but instead of just bidding him goodbye at the door, Jisung puts the hood of his sweatshirt over his head and starts putting on his jacket, too. 

Something warm spreads inside of Minho. 

He pats himself down to make sure he hasn’t left his phone or his keys behind, and then he’s ready to go. They leave the apartment together in silence. In the elevator, Minho finally starts feeling the tiredness slowly creeping up on him—he just wants to close his eyes and doze off. But once they’re outside, where the air is frisk and cold, he wakes up.

They walk out through the gate, where the cab is supposed to arrive, just enjoying each other’s quiet company. Jisung waits with him until Minho is safe in the back of the cab. It feels so intimate—so significant, for some reason. 

“Text me when you get home,” he says just before he pushes the door shut. Minho’s cheeks heat up.

🎸

Minho is just about to head back to the classroom after his break when Jisung’s name— mine, still, after so much time — flashes across the screen of his phone with an incoming call. He doesn’t usually call when he knows Minho is at work, so Minho doesn’t hesitate staying back in the staff room to pick up and make sure everything is alright.

“Hyung,” Jisung starts. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Minho says, ignoring the look Jeongin is sending him. He’s waiting for Minho at the door, watching him like a hawk, a knowing look on his face. “What’s up?”

“I have a problem.”

Minho straightens up. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, but—we’re filming and I was supposed to be done by now, but we had some technical difficulties and we haven’t even started—and I won’t be able to make it to pick Siyeon up,” he says. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but could you please drive Siyeon to my place and stay with her for a bit?”

Minho’s shoulders relax, so does his spiked heartbeat. Jisung is fine. “Of course,” he says immediately. “It’s no problem.”

“It would be just, like, an hour—just until my brother gets off work.”

“You don’t have to bother him,” Minho says. “I can stay with her until you get back.” 

He can’t see him through the phone, but somehow he can tell Jisung is shaking his head. “No, I might be back late at night.”

“It’s fine. Dori has food. I have nowhere to be.”

“Hyung, I can’t ask you to do that,” Jisung whispers. “It’s already a lot—”

“You’re not asking,” Minho interrupts. “I’m proposing. It’s really no trouble for me. We’ll find something to do and have fun. It’s fine.”

Jisung exhales on the other side, like all tension has just left his body. “Hyung, I really love you.”

Minho laughs, but the back of his neck feels hot with the admission. “I surely do hope you do. See you later.”

“Thank you.”

“Mhm. You can buy me dinner sometime,” he says. Jeongin makes a gagging motion where he’s still standing by the door, eavesdropping, ever so nosy. “Good luck with filming.”

He ends the call and slides his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. 

“What’d your loverboy want now? Need you to babysit his cat?”

Jeongin doesn’t know about Siyeon, naturally, and Minho doesn’t plan on telling him. It’s not his story to tell, not a secret he feels comfortable sharing or even allowed to share in the first place.

He’s going to have to forgive him this little white lie.

“Mhm. I have a domestic evening ahead,” he says. He doesn’t even bother explaining that Jisung isn’t his lover boy. With Jeongin, it would be pointless.

They head to the classroom together and find Felix just about to finish up his class with their groups. While Jeongin stays in the classroom, Minho fetches his own kids, telling them to pair up, and leads them down the hallway for a healthy dose of writing.

Today, the kids get picked up quickly, and by half past four, only Siyeon is left in the classroom. She’s finishing up her drawing at one of the tables, so Minho crouches next to her and says her name to get her attention. 

“You know how dad was supposed to come pick you up today?” he asks when she puts the crayon down and waits for her to nod. “Well, he called me earlier to say that he was getting held up at work and wouldn’t be able to make it in time. He asked me to take you to your home.”

To his surprise, Siyeon perks up. “Really?”

She seems delighted. He was worried she’d be upset about Jisung not coming to pick her up, but she seems to not care. (He should probably leave that out when he tells Jisung about it later.)

Minho smiles back at her with indescribable warmth spreading through his core. She’s excited because of him? Because he will be the one to take her home? 

“We can go whenever you’re ready.”

“I’m ready!” Siyeon says, gathering the crayons to put them back in their rightful spot. Then, she wastes no time taking her—still unfinished—drawing and slipping it into the drawer signed with her name to finish some other day. “Let’s go, oppa!” 

Minho laughs. “Alright, baby,” he says. “I just have to grab my coat from the staff room, and I’ll be right back, okay? Wait for me in the cloak room.” 

He still accompanies her there, makes sure she starts changing her shoes before he rushes to get his things from the teachers’ lounge. She’s just about to put on her jacket when he comes back, a cute pink and green beanie pulled low over her forehead. Minho fixes it for her with a fond smile.

There’s something about taking care of a child like this that’s so different from being a teacher—making sure the seatbelts click right, glancing at the backseat in the rearview mirror every other minute. His heart beats loud in his ears with the weight of responsibility. 

Siyeon is quiet during the ride, just humming to the melody of the songs playing on the radio and watching the view outside slip by, but each time Minho looks back at her, she’s smiling. 

At the gate of the apartment complex, security lets him through with no problem, by now familiar with him and his car. Siyeon patiently waits for him to gather his things, and then skips up to the entrance, still bright and happy. He opens the door for her, and they take the elevator up. Like Jisung instructed him over a text message, he fetches the key from beneath the flowerpot next to the door and presses in the passcode to the door to disable the alarm.

When they get rid of their shoes and outerwear, Minho proposes, “Go wash your hands and I’ll take a look at what you guys have in the fridge, try to make something tasty for dinner, hm?”

Siyeon takes off in the direction of the bathroom with an Okay! 

Minho pulls his phone out to send Jisung a text, letting him know that they’re at home safe and sound. He doesn’t expect Jisung to answer when he’s busy filming, but at least he won’t have to worry when he gets off work.

In the end, Minho makes them fried rice with vegetables for dinner. Siyeon sits at the kitchen table and keeps him company, telling him about how she’s going to see her maternal grandparents this Sunday. Then, after they eat, when Minho asks what she wants to do, Siyeon decides they have to do puzzles, so they sit on the floor putting together a picture of a dolphin emerging from the ocean with a cartoon playing on the television. 

When Siyeon gets bored, they move to the couch to watch one of the Barbie movies—Minho doesn’t really know which one it is; Siyeon just tells him to click that one, so he does. He also brings her chocolate milk from the fridge, because she makes those puppy dog eyes at him, and he can only be so strong. She ate dinner well, so it should be fine.

Siyeon falls asleep curled up by the arm of the sofa even before the movie ends, and that’s the last thing Minho remembers when he dozes off soon after. 

It’s the sound of the floor creaking that wakes him. He shoots up into a sitting position, only to be calmed down by Jisung’s voice when he whispers, “Hey, hey, it’s just me.” His heart rate slows down immediately, like it’s some kind of sorcery.

He runs a hand through his messed-up hair. “What time is it?” he asks, watching Jisung move to lean against the armrest of the couch. 

“Just short of midnight,” he says. He puts a hand on Siyeon’s head, but she’s sleeping deep enough that she doesn’t wake. 

“Go tuck her in,” Minho tells him, hauling himself off the couch even though he’s just so comfortable. “I’ll heat the dinner up for you.”

“You made dinner?” 

“Mhm. Just threw together some fried rice.”

Jisung whispers, “You’re an angel.”

Minho just waves him off, but the truth is, he can feel his body temperature rising, a traitorous blush creeping up to his face. He’s glad that he can avoid Jisung taking notice.

He swiftly gathers Siyeon in his arms. This time around, she seems to wake, but he shushes her with a kiss to her forehead and carries her to her bedroom.

Minho directs his footsteps to the kitchen. He turns on the stove under the frying pan and pours himself a glass of water to chase away the remainder of sleep. 

Jisung comes in a moment later, wordlessly sitting himself in one of the chairs. He looks exhausted, if Minho has to be honest. The dimmed lights only accentuate the circles under his eyes, even with the make-up he’s still wearing. His hair is styled too. He must’ve rushed back home if he hadn’t wiped it off. 

They exist in silence, just the sizzling of oil to accompany them. Once the rice is ready, though, Minho puts the bowl in front of Jisung and sits opposite of him, cheek cupped in his palm. He’s still half-asleep, but he wants to know—“How was your day?”

“It was fine,” Jisung shrugs, digging in. He marvels at the taste for a bit, which Minho thinks is just for show, but it makes warmth spread inside of him either way. “I mean, it wasn’t really. The waiting was annoying. We were supposed to film a teaser for the album today. Trailer, that sort of thing. And the equipment got fucked, so there was a huge delay until the new one got delivered.”

He makes a pause to compliment the dinner again, even if it’s just rice with vegetables and some shredded cheese. He’s that cute. Minho watches him eat with a smile.

“But once we had the equipment, it went smoothly, so that was the fine part,” Jisung continues. “The filming went well too.”

“Yeah? You did your best to look handsome?” Minho teases.

Jisung sends him a playful grin. “I didn’t have to try hard.”

Minho hums, says, “That’s true,” and dodges the light kick Jisung tries to give him under the table. “The album preparations are in full swing, then?”

“We’re working on it, yes. Thinking which of our older outtakes to include this time around. If any. We’re going to do some photoshoots, film performances.” Jisung sighs. “So it’s all really about to get hectic, odd hours and more work and all that.”

“You can count on me,” Minho says. His eyes flit to Jisung’s hand resting on the table, and he’s overcome with the urge to touch it—just hold it. Tell him, I’m here with you, without saying anything at all. He doesn’t. He just says, “I can help you.”

Jisung lets out a soft sigh. “I really appreciate what you’ve done for me today, but I can’t—”

“I just did puzzles and watched Barbie,” Minho interrupts, rolling his eyes half-heartedly. “It’s really nothing you should thank me for. I can do this anytime.”

There’s something in Jisung’s expression that he can’t read. It looks like relief, but not quite. 

“Are you serious?”

Minho shrugs. “If I don’t have anything coming up suddenly, I don’t see why not,” he says. It’s not like spending time with Siyeon is some kind of chore. He already knows what she likes and they get along just fine. “You just have to let me know and I’ll be there.”

Jisung smiles that kind of smile when the corners of his mouth curl downward instead of up. He looks oddly touched when his eyes glimmer like that, like this is some kind of incredible thing Minho is ready to do for him. As if he has no idea that there’s nothing in this world that Minho wouldn’t do for him. 

“Thank you, hyung,” he says. “I hope you know it goes both ways. I’m always here if you need anything.”

Minho smiles. He lets Jisung finish his dinner and then, when he gets up to wash the bowl in the sink, he says, “I should get going.” 

“You can stay the night,” Jisung counters immediately, because of course. “I don’t want you to drive when you’re tired and it’s so late.”

Minho sighs. He knows that this time around, he won’t win. He can’t fight against Jisung when he says caring things like that.

“Alright, I’ll stay.” 

Jisung smiles, feeling victorious for such an insignificant reason. He asks, “Are you okay with sharing my bed? It’s bigger and more comfortable than the couch.”

