Archive of Our Own

Anyway, anyway.

Look away from the dashboard and the sirens for a moment, Lee Jihoon. Listen. The gurney wheels are squeaking to the melody of some long lost .WAV file. Think. Think. Kim Mingyu in the shower, shoulders wet, head back, water on skin on tile. There is a chance he never puts his clothes on again. Never walks out the door. What would Seungcheol have to say about that?

"You're- what?" Beyond the shock on Seungcheol's face, the incredulity, there lay disappointment. Jihoon always knew it'd come. Always had a feeling.

On the other end of the table, a plastic cup was sweating. The Americano inside remained dark and undrunk.

Going. Going. Going. A pulse in his ears to the rhythm of a song not yet realised. Lee Jihoon, focus.

"Just like that?" When Seungcheol was eighteen, Jihoon hated him. Acting like he had the world on his shoulders when he couldn't think up an original tune if his life depended on it. Nothing but the rumble of an engine attempting to start up, only to putter out pathetically. Seventeen was painful. "You're giving up?"

They're opening up heaven's gates for you now. Do you believe it? Breaking his heart didn't bar you from entering because loving him was the best thing you ever did. Imagine that! You can't take your songs with you inside, but you can keep the memory of his hands. On your face, in your hair, over your thighs.

You want to forget? No, no… Are you sure?

"Jihoon, look, I know this is hard. But think about the group. Think about them." Choi Seungcheol used to be above begging. Then why did Jihoon always remember Seungcheol on his knees? Pleading? Asking, always asking for something. An inch, an inch more. Two inches. What will give will give. A day off. An extra bowl of rice. Get up. They were beyond such things now.

Don't you want to follow the light? Don't you?

Oh.

You're giving up?

⏪

Eighteen was like the houses that weren't houses. Basements with slits for windows and not enough walls to separate rooms from each other.

Jihoon wakes up with hands at ten and two. Rubber is burning. He wakes up on a bunk bed and smaller than he ever remembers being.

It's still dark outside and an old, familiar exhaustion clings to his every pore. He forces himself out of bed anyway, tripping over his own feet, over old, forgotten corners, and stumbles out the door into the cold, empty stairwell.

Eighteen was so damn claustrophobic. He remembers it exactly like this. One cage to another. Waking and sleeping in a box. Eating in a box. Pissing and shitting in a box. All of them stumbling in and out like the punchline of a clown and his small yellow car.

Jihoon remembers until he gets sick, and then walks back into the dorm to find Minghao standing still in the middle of the living room. Silently, he watches the night sky out the window from a safe distance.

Skinny, and small, and fragile. Jihoon doesn't remember this. He walks over and opens the window for him, because he remembers how. He turns around to find Minghao gazing at him carefully, a little suspiciously. His eyes are so big and round. He looks impossibly young.

Heaven was a lie, Jihoon should've known.

"Don't stay up too late," Jihoon tells Minghao. He doesn't care if he understands yet or not. Jihoon walks back to his old room before he can catch Minghao's response.

⏪

He's performing better. Too good for as young and fresh faced as he is. Too polished. Seungcheol keeps gritting his teeth. Seething and seething and seething. Jihoon's too tired to come up with ways to deal with this. He accepts the manager's praise with an empty look in his eyes, until he's ushered out of the room with an awkward wave of a hand.

Mingyu keeps turning to look at him and Jihoon has to keep himself from throwing up. The memories don't overlap, so starkly separated by then and now. And now and then. His heart's not up to taking another beating, so Jihoon escapes to the bathroom, but Minghao's already in there.

Small and huddled up in the corner of the shower, dozing. No one's told him the lock on the toilet door's broken, then. Or they did and didn't bother to wait to see if he understood or not. This guilt Jihoon feels much easier digesting, so he focusses on the soft of Minghao's cheeks instead of Mingyu's everything else.

He climbs into the shower and sits next to Minghao, who straightens up slightly. Jihoon points to the door, at the knob. "It's broken," he says. "The lock doesn't work. They're not going to replace it until a month later when Chan walks into Hansol jerking off in the middle of the night."