“Yeah, okay,” Minho agrees, but his stupid heart speeds up, anyway. He’s almost thirty years old, for fuck’s sake. Why can’t he be normal?  

Jisung’s bedroom is just as cozy as the rest of the apartment. His bed really is massive, but what draws attention is the electric guitar hanging on the wall above it. It takes Minho a moment, but he recognizes it as Jisung’s first. Seeing it leaves him emotional, a bit unbalanced, so he’s glad that Jisung disappears in the walk-in closet and doesn’t see him like this, when he’s too tired to conceal it. 

There’s an armchair by the balcony, huge and comfortable, looking like it would swallow Minho up whole if he sat down. A bookcase is storing some trinkets, pictures, and more vinyls, like they haven’t all fit in their designated shelves in the living room. Minho sees a few awards and plaques for Jisung’s work, standing proud and inspiring. And, like in Siyeon’s room, there’s a curtain of fairy lights hanging in his window. The sight of it makes Minho smile.

“Here you go,” Jisung says when he emerges from the closet, a pile of clothes in his hands: underwear and a T-shirt that, upon closer inspection, seems to come from MANIAC’S merchandise. For his own pajamas, he reaches under the covers of the bed, and that’s when Minho sees it—the cat plushie tucked under the duvet. 

“You still sleep with stuffed animals, Jisung-ah?” he can’t help but tease.

Jisung laughs. “Siyeonie’s gift for me,” he explains, taking the toy and setting it down on the nightstand. “When we moved here last year, she was scared of the new place, sleeping alone, and all that, so I gave her a plushie to keep her company and keep her safe. And then she gave me one of her most loved ones so that I wouldn’t be alone, either.”

Minho wants to throw himself down the stairs. 

“Alright, I need to cry for a bit,” he says, feigning a sniffle. “Please go shower already and leave me alone.”

“You can go ahead and hug Kitty Cat if you need to,” Jisung teases, barely able to stifle his laughter as he escapes the bedroom before Minho can get his hands on him. 

Minho takes the liberty to steal his charger lying around on the floor and plugs his dying phone in, sitting himself on the floor next to it to kill time scrolling through the abundance of funny animal videos his mom has sent him (which is fifteen since he last checked during his break at work). 

Jisung comes back quickly, before Minho is even done watching all of the videos, his face devoid of make-up, hair fluffy and damp. His sleeping T-shirt is hanging off his shoulders loosely, exposing his collarbone, and Minho has to fight to tear his eyes away from that particular body part.

“I left towels and a toothbrush out for you,” Jisung says. “You can just hang them on the heater to dry and leave the toothbrush in the holder.” 

“Thank you.” 

Minho hauls himself off the floor with a groan and a crack of bones that make Jisung laugh. He doesn’t even have it in him to playfully threaten his life—not when he looks and sounds soft like that. He just shakes his head and directs his footsteps to the bathroom. 

He makes the shower quick—he’s afraid that if he lets himself stand under the stream of warm water for too long, he will fall asleep there. He brushes his teeth with the pink toothbrush Jisung left for him and feels odd putting it in the holder next to his green one. (Because the green one has to be his. Unless he uses the small, Hello Kitty-themed one, which, honestly, Minho wouldn’t put past him. He’s silly like that.) 

Is it really as intimate as he’s painting it in his head? Leaving a toothbrush in his friend’s bathroom, putting on his clothes to spend the night sleeping next to him in the safety of his bed? It’s probably not that big of a deal. 

But then why won’t Minho’s heart just slow down? 

He should probably get that checked out with a doctor. 

Jisung is already fast asleep when Minho steps into the bedroom, though the lamp on the nightstand is still on. He must have been even more tired than he looked to doze off like that. 

Minho sighs. He tries to be as quiet as he can when he flicks the light off and then slips under the covers beside him. 

Truth be told, it’s been a while since he shared a bed with another person. At home, he usually has Dori either sleeping at the foot of the mattress or cuddling up to him in the middle of the night, but—well, Jisung is very different from a cat. At least they still sleep on the same sides of the bed—him on the left, Jisung on the right. 

It’s comforting, because although the love and pain aren’t erasable, with their newfound connection, it’s easy to forget that they used to date, sometimes. So much time has passed. But sometimes it all comes back at once—tonight is one of those times. He and Jisung used to share a bed all the time, limbs tangled, hearts beating against one another. Minho would wake up and his face would be pressed between Jisung’s shoulder blades, his arms wound so tightly against him, he would have to ask if Jisung could breathe at all. But Jisung always said, I sleep best when you hold me like that. 

Minho wonders if it’s still the case when he rolls onto his side, back turned towards Jisung, and lets his eyelids slip shut without a fight. He must have rolled around during the night, because when he wakes up, he’s facing Jisung instead. 

Jisung is still deep asleep, and Minho himself can barely keep his eyes open, so he allows himself this moment of just watching him in all his morning glory, before he has to get up and become a functional adult. His cheek is squished against the pillow in a way that makes his lips pout, a shade of stubble on his jaw. His hair is all messed-up, Minho just wants to run his fingers through it.  

He wouldn’t mind this view greeting him every morning.

As soon as he thinks it, he cringes and rolls onto his back, away from Jisung. Fuck. He needs to stop being so damn embarrassing. Even in his own thoughts, it’s hard to bear. 

Not wanting to lie there and embarrass himself any further, Minho clambers from beneath the comfort and warmth of the covers to go to the bathroom. He changes into his clothes from the night before, leaving Jisung’s T-shirt in the laundry bin. When he emerges from the bathroom, he almost crashes into Jisung, whose tense shoulders relax when he sees him.

Minho draws his eyebrows together at the sight of him, but Jisung is so quick at brushing things off that with a small smile, he makes Minho doubt anything seemed wrong in the first place.

“Hi,” he greets, running a hand through his hair, yanking at the knots until they give. Minho’s fingers twitch with the need to reach out and untangle the strands more gently.

“Good morning,” he says. “Do you want some coffee?”

Jisung’s expression eases with a smile. “Yeah. That would be great.” 

“I’ll be in the kitchen, then.” 

Minho gives Jisung’s arm a squeeze as he passes him by. He’s already familiar with his coffee machine, so setting it up comes easy. He pulls two matching mugs with stars all over them out of the cabinet and leans back against the counter, just waiting. 

Not even fifteen minutes later, Jisung walks in looking less like he’s half-asleep, dressed in a comfortable hoodie and cargo pants. He thanks Minho for the coffee and takes a big, greedy sip.

“Did you sleep well?” 

“Yeah, thankfully, you’re less clingy than you used to be,” Minho says with a teasing smile. Jisung rolls his eyes, but he obviously takes no offense. “You?”  

“Yeah. Yeah. I’ve slept well enough to not feel like a zombie on set, so that’s good.”

“Oh. You have to film today too.”

Jisung grimaces. “Yeah. My manager is coming to pick us up,” he says. “I have to drop Siyeon off at my brother’s place and then go to the company building.”

“I can drive you guys if you want,” Minho proposes, taking a sip of his coffee. 

“No, it’s fine. There’s no reason for you to bother yourself with this.”

Minho rolls his eyes. “What did I tell you? You are never bothering me. Never.” 

At this point, he knows he’s going to have to keep repeating it over and over until it finally sticks. He doesn’t mind, but he wishes Jisung understood that he simply wants to do things for him because he cares, not because he feels obligated to or for some other idiotic reason. 

Jisung’s expression softens. “Okay,” he relents finally. “I’ll be very happy if you give us a ride.” 

“I’ll be very happy to give you a ride,” Minho echoes, giving him an awful wink. He’s pretty sure he just blinks at him, but Jisung laughs, so the embarrassment is worth it. 

Apparently having thought he’d gone home the night before, Siyeon looks so surprised to see him when she finally comes to the kitchen. 

“Oppa!” she calls out, a giant grin on her face. “Are you going to live with us now?”

Minho laughs. He glances at Jisung, who’s pouring milk into a bowl for Siyeon to have her breakfast, and they share a look of amusement. 

“No, I can’t, I have to go back to my own apartment,” he says. “I pay rent, so I have to live there. And my cat lives there, too.”

“You can bring your cat. We like cats,” Siyeon says, not at all discouraged. “And Dad can pay rent so you don’t have to.” 

While Minho starts laughing, Jisung puts the bowl on the table in front of her. “Eat your cereal, Siyeon-ah.” 

It feels oddly domestic, all of this. Waking up with Jisung, sharing plain toasts with him, watching him expertly braid his daughter’s hair, dropping Siyeon off, driving him to work.

Minho shouldn’t let it get to his head.

🎸

By the time the end of November rolls around, between work and dinners with friends, he’s seeing Jisung every week.

Sometimes, Siyeon is there, too, but most of the time, they dedicate weekends when she’s away with her mom to their hang-outs. During the weekdays, Jisung is usually busy with the preparations for the release of his band’s new album and Minho is sometimes just completely spent after work, so they settle on sporadic evenings in person and frequent phone calls.

Granted, with how much it’s raining these days, they stay in most of the time. Jisung comes over, and they curl up on the couch with Dori between them—or in Jisung’s lap, he really has been loving that particular spot for his naps—and watch dramas or game shows or horror movies. It’s just like the old times.

(Minus the making out.

Instead, they talk. They talk so much, jumping from one topic to another, letting each other in deeper than they ever have, and by the end of the day, Minho is left with a strange feeling, as if his chest had been ripped apart to expose what his ribcage is holding hostage inside.

It’s a little bit terrifying.

It’s more terrifying to realize just how eager he is to do it all over again, let Jisung undo him like that.)

Every time Minho sees him, it feels like the world becomes smaller until they’re in a bubble that no one else on the planet can enter. He had missed this all these years when they didn’t speak—having someone that just understood him the way Jisung always did, no questions asked.

Minho probably should be more astounded that he’s catching feelings for Jisung again, but the realization, although it leaves a shiver of dread running down his spine, doesn’t come as a surprise. Of course, he thinks to himself bitterly. Of course, because he and Jisung dated for years before. Because Jisung is still as lovely and smart and incredible as he was back then, definitely even more. Because they spend so much time together and get along so well. Because Jisung is just impossible not to fall for. It’s easy to lose yourself in a person like him. Over and over and over again. 

Minho can’t be faulted for it—and neither can he be faulted for wondering if Jisung feels the same. 

They spend so much time together, after all. Jeongin is having the time of his life teasing him for it—holding his knowledge of who Minho is disappearing with so often over their other friends’ heads. But he’s good at keeping a secret, Minho has to give him that; it’s been a while, and he still hasn’t uttered a word to Minju, no matter how much she whines about the unfairness of hiding gossip from his girlfriend. 

With Jisung, just like back then, it’s the little things.

He reaches for Minho’s hand as they walk without a second thought, and puts on a slight drawl when he says Minho’s name, his mouth twisted upward lazily.