Minghao is blinking. The last bit of that flies completely over his head. Jihoon finds himself relieved, finds himself oddly comfortable. The shower tile is cold underneath him, but the exhaustion makes it feel no different to the crappy mattress on his bunk.

He points again at the doorknob. "Broken," he enunciates.

Minghao looks at his finger, to the knob, then back at Jihoon's face. "I know," he says, in flawed Korean. Then he opens his mouth, about to say more, before shutting it again. He considers Jihoon for a moment, while Jihoon ruminates on whether he should be embarrassed or not, before Minghao points at himself.

Then at the door.

Then back to himself.

This is maybe the longest conversation Jihoon can remember having with this version of Minghao. If this even really counts as conversation. He narrows his eyes at Minghao's outstretched arm, at the door, and then realises.

"You're the one who broke it?"

Minghao nods. He looks a little nervous about it. Why is he even telling Jihoon in the first place?

But all Jihoon does is laugh. That's one mystery he didn't know needed solving. He laughs and his small, thin shoulders brush up against Minghao's bony ones. The past continues to unwind on the other side of that broken door lock, in Seungcheol's tense jaw, in Mingyu's warm eyes.

After a while, Minghao starts laughing too. This familiarity is much easier to stomach.

⏪

The good thing about the unrelenting pace of the industry and a company on the verge of bankruptcy doing whatever they can to stay afloat, is that Jihoon doesn't get any time to think. To dwell.

But the exhaustion still piles up. Still to the point of delirium, and his teenage body hasn't quite learned how to house it the way he will when he's older. So he slips up. Half asleep and sandwiched between Mingyu and Junhui at the back of a pitch-dark van, he slips.

Mingyu's putting chapstick over his lips and he's about to hand it over for Jihoon before Jihoon just leans in and kisses him, rubbing their lips together until enough of it transfers over, and then pulls back right as he registers the silence, and Mingyu's big, wide eyes.

Jihoon's stomach churns. The world jolts. He keeps thinking about the shower running, how Mingyu used to stand under the spray with his hair slicked back. How Jihoon used to just watch and watch and watch and then wait for him to come out before touching him all over.

But Mingyu is eighteen now. They're about to perform on Music Bank for the first time. Jihoon just kissed him like they've been dating for a while. Like he's loved him for over a decade. He feels like throwing up. He feels like crawling out of his skin. Mingyu's cheeks keep turning pinker and Junhui keeps staring.

The van comes to a stop and Jihoon jumps out before Mingyu can say anything. He makes his way around hallways he shouldn't know so well and locks himself in a bathroom stall, breathing heavily. His hair is bubblegum pink and he's standing in a toilet stall in the Music Bank hallway at five in the morning.

He really does throw up. Right into the toilet bowl like he's actually doing this for the first time and nervous about the bright stage lights. He flushes once, twice, three times, until the smell is gone and he stops thinking about Mingyu at twenty nine, with wet eyes and pale lips, telling him he's making a mistake.

He walks out and a boy probably from some long disbanded group is washing his hands by the sink, his face not even a faded memory in Jihoon's mind. He greets Jihoon with a polite nod of his head. Jihoon returns it. If he was really eighteen he'd have bowed. And he wouldn't have kissed Mingyu.

Jihoon curses and rinses his mouth out as the boy leaves. A few seconds later, someone else pushes the door open, and Jihoon lifts his head to meet Minghao's eyes in the reflection of the mirror.

His gut tenses automatically, then relaxes at Minghao's surprise. He turns back, as if about to inform whoever's waiting outside that Jihoon's inside, but then seems to decide against it and simply goes to relieve himself at the urinal.

Jihoon watches, as the water drips off his chin. Minghao is still so thin. Always, forever thin. Jihoon misses being a little bigger than him, even just by muscle definition.

He's thinking about how easily he could've picked Minghao up back then. In the past-future. In the here and now, Minghao washes his dainty hands, and Jihoon's small enough and young enough to resemble a child.

Finally, Minghao turns to Jihoon, and then jerks his thumb towards the door.

Let's go, he's saying.

But Jihoon's thinking about overwriting his first mistake with another one.

He steps forward and then leans up to press his lips against Minghao's. The touch is quick, fleeting. Too fast for Minghao to react to until it's already over, until Jihoon is already pulling back.

This is a much simpler mistake to make.

"Sorry," Jihoon says, before side-stepping Minghao and walking out the door.

⏪

They're not arguing, is the thing. Jihoon can't remember what exactly it was like at the beginning with Seungcheol, only that whatever it was, it was strained.

Now it's… weird. Jihoon isn't even angry. Can't be. Not at a Seungcheol so small, still. So young. Seungcheol is trying to be so mature about his anger, about his hurt, and he's just as terrible with it now as he was back then.

The kimbap is tasteless and room temp. Jihoon keeps talking around cheekfuls of rice, pretending like he can't see the way Seungkwan scowls at every bit of rice that slips out of his mouth. "One day this is all going to make sense," he tells Seungcheol.

And it doesn't explain anything, it doesn't even do anything to quell his rising anger, but it's baffling enough that Seungcheol doesn't immediately retort. And then, miracle of miracles, Minghao laughs.

It's especially conspicuous in their cramped living room, in the silence that had descended on the room the second Seungcheol and Jihoon started talking to each other. Everyone looks over at Minghao. Jihoon watches the tip of his ear turn a little pink, wondering if that was a thing that had always happened.

"What are you laughing at?" Seungcheol asks with a frown. He's not trying to be cruel, Jihoon thinks. But everything he does at this point in time is mean. Harsh in a way Jihoon doesn't even really hate him for anymore.

Minghao blinks at Seungcheol, then at Jihoon, then shrugs.

Soonyoung laughs at that, and then they're all set off somehow. Seungcheol's still got irritation lining his brow, but he relaxes a little under Jeonghan's cajoling, under Junhui's accidental-on-purpose elbow to the ribs.

Minghao is still looking at Jihoon.

He can't tell if Minghao hasn't asked about the kiss because he doesn't have the words, or because he just doesn't care. Jihoon picks up a piece of kimbap and places it in front of Minghao. "You should eat more," he tells him.

Chan wouldn't have accepted it, would've accused Jihoon of babying him, would've passed it back. Minghao just picks it up a little gingerly, as if still considering his intentions, before putting it in his mouth and chewing slowly.

They don't really have the luxury of eating slowly. Of leisure. But somehow Minghao always looks like he's unhurried, like he's moving at his own pace. Even now, young and small as he is, there's this quiet to him that's reminiscent of the kind of maturity he'll gain over the next decade.

"Sorry," Jihoon says again, but to the room at large. He's not looking at Seungcheol, but he thinks Seungcheol probably catches it all the same.

There's another small lapse of silence. Everyone's staring at Jihoon this time, but Jihoon has his eyes stubbornly locked on Minghao, who carefully picks up a piece of kimbap from his own roll and places it on top of Jihoon's makeshift tinfoil plate.

Jihoon looks down. Laughs.

⏪

Mingyu attacks during the lull between comebacks. Jihoon should've seen it coming, but he's been locked up in the studio trying to hack up everything he's already made before, only he's not sure if he's getting the details right, if everything sounds exactly like it did originally.

They had a winning strategy the first time around (even if they didn't know it then). He can't fuck this up.

He's so stressed about it he barely notices Mingyu, not until it's too late and suddenly they're the only two left in the living room while everyone else has somehow decided to go to bed at the exact same time. That's not the kind of thing that just happens without some type of interference.

"You kissed me." Mingyu is accusing him.

Jihoon drags a hand down his face. "You remember that?"

That was right at the start, back when his hair was still pink. They've already wrapped up promotions for Mansae and now Jihoon's desperately trying to piece Pretty U together again. He thought maybe Mingyu had forgotten. Or just gotten over it once he realised Jihoon wasn't up to talking about it, or repeating it.

"I remember." Mingyu's eyes are burning. It was a little like this the first time, too. The ages are right. Timeline wise, it almost matches up perfectly. Only, Jihoon's in an entirely different place now.

And he knows how it's going to end.