He puts his head on Minho’s shoulder when they watch movies and when he turns toward him, sometimes they’re so close and his eyes fall to Minho’s lips and it’s so easy to think that maybe he’s going to kiss him.

His words gain that teasing lilt to them, and for a moment, Minho wonders if he’s actually flirting with him, or if he’s been out of the dating pool for so long that he’s misinterpreting everything Jisung does out of his own need.

Does he think about Minho before he goes to bed? Or when a stupid love song comes on the radio when he’s driving to work and he smiles under his breath because the lyrics are so cheesy? Does he think about their past as often as Minho does? Going through the memories, marveling at how much they’ve grown and changed and at how many things have stayed the same despite all the hurt and the passage of time?

Does he think about how they’re still Minho and Jisung, Jisung and Minho? 

Does he think about how it must have been a lucky twist of fate to bring them together again?

Because sometimes, on days like this, when he’s driving Jisung home after they ate dinner at a restaurant, and it’s late, and they’re playing mellow songs on the radio, and Minho looks over at him and sees him with that small smile on his face, Minho almost says it. He almost says that hearing what Jisung is up to brightens his day, that he loves hanging out with him and Siyeon, and when they call, it’s his favorite part of the day. That he really believes they’re meant to be, one way or another. 

It’s not enough to meet the right person. You need to meet them at the right time as well. Nine years ago wasn’t the right time, clearly, with how things had to go. But now—now, it could be. Because the more time Minho spends around Jisung, the more it cements the knowledge that Jisung is just his person.

But because he can’t be sure if Jisung feels about him the same way, or if he’s just happy to have Minho in his life as his friend again, he’s hesitant to say anything and make things incredibly awkward for everyone. If he pushes things too much and something goes wrong, he could ruin it—lose Jisung, Siyeon, all of it. He has just gotten him back, has just built himself a place in that home. It would kill Minho to be without him again.

And so he’s left longing for something he might never get back, something he’s not brave enough to ask for, but something he so desperately wants. 

He knows he needs to give it time.

Regardless of the nature of their relationship now and what it might become in the future, he and Jisung are pieces of a puzzle that fit together seamlessly even after all these years. It’s an exhilarating conclusion to come to.

🎸

The first snow comes one weekend at the beginning of December. Jisung and Siyeon are over at Minho’s place—Siyeon is playing around with Dori in the living room (he really likes her, too, so it must be in the Han Jisung gene pool), while Minho and Jisung are in the kitchen, working on dinner.

Well, Minho is working on dinner. Jisung is just sitting there on the counter, looking pretty and providing entertainment, which he argues is the most important responsibility of all. 

The thing is, at some point, Siyeon suddenly gets off the carpet and runs to the balcony, calling out, “Snow! It’s snowing!” 

Jisung’s eyes widen. “Really?” he asks, jumping off the counter to see for himself.

But it’s not enough. When he sees that Minho doesn’t make a move to follow them and instead keeps chopping carrots for soup, he rolls his eyes and grabs his wrist to gently take the knife out of his hands.

“Come on,” he says. “Look at the first snow with me.”

It’s just snow, Minho wants to tell him. There will be plenty of it covering the ground when he’s done cooking. But he doesn’t even have to study Jisung’s face to know just how happy it will make him if Minho tags along, and there are only a few things more important to Minho than making him happy.

So he turns down the heat under the cooking broth and lets Jisung drag him to the window, their arms intertwined, as Siyeon tells them to hurry up and look. She’s practically glued to the windowpane, that cutie. Minho wants to hold her so tightly she will explode. (He’s not really good at this whole parenting thing.)

The snow outside is falling in giant, fluffy flakes against the dark expanse of the evening sky. Although he wasn’t too eager to run and see it, Minho thinks it’s a very pretty sight. 

“Did you know?” Siyeon asks. “If you see the first snow with someone you love, you will love them forever!”

Jisung smiles down at her. “I’ll love you forever, pumpkin,” he says. Then, as if that’s not enough to completely disarm a man, he gives Minho’s arm a squeeze like he’s saying, You too.  

Minho feels his heart drift up to his throat. He inhales sharply and, in lieu of a response, tips his head to the side to rest it against Jisung’s. 

“I love you forever too, Dad,” says Siyeon, ungluing herself from the balcony door to wrap her arms around Jisung’s legs. Her face is smushed against his thigh, so Minho could fool himself into thinking he doesn’t understand what she says when she follows it with, “I love you, oppa.” 

But he hears it, loud and clear, and it’s a feeling like no other. Minho blinks furiously at the sting in his eyes and, hoping his voice sounds less shaky than it feels, echoes, “I love you too, Siyeon-ah.” 

It’s Dori who disrupts the adorable moment—or, rather, makes it even cuter. Abandoned on the carpet, he grows bored of being left out and winds himself around their legs. 

“Don’t be jealous, Dori-yah,” Jisung says, cooing as he leans down to pick the cat up, hiking him up his shoulder like a child with practiced ease, exactly the way Dori likes to be held. He even nuzzles his furry little head against Jisung’s jaw before settling it on his shoulder, that’s how much he likes him. “We love you too. Right, pumpkin?” 

Siyeon grins, nodding, echoing her personal I love yous to Dori while eagerly patting his butt, because it’s the only part of him she can reach from the floor.

Minho thinks the three of them are the cutest sight he has ever laid his eyes on, and it’s so hard to just leave it behind and go back to cooking, but he has to if he wants to serve them dinner tonight. 

He’s not in the kitchen alone for too long. Jisung joins him, jumping back onto the counter, his heels knocking against the cabinets underneath. He’s gazing at the living room, watching Siyeon and Dori, when Minho steals a glance at him.

It’s only thanks to his best efforts and god-sent self-control that he manages to kill the need to press his mouth against Jisung’s smile and kiss him for all the time they’ve lost.

Minho should get a damned award for being so strong. 

🎸

The first thing Minho sees when he picks up the video call a few days later is Siyeon’s face, so close to the camera she might as well be trying to come through it like the phone is a portal. 

When she sees that the call has connected, before Minho can even get a word in, she calls out, “Show me Dori, oppa! Show him!”

“Siyeon, calm down,” Jisung says. He pulls the phone away from her and holds it at a better distance, now with the two of them visible. “Sorry,” he says to Minho. “I told her you’re celebrating Dori’s birthday, and she demanded I call so that she could greet him, too.” 

Minho laughs. That’s way too cute, even for her. “Birthday baby is currently sleeping off dinner, but I can show him.” 

He abandons his plants, promising to finish watering them later, and moves to the couch, where—with a groan—he fits himself behind Dori and angles his phone to get them both in frame. 

The cat stretches his paws, ears perking up at the sound of Siyeon’s voice when she calls out, “Happy birthday!” with barely contained excitement.

Dori yawns in response. Minho smiles down at him, his free hand moving to rub the cat’s belly until he’s purring happily and exposing more of it, always hungry for affection.

“I want to teleport myself there and kiss his entire furry little face,” Jisung says. “He’s too cute.”

“I’ll do it for you,” Minho tells him, leaning in to plant a kiss on the tip of Dori’s nose with an obnoxious mwah. His heart aches with warmth at the sound of the laughter coming from the other end of the line. 

Dori blinks up at him like he thinks Minho is a bit crazy, but then he nuzzles against his arm, so he clearly can’t make up his mind. 

Siyeon asks, “How old is he?”

“Five,” Minho says. “He’s still a baby.”

“Did he eat cake?”

Minho lets out an affirmative hum, unable to stop himself from grinning when he sees the look on Jisung’s face. “I baked him a meat pie,” he says. “I have pictures of him eating it in his birthday gift sweater. I’ll send them to your dad later so you can see.”

“You know how to bake?” Siyeon asks. “I want to make cookies for Santa, but Dad doesn’t know how.”

Jisung splutters, giving his daughter a scandalized look. “Excuse me? I said I’d do my best.”

“I don’t trust you,” Siyeon says, not sounding even a tiny bit apologetic about it. She squeals when Jisung starts tickling her to get her to take it back, and Minho laughs so hard he almost drops his phone.

Jisung finally lets her go after she gives him a half-hearted, “Sorry, Dad,” and follows it with the most earnest, “You know you’re the best! You don’t have to bake to be the best!” 

He plants a wet, exaggerated kiss on her rosy cheek after that, and Minho feels like he’s about to explode, that’s how cute he finds them.  

“I can come over and help you bake some delicious cookies to make sure Santa gives you the best presents ever,” he says in the end. “If you promise to give me one.”

“Really?” Siyeon squeals. “Thank you, oppa!” 

“Are you sure?” Jisung asks, as if Minho hasn’t already made it clear that he wants to do things with him and Siyeon for fun. 

Minho pointedly rolls his eyes. “Yes, Han Jisung, I will happily save Santa from breaking his teeth on your cookies.”

“Hey,” Jisung protests, but the grin he breaks into minimizes the effect. They both know he can’t bake—he even admitted it himself. It’s all light-hearted. 

The silence stretches on, comfortable, and while Siyeon is busy cuddling up to Jisung, probably dozing off, the two of them look at each other on the screen. Minho’s heart rate kicks up a notch, and he feels so much like a teenager in love that it leaves him all kinds of embarrassed. 

“I have to go and finish watering my plants before I forget,” he says with a sigh, because he’s not sure how much longer he would be able to let Jisung stare without bursting at the seams. “Let me know when you’re free to do some groceries, we can go together.”

“Mhm. It looks like we’re going to have a nap over here, so—” Jisung smiles. “Bye, hyung.”

“Have a great nap, kids,” Minho sing-songs. He only catches the beginning of Jisung’s laughter before disconnecting the call, but the warmth spreads through his core all the same.

🎸

Today

MINHO

i know i’m early but when you’re ready i’m parked down the street

MINE ♡

hyung don’t kill me but the rehearsal is dragging on

would you please wait for me just a bit

MINHO

i won’t kill you if you take the bill later

MINE ♡

come on head upstairs then

i don’t want you waiting in your car

MINHO

and meet the band? wow

MINE ♡

ㅋㅋㅋ you literally already know them

well minus seungmin

so maybe yes

i’ll come get you from the lobby

MINHO

👍

🎸

“I’m really sorry about this,” Jisung says when the elevator doors close behind them. “We’ve been practicing for hours, but there’s always something to talk through, so it’s taking a while, but I promise, we’ll get our lunch soon.”

Minho rolls his eyes as he unwinds his scarf from around his neck.

“Oh, no, I’m being taken to sit in on the rehearsal of the most famous band in the country, where I’ll be able to hear their incredible music practically course through my bones,” he laments sarcastically. “This is the worst day of my life.” 

A slow smile touches Jisung’s mouth. “You think our music is incredible?” 

“Duh.” Minho nudges his shoulder. “I’m your number one fan.” 

He doesn’t have the chance to mention that he almost threw up listening to a good half of their songs for the first time with how raw the lyrics were, so obviously about him and Jisung, because the elevator doors slide open and save him from blurting it out. 