"Do you—"

Whatever it is Mingyu's about to ask, Jihoon shuts it down with a sigh. It's a little patronising, in a way that makes Mingyu immediately bristle. Jihoon adopts his best 'I'm older than you and therefore know better' voice and says, "that was an accident. I was half asleep, didn't even know it was you. You shouldn't have remembered."

He's trying to to feel bad about the look on Mingyu's face, but he just keeps flashing back to the last conversation they had in his original timeline. How even then, after so long, Jihoon hadn't been able to find it in himself to give in entirely, to just surrender. How Mingyu had ended the conversation with, so what's the point then?

How Jihoon fought, and then how he ultimately agreed, when he hit the steering wheel head first and remembered belatedly why he'd always hated driving.

"You're lying," Mingyu says. And it's clear enough to the both of them, but Mingyu still has that stubborn streak of light in his eyes. That soft thing wrapped around his heart that has Jihoon's name on it.

God. Maybe he should've found a way to make Mingyu hate him before it got to this point.

"It was a mistake," Jihoon declares.

There's no room for manoeuvring there. Mingyu's face falls. He's so young, still. Still the boy he fell for all that time ago. This is painful. Jihoon didn't think there could be new ways to hurt himself over the same boy.

Jihoon turns his head away, mouth pressed shut with enough force to turn his lips white. If he opens his mouth again, he'll fold. He'll say something worse. He knows it. Mercifully, he ends up meeting Minghao's clear eyes at the mouth of the hallway, lurking in the dark like a shadow.

Sometimes it feels like Minghao's the realest thing here. In a room full of ghosts and memories, the only thing that ever stands out as unflinchingly true is Minghao's quiet existence.

At this point in time, they barely know each other. They're still strangers in so many ways. Unfamiliar enough to ground Jihoon, anchor him to the moment.

He turns to look back at Mingyu one last time. One last permittance. He takes in the wet eyes, the hard jaw, the baby fat. Yeah, this is a Mingyu that he can't—won't ruin. This is a hurt he'll get over, a smaller heartbreak than what Jihoon would've given him if this went any further. He's sparing him.

Sparing them both.

"It was a mistake," Jihoon repeats. Mingyu's nostrils flare.

He turns and walks away before he has to read the heartbreak on Mingyu's face. Once was enough. Really, it was.

Jihoon brushes past Minghao in the hallway, who doesn't stop him, doesn't say a word. He feels Minghao's eyes on him the whole trek back to his room, though.

⏪

For some ungodly reason, Minghao and Mingyu start getting close a lot earlier than Jihoon remembers it happening the first time around.

It might be his fault. It might be that the night Jihoon kind of broke Mingyu's heart, Minghao ended up picking up the pieces up after.

It's a little hard on the eyes. Mingyu is hard to look at in any circumstance, but something about the way he sticks to Minghao now is glaring in a way that makes Jihoon feel every bit the twenty one years he currently is.

He wasn't ever really jealous the first time around. Jihoon can't remember why now, because it feels obvious. Maybe back then he was just so relieved their career hadn't crashed and burned because of him that he didn't let this kind of stuff get to him. At least not too bad. Maybe it was that Mingyu always had an uncanny talent for sweet talking.

Now, there's no quiet voice in his ear, no secret texts. Just Mingyu and Minghao sitting beside each other exchanging smiles that feel like they've got secrets underneath, exchanging glances that mean two or three things at once.

He writes Don't Wanna Cry with more anger in it. Spitefully, he doesn't bother smoothing out the edges. He has Mingyu recite all his nonsensical feelings back at him and feels pathetically vindicated about it. He has them all perform it, singing over feelings that they won't ever understand. None of them have had to do this twice.

He should really calm down. Seungcheol's giving him antsy looks again, bordering on angry-concerned. He's eased up on his forceful approach to most things by now, mellowed out by what he thinks is the height of their success, but whenever Jihoon's involved it always feels like the younger, more brash Seungcheol re-emerges.

To stave off the inevitable confrontation, Jihoon sneaks out one night. He doesn't end up going far, just around the block to the convenience store, to sit at a table outside nearing midnight, the brim of his cap pulled low while he occasionally pops bits of candy into his mouth.