“I hope you have the time of your life, then, hyung,” Jisung says, his smile making him look almost shy as he leads Minho to the door at the end of the hallway. 

Pushing it open reveals a large live room that’s a part of a huge recording studio, with an isolation booth on one end and a control room behind a glass wall on the other. Among the microphone stands, instruments, and amps, Minho easily finds the members of MANIAC.

All eyes are already on him the moment he steps inside, as if they have been staring at the door and waiting for him and Jisung to finally show. Minho’s ears burn. 

“Uh, hi,” he says, unsure what to expect. When Jisung told him to come upstairs, Minho didn’t really stop to consider the band’s reaction to him. Truthfully, he didn’t stop to consider anything—he just wanted to see Jisung. 

He hasn’t seen these guys since university days, and the last thing they remember of him is how he broke Jisung’s heart and disappeared. He’s pretty sure Jisung wouldn’t bring him to a place where he’s universally hated—and that he told them that things between them are all cleared-up now—but. Still. The hesitation lingers.

It turns out there’s nothing to be nervous about. Chan is the first to come up to him, his friendly dimpled smile on display as he wraps an arm around Minho’s shoulders, pulling him into a side hug.

“I haven’t seen you in ages, where have you been hiding?” he asks.

Minho just lets out an awkward chuckle, mumbling something about being here and there in response. Jisung is stifling laughter behind him, the bane of Minho’s existence, and then there’s his hand brushing against Minho’s spine, a gesture of quiet support, a silent I’m here as he walks by to get to his water bottle.

Changbin and Hyunjin aren’t any less enthusiastic to see Minho, with their handshake-hugs and questions of how he’s been doing and if his winter break is treating him well. It’s really nice, just friendly small-talk. 

Seungmin is the only person in the equation that Minho doesn’t know. He extends his hand for Seungmin to take and smiles.

“I’m Minho,” he says, though they both know the exchange is just a matter of politeness. They know each other’s names. 

“Seungmin. It’s good to finally put a face to the name,” he says, his mouth curled up in a smirk that’s hard to read as anything but menacing. Based on that alone, Minho thinks he’d get along with Jeongin and Felix quite well.

Once the greetings are out of the way, Chan orders that they go back to rehearsing. Jisung tells Minho to make himself comfortable, so he takes off his coat and takes a seat on the couch in the corner.

He might have been exaggerating back in the elevator, but he’s really excited to hear some of MANIAC’s music performed live in a cozy studio setting. His eyes naturally zero in on Jisung, though, as he slings his guitar over his shoulder and moves to stand behind the microphone. Just before they start to play, though, he glances at Minho and smiles.

Their rehearsals are the same as they were years ago, back when all they had was the empty garage in Changbin’s house. They’re loud—both because of the music and because of laughter, the Wrong note, dude, all the cheering they do for each other. The difference is, they’re not practicing for a gig at a local bar, but for a year-end festival broadcasted on national television. 

Minho’s chest feels tight with pride. For all of them, obviously, but when it comes to Jisung, the emotions are tenfold. He watched him chase that dream and fight for it tooth and nail, and he’s so happy that Jisung is so stubborn and hard-working; that despite all the obstacles fate put in his way, he’s here—in a place that was made for him. That he made for himself. 

Minho watches him, and he can’t believe this is the same nineteen year-old Jisung that spent the night crying into Minho’s pillow when they lost the Battle of the Bands. The Jisung in front of him is a grown man with a real fire behind his eyes and the kind of confidence you only earn when you grow into who you’re supposed to be.

And that confidence makes Jisung glow. 

He’s incredible, and this is just a rehearsal. There’s no audience, if no one counts Minho sitting there on the couch, trying to remain calm. Minho knows that if he saw him during an actual concert, he would have to be carried out on a stretcher and rushed to the hospital. 

That’s also because he’s irreversibly in love with him, and beyond being talented, Jisung is just so hot that it borders on unfair. When he runs his hand through his hair to keep it from falling in his face, wets his lips with his tongue, or plays a note that scratches something in Minho’s brain—anything he does leaves Minho with his heart in his throat. 

“Should we finish off with Can’t Stop?” Seungmin asks after their short break. “Jisung?”

Jisung nods and gulps down some more water from his bottle. He pushes the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, and suddenly Minho starts wondering if coming here was a good idea. 

He doesn’t think he ever listened to a song titled Can’t Stop, so he straightens up and listens even more attentively than before. 

The reason why Seungmin addressed Jisung in the first place is because—after an intro that repeats na na na na way too many times for Minho to count in his head—it’s his part that opens the track. He doesn’t play the guitar in this one—he just sings, switching with Seungmin throughout the song.

Minho is pretty sure Jisung wrote it. The lyrics are reminiscent of the love songs he created back when Minho was the muse behind them, all so sweet that his teeth must have ached when they rolled off his tongue—but with a rock twist, a stronger sound. 

I think I like you, the lyrics say. It’s so obvious that even I can tell when I look at myself, and no matter what I do, I can’t escape it. 

Minho’s heart rate kicks up when Jisung looks at him as he sings—he holds Minho’s gaze until the line is over, and then he’s turning it away, staring at the floor, his lips pursed like he’s flustered.

He tries not to let it get to him, but it doesn’t work. He can feel hope simmering under his skin long after the song ends.

“That went well,” Chan says once the last note fades into silence. “Great job, guys. Get some rest, eat something good, and see you back here at three.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” Changbin teases with a salute. 

Chan rolls his eyes, but the smile on his mouth is fond.

It’s the last thing Minho notices before his attention shifts back to Jisung. After he’s done downing the remainder of water in his bottle, he starts walking toward Minho, who pushes himself off the couch to meet him halfway. 

“So,” Jisung starts, sounding a bit out of breath, “how did you like it?”

Minho is pretty sure it’s visible all over him just how much he liked seeing MANIAC perform. Still, he says, “You guys were amazing.”

Jisung clicks his tongue like the answer isn’t enough for him. “But me—I was the best, right?”

Hyunjin makes the point to roll his eyes with enough spectacle for everyone to take notice. “I don’t think you have any competition for the number one spot in his heart,” he says.

Although it flusters him severely to have the truth pointed out like that, Minho still grins. “He’s right.”

Jisung shoves his shoulder, playful, but the deepening redness in his cheeks tells Minho that he’s flustered. He has always been one to blush easily; Minho is happy that hasn’t changed. It makes him look adorable, gives him that youthful glow.

He moves to put on his jacket, getting ready to finally grab that lunch he promised Minho, so Minho does the same, wrapping his scarf snug around his neck. 

“Maybe you should come to the rehearsal more often,” Changbin tells him, a man on a mission. “I don’t remember the last time Jisung was so focused on getting everything right.” 

Minho flashes him a grin as the rest of the guys laugh, clearly beyond happy for an opportunity to poke a little bit of fun at Jisung. He, on the other hand, isn’t having any of it. He groans, grabs Minho’s coat, links their arms together, and—to everyone’s amusement—practically drags him out of the studio. 

Minho isn’t stupid for letting it all get to his head, is he?

🎸

On Christmas Eve, Minho takes Siyeon and Jisung out to watch this new animated movie about the magic of holidays in the cinema. Since they’re going to be baking cookies for Santa and they have to buy some of the ingredients, going to the mall felt more practical.

Now, they’re deciding on which of the supermarkets to go to when Siyeon starts tugging at the sleeve of Jisung’s jacket, trying to get his attention. 

“Dad,” she says, “there’s Santa!”

The two of them turn around in the direction she’s pointing in, and there really is someone dressed in a red Santa costume with an elf by their side, chatting away with a child and their parents. The woman pulls out her phone and takes a picture of her kid posing with Santa.

Siyeon whines. “Can I take a photo with them too?”

Jisung seems unsure. His face is covered by a mask and he’s wearing a beanie, but if someone were to let their eye hang on him for a moment too long, they would be able to put a name to him.

“I can go with her if you’re worried about being recognized,” Minho proposes in a low voice. He knows Jisung would either put himself in a potentially uncomfortable situation, or deny Siyeon something so sweet and beat himself up for it later, and he would rather avoid either of these situations.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Minho gives Jisung a reassuring smile, even though he can’t see it through the mask he’s wearing. He extends a hand for Siyeon to hold. “Come on,” he says, “let’s talk to Santa and tell him how good you’ve been this year.” 

Siyeon beams, excited. She’s skipping all the way up to Santa, and the smile doesn’t fade from her face when she relays to the guy that yes, she has behaved well all year long, and her dad can confirm that, so whichever Santa is bringing her gifts tomorrow, they don’t have to check too in depth. 

Minho laughs, patting the crown of her head fondly. She’s so Jisung’s, it makes his heart hurt.

“You can expect lots of great presents tomorrow, then,” Santa says, sending her a wink. “Come on, let’s take a picture and my elf helper will give you a pretty sticker. You like glitter?” 

Siyeon nods, her eyes wide as saucers as the elf opens a box full of stickers. She looks through them, animals and flowers and Christmas ornaments and more, and finally chooses the green glittering cat. It makes Minho preen. 

Then, Siyeon poses between Santa and the elf, her cheeks bunched up with how widely she’s smiling. Minho takes so many pictures that his thumb cramps up. Once they’re all taken, he thanks them for taking the time and they echo Merry Christmas to one another. 

Siyeon runs back into Jisung’s waiting arms, excited to tell him everything. He catches her and lifts her up with ease. Minho moves to join them, quite unable to stop himself from smiling, either, but the voice of the elf stops him in his tracks. 

“You two have a really adorable daughter,” they say. 

Minho’s mouth parts in surprise. He blinks, and then a bashful, slightly awkward smile touches his mouth. “Uhm. Thank you,” he says, flustered beyond salvation. The back of his neck burns, but he guesses he can’t blame them for assuming. 

The thought stays with him for the rest of the day, though. He focuses on other things, especially when they finally end up browsing through the aisles of the supermarket, but it keeps coming back. An elderly woman passes the three of them and smiles, and Minho wonders if she thinks they’re a family. 

God. They’re not even together and he’s already allowing his mind to go there.

He has to physically shake the thought off and go back to reading the list on his phone to get everything they need. Jisung is pushing the cart around while Siyeon puts things into it, wanting to be helpful. She’s buzzing with excitement at the prospect of something as mundane as baking cookies, which makes Minho want to do it with her until she’s sick of making dough.

At the check-out, he doesn’t let Jisung pay, putting his card to the terminal before he can, sticking his tongue out at him when he sighs in exasperation. Then, while Jisung buckles Siyeon into her seat, he puts their shopping bags in the trunk. They listen to the radio (and Siyeon’s singing) on their way to Jisung’s place, and it finally starts feeling like Christmas, with the snow falling outside and the holiday-themed songs playing through the speakers.

Jisung keeps the mood up by putting on Christmas pop music when they get home. While Minho and Siyeon are getting ready to bake, he is tasked with carrying the boxes full of ornaments from the closet to the living room and assembling the artificial tree. 

“Your dad is a little silly,” Minho says to Siyeon as they prepare all the utensils and ingredients they need, spreading them on the kitchen counter. 

“Very silly,” she agrees easily, bursting into giggles when she turns around and sees Jisung shake his butt as he tries to figure out how to put the tree together. 

“We should give him something to do once he’s done or else he’ll start dancing and distracting us,” he whispers, a smile playing on his mouth. 

With that, they get to baking. 

Minho knew that just some cookies wouldn’t do, so he called his mom to get the best recipe she had. Caramel and hazelnut cookies. He’s salivating just thinking about them. 

He gets Siyeon to sit at the table with a bowl in front of her, carefully putting in sugar, vanilla extract, and softened butter as per Minho’s instructions. He wants her to be engaged in the process, so for now, he just helps with measurements. 

When she tries to crack the egg against the rim of the bowl, though, it spills all over the table. She gasps, eyes going wide, and immediately says, “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine, honey,” Minho assures her, grabbing a paper towel to take care of the mess. He wipes the table clean and moves to the fridge to get another egg. “Try again.”

This time around, the egg falls right where it should be. She has no problem cracking the second one open, either. Minho pats her on the head gently in approval.

Once the ingredients are all inside the bowl, Minho takes over. He grabs an electric mixer and beats them until they’re creamy. Then, he takes another bowl and has Siyeon hold the sifter while he pours in baking soda, salt, and flour. 

Jisung steps inside the kitchen and asks, “How are things going?” 

“Look, we almost have the dough!” Siyeon says. “I made it!” 

“You did, pumpkin? Wow.” Jisung leans in to kiss the top of her head, making her giggle with delight and Minho want to shove his head into either of the bowls until he suffocates. “How are you so talented? After me, right, Siyeon-ah?”

“You can show us just how talented you are by crushing the nuts and candies,” Minho says, because he can’t have him just sitting there, looking pretty and being distracting. 

Ever so hard-working, Jisung immediately says, “Of course!” so Minho hands him the two paper bags and sets the mortar on the table, deciding it’ll be much easier to use it instead of trying to cut the ingredients up. 

While Jisung busies himself with his task, Minho and Siyeon grin at each other and get back to work, mixing the two bowls until everything is well-combined. The kitchen is alive with the sweet smell of sugar, the sound of Jisung’s voice as he sings along to the tracks streaming from the living room, and Siyeon’s laughter when the flour shoots up under the pressure of the electric mixer, hitting Minho in the face. 

Once the dough is combined with the nuts and caramel, they each spoon up a bit of it and lie it on the baking tray. It’s easier without bothering to use cookie cutters. They’re all going to be eaten up, anyway. 

“They already look tasty,” Siyeon whines. “I want to eat them.”

Jisung clicks his tongue. “You can’t eat raw dough. Your tummy will ache.”

“Maybe it’s worth it,” she says, sighing wistfully.

Minho wants to laugh at the dramatics, but he has to hold it in and be a responsible adult. “It wouldn’t be worth it,” he says. “You’d spend Christmas puking.”

“Or in the hospital,” Jisung adds. “And that’s not really fun, is it?”

Siyeon heaves a sigh. A few strands of hair have escaped her ponytail in the whirlwind of baking, so Minho reaches out to tuck it behind her ear.

“Come on,” he says. “The sooner we put them into the oven, the sooner we can eat them.”

“But only a few,” Jisung reminds them. “We have to leave some for Santa and his reindeers.”

Minho gives him a look when Siyeon jumps off the chair and can’t see it. Of course he wants them to leave most of the cookies for Santa. He’s Santa. Jisung grins at him, bumping their shoulders together when he stands up. 

Shaking his head, Minho thinks, Brat. He slides the tray full of cookie dough into the preheated oven, and they all crouch there for a moment in front of it, just staring at their work. 

“Beautiful,” Minho says. “Let’s go take care of the tree now so that Santa knows where to leave the presents.”

Siyeon beams, wasting no time running to the living room. Minho makes Jisung pull him up off the floor and smacks him on the shoulder when Jisung calls him an old man. 

The Christmas tree is taller than both of them, full, fairly good-looking for an artificial piece of plastic. They start decorating with the lights, Minho and Jisung winding them across the branches while Siyeon is going through baubles, deciding which one to hang first.

They have more fun than Minho usually does when he puts together the small tree at his apartment, with singing and dancing and too many occurrences of Jisung crooning lovey-dovey lyrics right at Minho’s face. He laughs it off, or rolls his eyes, but the truth is, his heart thunders each and every time. 

They put a short pause on the decorating to take their cookies out of the oven when fifteen minutes are up, setting them aside to cool off. Siyeon looks devastated that she can’t eat them right away, so Minho resorts to snatching her off the floor and slinging her over his shoulder to make her laugh and distract her.

“When we finish, that’s when you can have the cookies,” he says as he sets her down on the carpeted floor.

“Promise?” 

He grins. “Promise. We’ll find the biggest one for you.”

It’s only then that she relents and goes back to choosing the ornaments from the box. Jisung lifts her up whenever she wants to put something higher than she can reach, and then does it again when it’s time to put the star at the top.

The tree shimmers, the branches bending under the weight of the gold ornaments. It looks so pretty Minho has to pull his phone out and take a few pictures.

And then, once all the boxes are put back in the closet where they belong, they can finally taste the cookies. As promised, Minho looks for the biggest one for Siyeon to eat, and then he and Jisung each take one, too. 

“You like them, pumpkin?” Jisung asks, reaching out to brush crumbs away from the corner of her mouth with his thumb. His eyes are so full of love, Minho’s heart can barely take the sight of it. 

She licks her mouth, obviously wanting more cookies. “Delicious!” 

“Yeah?” Jisung chuckles, sharing an amused look with Minho. “You gotta thank Minho hyung for making them with you.” 

Siyeon turns to him, her eyes glimmering and mouth stretched in a big, heart-shaped smile, and says, “Thank you, oppa.”

“You’re welcome, honey,” he says, and stands up from the table to get her another cookie. She’s too cute, damn it. 

Later, when he’s putting on his coat in the entryway, Jisung invites him to spend Christmas Day over at his apartment.

“It’s nothing big, you know. Just dinner. Just me and Siyeon, and you know that we’d love to have you,” he says. “That is, if you don’t have any plans. Sorry, I should’ve probably asked about that first.”

Minho smiles, the tips of his ears burning. “I don’t have plans, but I don’t want to leave Dori alone at home again.” 

“You can bring him,” Jisung is quick to propose. “If that wouldn’t be too stressful for him, being in a new place and all that.”

His heart melts at the thought of Jisung being so thoughtful and so eager to have him over at his place that he’d be fine with housing his cat for the evening. Minho knows it’s not really that big of a deal—both Jisung and Siyeon love Dori. But—still. Jisung understands just how important Dori is to him, that a family can’t be built without him. 

“We’ll be there, then,” he says, smiling. He lets Jisung open the door for him, but just before he steps out into the hallway, he lowers his voice and tells him, “Don’t eat all the cookies, Santa.”

Jisung laughs. “I’ll leave you a few, don’t worry.”

🎸

In the morning, Jisung sends Minho a picture of a plate with the cookies they made the night before—with chunks of them bitten off, crumbs all over the plate. Siyeon wanted you to see that Santa and his elves enjoyed the cookies, the message says. 

Minho imagines Jisung eating the cookies in the darkness of the kitchen in the middle of the night while Siyeon is asleep, and it makes him laugh.

🎸

Minho has never had a Christmas like this.

He’s sitting on the carpet in Jisung’s living room after stuffing himself full of food during dinner, and he’s watching Siyeon play around with Dori, who’s living his best life in her lap. She can’t seem to get over the fact that he’s wearing a cute knitted sweater with Meowy Christmas written on the belly because she keeps giggling each time he moves and consequently shows it off.

Jisung returns from the kitchen with two steaming mugs of tea. He smiles when he catches Minho watching him, sets the mugs down on the coffee table, and takes a seat on the carpet, too. 

Minho has only ever had Christmas dinners with his parents, and this is so different. Homely and warm in a way he has never known before, a kind of evening that feels like a warm embrace whenever you think back to it. It’s magical.

Siyeon already opened her gifts from Santa that morning, and she dragged Minho to her room to show him everything: glow-in-the-dark jigsaw puzzles, glitter pens that smell like fruits, books, a pink vampire doll from those movies she likes, a lava lamp that shines pink and green when she flicks it on. 

“Wow, Santa really went all out,” he says, smiling as he pages through one of the books, a simple story about loving yourself told through animals. “You must’ve been really, really good this year, huh.”

“You know I was!” Siyeon grins. 

Minho laughs, but he can’t say she’s not right. Even at school, despite moody days, she studies and behaves well. She’s being raised right, but then again he’s not surprised considering knowing the kind-hearted people she’s surrounded by.

“Do you wanna open the gift I got you now?” 

Siyeon’s eyes glimmer, wide and curious. “You brought me a gift, oppa?”

He smiles. Of course he did. He’s been thinking about what to get her and Jisung for weeks.

“How could I not when you’ve been so nice?” he asks. He reaches out to scratch her under the chin like a cat, making her giggle. “Come on, wait for me in the living room.” 

She doesn’t waste time jumping off her bed. Minho follows her out of the bedroom, but makes a detour to the entryway, where he’d left the two gift bags. 

“This one’s for you,” he says as he hands one of them to Jisung. Then, he puts the other one on the floor next to Siyeon, who has managed to glue herself to Dori in the one minute he was gone. “And this one’s for our princess.”

She opens the bag with such excitement, he doesn’t know how come the paper doesn’t rip up. He can’t really blame her, though—when he was a kid, he could barely hold himself together waiting for the moment he would be able to unpack his presents, be it on his birthday or on Christmas.

Siyeon has been into drawing and coloring lately, so he found her a thick coloring book with mythological themes, a sketchbook so that she can draw things of her own, and pencils, metallic and pastel and really pretty. 

Even Jisung goes, “Wow, I’m so jealous!” when he takes a look.

“Oppa!” she cries out, scrambling off the floor to climb onto the couch and hug him. She smells like warm cotton and baby soap, and when she wraps her arms around Minho’s neck, he wants to stay like this for as long as humanly possible. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. They’re so pretty!” 

When she lets go, Minho catches Jisung’s gaze, watching them, full of love and affection and all things soft. They share a small, private smile, and Minho thinks, I love you, like an idiot. He hopes that Jisung can hear it, anyway.  

They open the gifts for each other at the same time, but Minho would be lying if he said he wasn’t interested in Jisung’s reaction more than his own present. It’s only when he sees the wide smile on his face and the glimmer in his eyes that he finally takes a look at the sweater Jisung got him—black, with a white silhouette of a cat and a text that says, Cat bless you, which is the most Minho thing under the sun. It’s the best gift ever. 