A shadow stretches over the table.

He looks up and—is not entirely surprised to find Minghao there. In this timeline, they meet each other a lot like this.

Minghao slips into the seat opposite Jihoon, then pulls something out from his hoodie pockets. Some kind of snack from his hometown, Jihoon's guessing. Something sent by his parents, probably. He starts chewing silently as Jihoon watches.

Neither of them say a thing. The air's a bit tense, not that Jihoon knows why exactly. He keeps thinking Minghao will just ask him one day. What's wrong with you? Even though no one else has gathered up the courage to. But he never does.

Once Minghao's finished with this snack strips, he pulls out some kind of yoghurt drink and pokes a tiny straw through it.

Finally, after a couple sips, he sets it down and looks at Jihoon fully. "You were my first kiss," he tells him.

Jihoon breaks the candy between his teeth. It goes down bittersweet. "Sorry."

Minghao just keeps looking at him. "Sometimes I think I'm glad it was you."

And then he just gets up and leaves, taking all his trash with him and dumping it all into a nearby trashcan before walking back towards the dorm. Jihoon watches him go and thinks he can feel the physical thing of his frustrations leave his body all at once.

Suddenly, it all feels very ridiculous. The anger, the envy, the jealousy, the way he keeps letting himself spin out even when he knows it'll all work out in the end.

He laughs at himself a bit, then dusts his pants off before getting up too.

⏪

It occurs to Jihoon a week into the new year that he hasn't seen Minghao in a while. It doesn't click in his head until Mingyu begins to whine about Minghao's absence, something that finally gets Jihoon to pull his headphones out for long enough to register the missing space.

He was vaguely aware that Minghao and Junhui had left the country to shoot something back in China and do some promotional stuff over there on their behalf, but the actual absence of the two of them seems to have gone by without fazing him at all.

It pricks a little at his conscience, enough that he ends up putting Minghao's name into his Twitter search one night. Texting him would've been faster, but they don't exactly have a one on one discussion going, and asking him in the group chat would just invite more scrutiny than he'd like.

The first thing that pops up is a video of Minghao during an interview segment of whatever show he's filming for. He clicks on it and simply listens for a while, to a Minghao speaking smoothly, fluently, confidently. In a language entirely his own. Jihoon's always appreciated Minghao's voice in a vague kind of way. The way you might compliment a friend for having a nice haircut. Not exactly untrue, but not fully genuine either.

Something about the way Minghao talks when he's entirely in his element is nice, though. Unrestrained in a way that tickles the ear just right.

Jihoon continues this for a while, simply clicking on videos and listening without understanding, until he finally comes across a post with his name in it. This clip's had Korean subtitles added, and the caption writes an ominous 'I never knew Woozi had this side to him…'.

In the video, an interviewer is asking Minghao about the members he's closest to in the group. Minghao's first obligatory mention is Junhui, and it should be things Jihoon's already heard a thousand times, except it really isn't. Because Minghao hasn't really had the vernacular to express himself so openly, so transparently like this.

"Junhui's been something of a life line," Video-Minghao is saying. There's a smile on his face, but something aching in the pit of his eyes. "As young as I was when I first arrived at Pledis, I only had a very shallow understanding of how hard everything was going to be. Thankfully, I had Junhui with me, or else I think I would've gone mad." Cue the timely, slightly plastic laughter from the interviewer behind the camera.

She then asks about his relationship to his other members, and after Minghao briefly goes over his budding friendship with Mingyu, he pauses for a moment, and then brings up Jihoon.

"He might not be as obvious or as loud about it, but Woozi's also looked after me quite a bit." The interviewer and Jihoon make the same sound of genuine surprise. "Ever since debut, he's been quietly taking care of me in little ways. Sometimes, with thirteen people, it's very easy to be overlooked. It's nobody's fault, just the natural consequence of being in such a large group of people, but every time, Woozi will look over at me, like he's checking to see if I'm okay. Most of the time he'll see I'm fine and then go back to his own business. Sometimes though, he'll try to loop me in, or drop an extra piece of meat in my bowl, that kind of thing." Minghao laughs.