Jisung seems to think the same thing about Minho’s gift for him, thankfully. Minho took sneaky pictures of all the vinyls Jisung owns to gauge what genres he’d like to receive and which records he already owns, and finally decided on two.

“I can’t believe you,” Jisung says, hugging the vinyls to his chest like they’re his most prized possession. 

Minho says, “I can’t believe you.” He holds the sweater up to fit against him and smiles. He already knows he’s going to wear it more often than it’s probably proper. “Thank you, Jisung-ah.” 

Curious—or nosy—as ever, Siyeon doesn’t let them gush for too long. “Did you open your gifts from Santa at home already?” she asks.

“Yeah.” Minho laughs. Although it’s impossible, he hopes she never stops believing in Santa—or plural Santas, because, as Jisung explained to him, she thinks the world is too big for just one person to distribute presents, even with magic. “But I’ve also exchanged gifts with my friends, and those were even better.”

“Ha. I knew that Santa had nothing on me,” Jisung says—silly, but impossibly cute. “He doesn’t know you like I do.”

Minho nudges him with his socked foot. Shut up, he wants to say. I love you too much already.

“Is that something you wanted?” Siyeon asks, pointing at the sweater.

“Hm. Your dad knows that I have a whole collection of clothes with cat motifs, so it’s perfect.”

“Then why do you need another one?”

“This one will be special,” Minho says. His face burns when he briefly locks eyes with Jisung. “And, anyway, there’s never too many cats, don’t you think?”

Siyeon nuzzles her face into Dori’s as an answer. She really does get it, this perfect, perfect child. He would do anything for her.

After all the presents are distributed, never tired of lounging on the sofa, they put on a Christmas movie and settle down—Siyeon with her hot chocolate and the two of them with their mulled wine. To Minho’s utmost surprise, Siyeon climbs onto the couch and cuddles up to him, her small arms holding onto him, her head resting on his heart. 

His eyes sting. 

He finds Jisung’s gaze and feels even more emotional at the genuine and unabashed adoration in his expression. How is Minho supposed to be normal when Jisung looks at him like this? How is he supposed to not get crazy ideas and his hopes up?

“Unfair,” Jisung says as he pokes Siyeon in the side, pouting, more for her entertainment than genuine sadness. If anything, he seems pretty happy.

Minho still reaches out and brushes his hair away from his face, tangling his fingers in the strands. “Don’t sulk,” he says, smiling when Jisung leans into his touch. “You have Dori.”

Dori only has his head propped up on Jisung’s thigh, but it’s better than nothing—it’s enough for Jisung. He scratches the cat behind the ear until he’s purring and then rests his hand on his back, gently stroking his fur with his thumb. Minho watches it and his heart feels the physical strain. He wants this to be a thing: the four of them, together, exactly like this. It’s so much more than he can ask for, though—he’s not brave enough to do it. 

So he enjoys what he has now in the palm of his hand. 

Siyeon falls asleep against his side even before the movie ends, but it’s nothing surprising with how exciting her day was. He carries her to bed, thankfully without waking her, and joins Jisung in the kitchen, where he has already gotten started on doing the dishes. 

They work in comfortable silence—Jisung washing the plates and mugs, Minho drying them with a rag and putting them away where they belong. 

“There’s this dinner at Changbin’s place on Thursday,” Jisung says out of nowhere. “The members will be there and everyone is bringing someone, but it’ll be really casual. I was thinking that maybe you’d like to come with me.”

Minho tilts his head to the side. “You want me to?” 

“Well, I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t,” Jisung says with a chuckle. “But it’s up to you. If you want to.”

“I do,” Minho answers easily. He would go anywhere with Jisung at this point—follow him to the ends of the earth. Especially when he smiles like that. “What about Siyeonie?”

“Yeseul is taking her to her parents’ for a sleepover,” Jisung explains. “Dinner, gifts, all that.”

Minho finally gets a chance to meet her that Thursday evening.

She comes to pick Siyeon up when Jisung is still in the bathroom, getting ready to go out, so it’s Minho who opens the door for her.

She’s pretty—that’s his first thought. Her dyed auburn hair falls down to her waist, and her full lips are painted a dark shade of maroon. She has friendly, curious eyes that sparkle in recognition when she sees him. Siyeon clearly got them from her.

“You must be Minho,” she says as she steps inside. “I’ve heard a lot of great things about you. Funnily enough, from both Jisung and Siyeon.” 

Minho flushes. He wonders what kind of things the two of them say about him—in general, but especially to someone like Siyeon’s mom. 

“Well, I teach Siyeon at school, and with Jisung—” He pauses, holding his breath for a moment. “With Jisung, we’ve known each other since high school. We just recently. . . reconnected.”

Yeseul smiles like she knows exactly what he means by that. It doesn’t take a genius, but—still. Minho’s blush spreads from his ears to his neck.

Thankfully, Siyeon runs to the entryway before any response is needed, calling out, “Mom!” 

Yeseul laughs, crouching down to pull her into her arms. “Hi, baby,” she says, smiling from ear to ear. That makes her look even prettier. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, I have my bag,” Siyeon says, letting go of Yeseul to run off to the living room and grab it. She comes back in record time, obviously excited at the prospect of spending time with her mom and grandparents. 

“Did you say goodbye to Dad?”

Siyeon nods, handing her bag over to her mom. Then, she turns to Minho and says, “Bye, oppa.”

“Bye, baby.” He pats her on the head, gentle, careful not to ruin her perfectly braided hair. Jisung is really good at it—and he said he learnt through YouTube tutorials. “I hope you have lots of fun.”

Yeseul is smiling at the two of them when he looks up, and it makes him lose that little bit of tension in his shoulders. With everything going on in his head, with everything that happened in the past, he was worried that Yeseul would hate his guts. But she doesn’t. She’s friendly and bright and beautiful. Minho isn’t surprised that Jisung fell in love with her. 

“We’ll get going, then,” she says, extending her hand for Siyeon to take. Minho moves to hold the door open for them and echoes Siyeon’s last goodbyes. But just before the door closes, Yeseul lifts her mouth in a smirk and tells him, “Have a nice date.”

Minho’s entire body stills. God, he thinks, and then snorts. As funny as it is, he’s glad that Jisung couldn’t hear Yeseul say it. Who knows what he would have thought or done—maybe he would start saying that they’re not like that, that they’re just friends, and Minho’s heart would crack, but he’d have to put on a smile and force laughter. Maybe he would roll his eyes in that fond way he always does, he’d say, Shut up, but the blush rising to his cheeks would betray him—he’d lock eyes with Minho, or be too shy to do it, and they’d just leave it at that, but both of them would be thinking about it—

Minho will certainly be thinking about it.

He walks to Jisung’s bedroom, leans his shoulder against the doorframe, and watches as Jisung buttons up his shirt in front of the mirror. The sliver of skin, his collarbone, makes Minho’s heart skip a beat, remember how he used to press his mouth against it. Being around Jisung after being with him is the sweetest torture one can bear.

When Jisung notices him standing there, he turns around to flash him a smile. “I’m almost ready.”

“You’ve been almost ready for the past twenty minutes,” Minho points out, but he can’t even pretend to be annoyed. It’s like his facial muscles are programmed to pull his expression into a smile whenever he’s around Jisung.

Jisung walks over to the dresser. He starts rummaging through the acrylic box that holds all his rings—so, so many rings—and tries them on until he’s satisfied with how they look. 

Then— “You’ve met Yeseul,” he says.

“Yeah. She’s nice.” Minho shrugs. She also thinks we’re either already dating or are going to date. What have you been telling her? “Funny, too. And pretty. No wonder you fell for her.” 

“Shut up,” Jisung says. He stops looking for a perfect necklace to wear just to look over at Minho and roll his eyes, but his mouth twists into a smile at his teasing all the same. 

The necklace he chooses has a moon-shaped pendant, but it’s so short that Jisung struggles to clasp it. Minho smiles to himself at the sight of his annoyance (he looks way too cute when he’s annoyed by such mundane things) and comes closer, saying, “Let me.”

A bit unnecessarily, he cradles Jisung’s hand in his own as he takes the necklace from him. Putting the necklace on is easy; it’s the close proximity that’s difficult—Jisung’s nape, a place he used to love kissing; the smell of his perfume, deep and rich; the way he turns to smile at Minho with gratitude, and their faces are so close, it would take nothing to swoop in and kiss him.

“All ready now?” he asks, taking a step back to regain clarity and peace of mind. It’s becoming exponentially more difficult to hide all of his lovelorn emotions, and Minho is spending more and more time hoping and praying that none of them are showing on his face. 

Still, when he moves, Jisung gives him a look that seems almost puzzled, and Minho isn’t sure how successful he’s being. 

But then Jisung just nods and smiles and nothing is out of place. “Let me just grab my coat.”

They walk to Changbin’s apartment because it’s just five minutes away, located in front of a giant park that Minho would love to see bloom to life in spring. It’s Hyunjin’s voice that greets them through the intercom, but Changbin is the one who opens the apartment door. 

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asks after they take their shoes and jackets off in the entryway.

“Oh, for me, maybe later,” Minho says. Jisung agrees with him, so they just make their way to the living room, in the direction of the sound of laughter and conversation.

There, Minho gets introduced to Lisa and Minjeong, Chan and Seungmin’s girlfriends. Hyunjin and Changbin end up being the only ones who haven’t brought anyone, which they joke about and lament at the same time (though Minho would be a fool not to notice those intimate looks and light touches that they share, but—whatever, it’s none of his business).

It doesn’t escape Minho’s attention—that most of them brought along their partners, and Jisung brought him. 

Yeseul’s joke comes back to him like a boomerang, and he’s sure he’s not seeing the last of it. Is this a date?

He asks himself that as they all sit on the sectional in the living room, nursing drinks while Changbin and Hyunjin set up the table. Minho wanted to help, but he was told to sit back and relax. Now, Jisung has an arm around his shoulders and their thighs are pressed together and Minho is drinking the remainder of Jisung’s mojito because he’s not feeling it anymore. 

Lisa asks, “What do you do for work, Minho?”

“I teach in a kindergarten,” he says. “I have one group of six-year-olds under my wing.”

“Wow, really? That must be really exhausting.”

“A bit,” he says, laughing. “But most of the kids are really well-behaved, smart, and adorable, so it’s not that bad.”

He’s not sure if the girls know about Siyeon, so he doesn’t mention her, but he nudges Jisung with his elbow just to make sure he knows his daughter is one of those kids. Jisung already knows, but it doesn’t hurt to remind him.

It turns out Lisa is a photographer and she worked with the band once—that’s how she and Chan met. Minjeong, on the other hand, is a singer. Minho thought she felt familiar when he first saw her, the face having looked at him from the television screen and the banners in the subway, but he wasn’t certain.

The dinner is nice—the food is delicious, everyone is funny with their jokes and their bickering, and they include Minho in the gossip that, in some extreme cases, should have him signing NDAs. But sometimes, there are moments when everyone speaks, but he and Jisung are quiet, just—sharing a look, a smile.