"Like a brother," the interviewer adds.

Minghao's eyes twinkle. "Yeah, sure. Like a brother."

The video ends then, and Jihoon quickly exits out the app before it can loop from the start.

He wants to deny it off the bat, but he's thinking about it now, and the more he thinks, the more a pattern might be emerging.

It was just concern. The kind of thing you develop after waking back up in your teenage body—a want, an itch to do things better the second time around. To be kinder. To be more understanding. Jihoon never took care of Minghao at all, in the first timeline. He had other things to worry about. Other people to fixate on. But in the here and now, with an older, more mature perspective, he tries to put in more of an effort with the people he might've neglected once upon a time.

Being more accommodating for Minghao is just one of those things. Arguing less with Seungcheol is another one (though the success rate of this is questionable).

It's scaring Jihoon a little now though, that it's become a habit. That he hadn't even noticed it himself. That it's… out there, now. And if he stops here he's cruel, or a coward, or both.

But he's probably just overthinking it. Worrying about nothing. There's nothing wrong with caring for a dongsaeng. Nothing wrong with looking after a fellow group member.

Still, something uncomfortable squirms in his stomach.

Jihoon shoves his phone under his pillow, turns over, and resolves to just sleep the concern away.

⏪

He thought he nipped it in the bud. He really did.

But just because you tell yourself something doesn't mean it'll necessarily be true. Day in and day out Jihoon has been telling himself: you are not in love with Kim Mingyu anymore. This, he doesn't need to be true immediately. Knows it's not, actually. But when he told himself that their last fraught conversation would be the last of it, he'd expected that to stick.

At the very least he thought Mingyu would be too angry, too upset over the rejection to bring it up again.

Then he remembers this is a younger Mingyu. A more straightforward, more clumsy Mingyu. And this Mingyu decides to corner Jihoon during the only time the dorm's even close to empty: the day after new years.

Everyone else is still with their families, as they should be, save for Minghao and Junhui, who the company insists on keeping in the country for god knows why. Just to be cruel, Jihoon suspects. Just to remind them that they have to call this place home now.

Typically, they're the only two still left in the dorm at this time. Except now there's Jihoon, who came back early, and Mingyu, who apparently came back for Jihoon.

He's trying really, really hard to remember how they got to this point, but it sort of feels like he just woke up here, on the couch with Mingyu leaning in to kiss him. Jihoon manages to get his hand up at the last minute, sealing it right over Mingyu's puckered lips.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Mingyu grunts until Jihoon removes his hand. "I just don't understand why we're not—"

"I'm pretty sure we already had this conversation, Mingyu—"

"I wouldn't really call that a conversation, but—"

"Enough. Seriously." Jihoon slouches in his seat, hands over his face. "Did I not make it clear last time? We're not doing this."

Mingyu sits with that for a bit, before prying Jihoon's hands from his face and forcing him to look into his eyes. "I remember. You said it was a mistake. But that doesn't mean you didn't want it. Right?"

Well. The truth sure does sting. Jihoon winces, and Mingyu almost smiles, triumphant, but then his face falls again as he realises that this means Jihoon's been denying not just Mingyu, but himself too. Jihoon watches him attempt to puzzle it out, then watches as his earlier bravado just deflates out of him.

"I don't get it," Mingyu says solemnly. "Sometimes you ignore me completely. Sometimes you treat me like normal. Then other times… other times you look at me like…"

Jihoon shuts his eyes. There was a reason he'd never gone into acting, never even tried, not even when some higher up he doesn't really remember the name of now suggested it out of the blue. Joshua went to take acting classes on his suggestion. Could be fun, he'd said. Jihoon thought he was crazy, but now he regrets not having been to at least a couple.

"Hyung," Mingyu whines, and there's an edge to it that borders on desperation.

Jihoon's breath hitches. Mingyu must interpret this correctly, because his grip over Jihoon's wrists loosen and he starts leaning in again.

He can't see anything, but Jihoon can feel the warmth of Mingyu drawing near. The shadow of him looming. And he doesn't move. He should, he really should. He should be stronger than this. Firmer. Be brave in the face of love.