They start to disperse after midnight. By then, the alcohol bottles are empty and the plates practically licked clean, and they’re all more tired than they would like to be. Minho and Jisung stay behind to help Changbin clean the place up, shooing everyone else out of the apartment.

Then, since they both had something to drink, instead of getting into his car and driving home, Minho walks back to Jisung’s apartment with him by his side, their shoulders brushing with every other step. The crisp winter air is nipping at their cheeks, leaving them flushed and frozen, and stealing the drunkenness out of their systems.

By the time they find themselves inside the building, Minho doesn’t even feel tipsy. But if he was—if Jisung was—there would be an easy explanation to the hooded look Jisung gives him in the elevator. He’s leaning back against the cold metal wall, just staring, making Minho’s body temperature rise a few degrees, stirring something deep inside his gut. 

His throat is dry, but he doesn’t break eye contact until the elevator doors slide open. Funnily enough, the odd, visceral sensation lingers even when Jisung isn’t looking at him anymore. 

They make their way down the hallway, and once they get to the right door, Jisung fishes the key out of his pocket to unlock the front door. He lets Minho in first, holds the door open for him, and then walks inside, too.

The lock clicks shut behind them, hiding them away from the rest of the world. 

Jisung flicks on the dim light in the entryway and they shed their coats and shoes—silent, but comfortable. 

“Do you want anything to drink?” Jisung asks as they drag their feet to the living room. The apartment is quiet and dark, especially without Siyeon. 

Minho thinks about it for a moment and, with a shrug, says, “I guess a glass of water wouldn’t hurt.” 

It’s only when he’s drinking that he realizes just how thirsty he was. Jisung laughs at him for downing another glass the moment he’s done with the first, and then runs off to the bedroom when Minho threatens to splash the remainder of water in his face. Minho chases him just for the fun of it, stumbling through the door and crashing against Jisung’s body, almost sending them both collapsing onto the bed. 

His hands fly to Jisung’s hips to keep him steady. Their gazes lock, and Minho marvels at the way Jisung’s eyes glimmer even in the darkness, lit up by the moonlight streaming inside through the opened curtains. Minho’s breath catches in his throat at the sight, at the proximity. 

He retreats his hands and wonders if he’s only imagining the disappointment that takes over Jisung’s expression. He can’t be. He can’t. But before he can battle his uncertainty, make up his mind, and show Jisung all of his cards, Jisung takes a step back, too, and Minho isn’t brave enough to push it. 

“Do you want shorts to sleep in or just a T-shirt?” 

Minho deflates. “Just a T-shirt, thank you.” 

They both showered before the dinner, so neither bother to do it again now. Minho is just glad to be able to change into more comfortable clothes—Jisung’s clothes. He strips, leaving his cardigan and jeans on the back of the armchair in the corner, and puts the T-shirt from MANIAC’s last tour that Jisung hands him over. 

There’s a certain kind of pride that comes with being dressed in the merchandise of Jisung’s band. This guy he has known for almost a half of his life, the awkward teenager that flushed each time he sang Minho a love song, is now an internationally acclaimed artist selling out stadiums all over the world. That makes it even more surreal—that he has the world at his feet, and he would want Minho. 

Minho slips under the covers and lies down on his back, putting an arm under his head. Instead of doing the same, Jisung rests on his side, facing Minho, staring at him without an ounce of shame. 

“You look really pretty when the light hits your face like that,” he says quietly. 

Minho snaps his head to look at him, his heart pounding in his chest so hard within seconds that it feels like it might break through the bone and muscle and leap out of his body. 

He doesn’t know why everything feels so loaded now. Every look, every word. He doesn’t know what changed from the night before, or even this afternoon. Why the desire feels so irresistible.

His gaze moves to Jisung’s lips. When he glances back up, scared that Jisung might have noticed, he finds him staring at the lower part of his face. His mouth. Fuck. There is simply no way he’s imagining that. 

There is a fire inside of Minho that threatens to consume him and, faced with that blaze reflected in Jisung’s face, he can only be so strong.

But they meet each other half-way, Minho thinks. He just knows that he moves, and Jisung moves, and then they’re kissing.

It’s not something he has done in almost a decade, kissing Jisung. But when their mouths connect, clumsy because of the angle but soft because of how gently they press their mouths together, it feels just like it did back then. Perfectly right. 

Minho scrambles to sit up against the headboard when they pull away, his hand flying to the back of Jisung’s head to keep him from moving away too far. Jisung understands him without a word. He climbs on top of Minho, his knees digging into the mattress on either side of Minho’s thighs, and kisses him again, this time around with more fervor and insistence, humming with contentment when Minho’s hands slip beneath the fabric of his T-shirt. 

His skin is warm and soft, the muscles twitching under Minho’s touch as he travels from his abdomen to his back, pulling him closer so that there’s no space left between their bodies. Jisung gasps into his mouth, his hips rolling against Minho’s—first on accident, then on purpose. 

Minho wants him so much that the movement and the kiss alone are enough for his cock to start getting hard. Jisung buries his fingers in his hair and licks into his mouth, tilting his head to the side to kiss him deeper. He can’t wrap his head around it, but at the same time it feels so right. Like this is exactly where Minho should be—in Jisung’s bed, holding him, kissing him.

They don’t rush, making up for lost time. And when their lungs start to burn and they run out of air, Jisung trails his kisses to Minho’s cheek and his jaw, down onto his neck, lingering there, his teeth gentle as they graze his skin, his mouth greedy. 

Yeah, alright. Jisung definitely likes him back.

The thought makes him want to laugh. He cups Jisung’s face and pulls him back up so that he can kiss him properly again. His hand makes itself at home on Jisung’s ass, fingers digging into the muscle. He's desperate in all his longing, but Jisung seems to be the same as he rolls his hips against him with a gasp.

“Tell me to stop,” he pants into Minho’s mouth, like an absolute fool. 

“I don’t want you to stop.”

It was easier for Minho’s heart to handle being intimate when Jisung was the one who got easily flustered. Now he’s grown and confident, and he stares at Minho with such unabashed desire that it’s Minho who can barely handle looking back at him.

Minho presses their lips back together needily.

His fingers dip below the waistband of Jisung’s boxers, slow and cautious, like he’s asking permission. He’d be able to manoeuver them off somehow, he would find a way, but before he can do that, Jisung climbs off his thighs, falling onto the empty side of the bed, and clumsily—impatiently—tugs them off along with his shirt.

Minho follows, immediately missing the skin-to-skin contact. He kneels between Jisung’s legs and grabs the hem of his T-shirt, tossing it onto the floor without a single care in the world. His hands are shaking from anticipation, eyes unable to choose what to focus on—Jisung’s flushed face, his toned chest, or his cock, rock-hard against his stomach. 

But before he can touch him, Jisung reaches out and hooks his fingers over the elastic of his boxers instead. “This too,” he says, a wicked grin on his face. 

Minho shakes his head with amusement, but he complies easily, falling into Jisung the moment he’s naked. A shiver runs down his spine when Jisung embraces him, his arms pulling him closer and closer, until his body on his own is the only thing Minho can feel.

🎸

The sight Minho wakes up to is just Jisung’s bare back. He’s facing away from Minho, still deep asleep, but Minho has seen him like this enough times to know that, with his mouth pouty and cheek squished against the pillow, he still looks like the eighth world wonder.

Minho smiles to himself, feeling incredibly lucky. Last night was magical—after having longed to do it again for so long, he was allowed to touch Jisung in ways beyond intimate, until every dip and curve of his body remembered him.

But now his bladder is killing him, and he feels like if he doesn’t get coffee into his system right this moment, he might not get out of bed for the remainder of the week. (Though that wouldn’t be the worst thing—if Jisung was also between those sheets that is.)

Minho drags himself out from beneath the comfortable warmth of the sheets as quietly as he can, stretching his arms above his head. He picks his boxers and T-shirt off the floor where they had been haphazardly tossed the night before, and tugs them on with a flush rising to his face at the memory of it all. 

Thankfully, Jisung doesn’t as much as stir when he makes his way out of the bedroom and to the bathroom. After washing his face and brushing his teeth, he directs his footsteps to the kitchen, where he loads up the coffee machine. 

It’s early, only eight o’clock, and the sky outside is gray with clouds, threatening the world with a snowfall at any moment. It’s a day made for staying in bed, and he’s already longing to go back to the bedroom and plaster himself to Jisung’s back, to steal his warmth. He will, the moment he’s done with his coffee.

He only manages to take two sips of it when he hears approaching footsteps. Frantic, almost. Hurried. Jisung storms into the kitchen and comes to a halt when his eyes fall on Minho, leaning back against the counter with a mug in his hands.

Minho is startled by the look on his face. He doesn’t know what to say, so he settles on a vaguely playful, “Sorry for bossing around in your kitchen.”

Jisung looks like he doesn’t hear him at all. “I thought you’d left,” he says, voice wrought with fear and sorrow.

Minho blinks. “Why would I leave?” he asks, but the answer rings clear in his head.

Because you left before.

You can forgive, but you don’t forget. The hurt he had caused Jisung by abandoning him without a word isn’t something that can be shaken off like dust, left to fly away with the wind. It lingers, and it hurts, and it eats away at the trust they’re rebuilding.

Minho sets the mug down and carefully steps towards Jisung. 

“Jisung-ah. . .” he starts, but he doesn’t know what to say, how to make it right.

“Don’t ever leave me again,” Jisung whispers. “I don’t think I. . . I won’t be able to take it if you disappear again.” 

He hides his face in his trembling hands. Minho’s heart aches at the sight of him so anxious—at the knowledge that he’s the one who caused it. He steps closer, gently pulling Jisung’s palms away. He keeps a loose hold on his wrists and tugs him further into the kitchen, sitting him down on one of the chairs by the dining table. 

Jisung takes a deep breath when Minho crouches down in front of him. “Sorry, I’m being ridiculous,” he whispers. 

“No, you’re not. I think you’re being perfectly reasonable,” Minho says. His blood turns into poison with the guilt he feels. “I did a horrible thing to you—”

“But I’m over it,” Jisung interrupts. “I really am. I’ve moved on. I know why you did it, and I forgave you.” He swallows so harshly that he chokes up. “But I woke up and you weren’t there and I thought I lost you again and it physically hurt me.”  

Minho puts a hand on Jisung’s knee and rubs it with his thumb. “I’m sorry, Jisung-ah,” he says, desperate to look him in the eyes, to make sure that Jisung understands that he’s sincere in what he’s telling him. “I don’t know how to ease your mind, but I can promise you that I’m not going anywhere. I swear.”

“I trust you,” Jisung insists, reaching out to rest his hand on top of Minho’s. “Of course I do. It’s irrational, what I feel, and I know that, but I don’t know how to deal with it.”

Minho’s chest hurts, like his ribcage is closing in on his heart, trying to crush it. He has caused so much irreversible damage—he needs to find a way to minimize its lasting effects, and the only way to do that, it’s for Jisung to just give him one chance.

“Last night meant so much for me,” he starts. “Every day with you means so much to me, you don’t even know the half of it. I want to make you happy. Even happier than you make me, and that’s a whole lot.” Jisung cracks a smile at that, so Minho’s gut eases. “I don’t want you to live in a continuous fear that I’ll leave you one day.”

“I—”

“I love you, Jisung,” Minho interrupts, voice trembling with the extent of his emotions. “I’m in love with you. I want to be your boyfriend. Your partner. Whatever you want to call it. I just want to be with you and assure you every single day that I’m here to stay.”

“Hyung,” Jisung starts, “it’s not the way it used to be back then. I’m—I’ve changed. My life has changed. So much. I have a daughter, and I’m so afraid to risk it, not because I can’t handle getting hurt, but because it would kill me if she was the one suffering for my decisions.”

Minho’s heart sinks. He almost falls to the floor, crushed under the weight of Jisung’s words. His concern is valid, of course, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. 

“So you don’t want to—”

“But I trust you,” Jisung interrupts. “You’re saying that you love me, so I trust that it’s true. That you love me and Siyeon enough to not disappear from our lives without a word. And I know it’s a lot to sign up for, especially after all this time—”

Minho shakes his head.

“I know I want it to be you and me and Siyeon,” he says without hesitation. “For as long as you have me.”

“Forever?” Jisung asks. 

Minho smiles. He knows that Jisung is only teasing, and that he’s being overly cheesy but—who cares. Jisung likes sweet, and Minho likes Jisung. He would do anything for him. Even be a lovesick fool out in the open.

He says, “I think that can be arranged.”

If he has to be honest, lately he has been spending an embarrassing amount of time on that fantasy. Him, Jisung, and Siyeon—a family unit. Holidays and vacations and dinners and weekends at the aquarium, ice-cream in the park, lullabies before bed. He longs for that life, so much that he knows there is nothing in the world that could ever make him leave it behind.

Wasting no more time, Jisung dips down to kiss him, tender and sweet. Minho basks in the glow of his affection, in the warmth of his trust.

“I love you too,” Jisung says when they pull apart. “If that wasn’t clear.” 

Minho lowers his gaze, flustered. He said it first, has even said it before, but being on the receiving end of the words still makes him shy. Jisung has this effect on him—something no one else in the world is able to do. 

“Message received, jagiya,” he says, craning his neck just to peck Jisung on the mouth again.

“Don’t call me that unless you want to become a widower before we even become husbands. My heart is going to explode.”

Biting back the surprise at Jisung already alluding to their marriage, Minho decides to tease him until he’s blushing, and sing-songs, “Jagiya, jagiya, my jagi.”

Jisung rolls his eyes, but it’s obvious that he’s flustered. “Let’s go back to bed,” he says, standing up from the chair and pulling Minho up into a standing position by his hands. “I want to snuggle you.”

Minho laughs, poking Jisung’s side even though it’s all he’s been thinking about ever since he got out from beneath the sheets. “Let me just grab my coffee.”

“Oh, you mean our coffee?” Jisung asks sweetly, batting his eyelashes at him.

Rolling his eyes without a drop of malice or annoyance, Minho tells him, “Go brush your teeth and I’ll think about it.” 

But of course, when Jisung comes back from the bathroom, Minho lets him drink as much of his coffee as he wants. Jisung situates himself between his legs, back pressed up against his chest, skin-to-skin. Minho wonders if he can feel the way his heart is hammering against his spine.

They spend the day lazily, making up for lost time and making use of every minute before Jisung is whisked away to rehearsals tomorrow. They order sushi for lunch and lounge on the sofa watching anime, and when the evening falls, Minho rides Jisung into oblivion and makes sweet, sweet love to him just the way he’s been dying to for so long.

🎸

On Saturday morning, once all the Christmas celebrations come to an end, Minho drives down to his hometown to stay with his parents for the weekend. He leaves Dori with Jisung, who stays over at his apartment to take care of him. Minho would have probably asked Jeongin to catsit like he usually does, but Jisung’s parents have taken Siyeon and her cousin on a trip to the mountains, so Jisung had no qualms about temporarily moving to his place.

(Minho is really looking forward to coming home to him.)

Even before Minho steps through the threshold of his family home, he has a myriad of pictures of Dori waiting for him on his KakaoTalk. He steals a moment of sitting in the car and spends it on going through each and every one of them. What is that thing next to my beautiful baby? he sends in response to a selfie Jisung took of him and Dori together. 

Jisung responds, How can you be so mean to poor little Dori? You’re lucky he can’t read. 

Minho laughs to himself like an absolute fool. He would send some other quip, but when he starts typing it out, the front door swings open and his mom steps out onto the porch. Minho curses and rushes to get out of his car. 

“What are you doing going out in this weather without a jacket on?” he asks, shaking his head with disapproval. “I’m coming, go back inside!” 

They bicker about it when he’s finally inside the house, all that You’re telling me to not go out into the cold and you’re not even wearing a hat and I took it off because I was in the warm car, mom that dies down the moment she pulls him into a bone-crushing hug.

“I haven’t seen you in ages, baby.”

She’s exaggerating, of course—he might not be able to drive all the way home every weekend, but he tries to make the trip as often as he can. They also talk on the phone every week, most often through video chat. 

One thing about Minho, he’s a filial son. So he takes on the curiosity and the pampering with a smile on his face, expertly dodging questions that venture too far into the gossip zone, though he can’t deny her a piece of information in return when she tells him all about his old classmates.

“Did you know,” he starts over dinner, “that Han Jisung has a daughter?”

Mom’s hand stops midway to her mouth. She exchanges a look with her husband, a thousand words exchanged in silence. Then, she looks back at Minho, her expression fond, but sad.

“His mom told me, but as far as I know, it’s a big secret,” she says. “And you never wanted to hear about him, so I didn’t say.”

Minho washes the bitterness coating his tongue down with half a glass of water. Then—“She’s a student. In my class,” he says. “I only found out recently that he’s her dad.”

“Did he come to the school?” his father asks. 

Minho nods. “There was a parent-teacher conference and I insisted that at least one parent showed—and he came,” he says. It still sounds unreal, even though months have passed since that September afternoon. His parents are quiet like they’re expecting to hear more. “We’ve talked. About everything. And we’ve been reconnecting.”

Describing it like that is taking quite the liberty, but he doesn’t need his parents to know absolutely every detail. 

“About time!” his dad calls out. The giant smile on his face reminds Minho of the day he first told his parents that he and Jisung were dating—his father patted him on the back and smiled this exact same way, said, Be good to this boy. And maybe it wasn’t a groundbreaking amount of support for someone who was coming out, but it was everything Minho needed. 

His mom decides to render him a complete shy mess. “I always knew you would find your way back to each other,” she says, reaching out across the table to rest her hand on top of Minho’s with so much unconditional love, hope, and support that he isn’t sure how come he makes it out of the dinner without crying like a child.

Jisung video calls him later that night. The exhaustion is audible in his voice, but when Minho tells him that it’s okay, that they can talk in the morning, he insists that he just wants to hear Minho before going to sleep.

“There,” Minho says. “You heard me.”

Jisung puts his phone close to his face to make sure Minho sees it well when he pointedly rolls his eyes. “A guy can’t even try to be romantic.”

“Mhm.” Minho smiles, propping himself up on his elbow while he lies on the futon. “I find you the most romantic when you’re not even trying.”

Jisung laughs, and the change of background tells Minho that he’s finally in the bedroom. “Wait, let me show you something.”

He climbs onto the bed with a groan, giving Minho a view of his chin and nostrils through the camera, and then—once he lies down against the mattress—he stabilizes his phone to show Dori curled-up and deep asleep on his pillow, on Minho’s side of the bed.

“He’s keeping me company tonight,” he says, making sure that the camera captures both him and the cat in the frame. 

Minho’s heart skips a beat dangerously. “I’m not sure who I’m more jealous of,” he grumbles jokingly. Truth be told, he would love nothing more than to be snuggling both of them right now. Soon, he tells himself.

“Can you hear how he’s purring louder now because he heard your voice?” 

Smiling, Minho says, “Hi, baby. I hope you’re having lovely dreams about catching fish.”

Dori lifts his head and blinks his sleepy eyes open, his ears straightening as he listens in, making Minho physically ache. He loves this cat so much. 

Jisung’s soft laughter only adds to the warmth that spreads through his core to the tips of his fingers. Minho loves them both—and loves Siyeon, too. He wishes they were together, all four of them, playing board games on the floor of Minho’s living room, munching on chocolate chip cookies until their teeth hurt. 

He can barely handle being away from them for a few days, unable to stop feeling so empty, like there’s something missing. He could never leave this. He could never leave them.  

“How are your parents doing? Are they healthy and well?” Jisung asks, true to his earlier declaration of wanting to hear Minho’s voice, but he ends up falling asleep in the middle of his response, his phone falling out of his limp hand, giving Minho nothing more than a glimpse of his serene face.

Minho’s heart swells, grows a few sizes too big for his chest. He’s not sure how a person is supposed to house so much love in their body—his own already feels like it’s too much, like it might spill out of him at any given moment. That’s why he’s glad he has so many good people in his life—so many people that he needs to make feel loved and appreciated. So many people that need to have his love put in their hands.

Jisung, mostly, because Minho wants to make things right between them. Drive all the fears and anxiety out of his mind, so that he never doubts how devoted Minho is to him. 

Forever.

🎸

Today

MINHO

[a picture of jisung playing the guitar during a festival on a television screen]

you did well jagi

MINE ♡

ㅋㅋ the picture is so unflattering…

MINHO

what are you saying????

i think you look pretty

MINE ♡

…

stop i’m going to throw myself down the stairs

MINHO

wow a man can’t even try to be romantic anymore

MINE ♡

you can be romantic all you want when you come back home

not when i’m too far away to strangle you for flustering me

MINHO

oh you just wait

i’ll be plenty romantic

😼

MINE ♡

idiot ㅋㅋ

When the clock strikes midnight on New Year’s Day, fireworks erupt outside like volcanoes, setting the night sky ablaze with a multitude of colors, and Minho pulls Jisung into a kiss, careful not to wake Siyeon sleeping between them on the sofa. 

He smiles against Jisung’s mouth and says, “Happy New Year, jagiya.”

“Let’s make it ours,” Jisung whispers, ruffling Minho’s hair where his hand is tangled in the strands. He cranes his neck just to rest his head on his shoulder, then, and Minho knows that tomorrow he will be begging for him to massage it when it hurts. That he will be ridiculously trying to get him to kiss it better. 

He scoots over closer so that the strain isn’t as bad, jostling Siyeon a bit in the process (though she’s a deep sleeper, just like her dad, so she doesn’t even stir), and kisses the crown of Jisung’s head. 

Something inside him snaps into place.