But when love is cradling your face with a soft hand, kissing you with trembling, dry lips, it's a little hard to remember why you shouldn't give in.

So Jihoon succumbs with a soft sigh, a quiet sound of relief. Giving himself over to something familiar. Mingyu kisses him like it's all new, because he doesn't remember, but Jihoon does. Jihoon kisses back like it's been five, six, seven years already. He kisses back just the way Mingyu likes, and then he's snapped out of the moment so violently, so viscerally, that he almost stumbles back over the arm of the couch.

He scrambles to get to his feet, teeth chattering. Twenty one year old Mingyu is looking at him with wounded eyes, his chest cut open and on display. But Jihoon didn't kiss him back as twenty two year old Jihoon. He couldn't. He can't.

"Hyung—"

"Mingyu." Jihoon's still shaking. He died once, he remembers. The gurney and the ambulance and the beeping of the EKG machine. And it didn't hurt even a fraction as much as it did when he broke Mingyu's heart. Didn't hurt nearly as much as it did when he put an end to a decade long love affair. "I don't want this."

He thinks Mingyu finally gets it this time. Maybe it's the way Jihoon's shaking. The fear in his face. The paleness of his skin. Something finally breaks through to Mingyu in this moment, and he exhales so heavily it could kill Jihoon all over again.

"But why?"

Jihoon can't answer. He turns his head away, fists clenched, trembling all over. There's a painful, prolonged silence, and then he hears Mingyu finally get up to walk across the room, to go down the hall, then to slam the door to his room closed.

⏪

"Hello?"

Jihoon sounds a little baffled, brain still somewhat sluggish and fogged up from his shower. From the other end of the line, he can hear Minghao adjusting himself. In bed? He thinks he hears blankets. For some inane reason, Jihoon decides to get into bed too, just because.

"Hi, hyung."

Minghao sounds kind of exhausted, which is ironic given that they're all quarantining right now and freer than they've ever been. Though certainly not under the most favourable of conditions.

"What are you doing?" Jihoon almost asks what time is it there before remembering there's only an hour's difference.

There's some more shuffling. Minghao getting more comfortable, Jihoon imagines, before his sigh eventually floats over the line. "Couldn't sleep. I figured you'd still be up."

Jihoon blinks, goes, "oh," a little stupidly. His wet hair's dripping all over his pillow cover, and he's picturing Minghao, hours away, tucked in on the other side of the bed, staring up at his ceiling and wide awake. He wonders a little about why Minghao called, when they both know Jihoon's not the only late sleeper among them, but he doesn't ask. "How's it been for you?"

"Tough. Harder than I thought it'd be."

"Yeah. I get what you mean." Though Jihoon's actually enjoying himself right now, mostly because he's already done this once, so the uncertainty hasn't really infected him like it has everyone else.

"Bet you're enjoying the silence, though."

Jihoon pauses for a second. It sounds… well, it sounds like Minghao knows him. Which, in an abstract sense he always knew was true, it just feels a little odd. They aren't close. Or they weren't, in the other timeline. Are they close now? Is that what this is?

For some reason, Jihoon hadn't actually considered the possibility that he'd actually be changing anything outside of his relationship with Mingyu, that he'd get something new out of this. It makes him inexplicably nervous, has him pondering whether or not he could get away with hanging up and claiming he just 'accidentally hit the button and then fell asleep,' when Minghao speaks again.

"Did you fall asleep?"

Jihoon doesn't say anything. He thinks about it, but can't come up with anything, so he just quiets his breathing and lets the silence stretch out.

"Oh." Minghao exhales quietly on the phone. Jihoon assumes he'll hang up any second now, but the silence continues to stretch. And stretch, and stretch, until Jihoon actually starts to doze, at which point Minghao's voice comes through once more. "I miss everyone. It's funny, because I was pretty sure I was just beginning to get sick of you all." Minghao laughs softly. It sounds warm, sounds close. "I hope we'll get to perform again soon. See all our fans again soon."

Jihoon almost agrees, until he remembers he's supposed to be asleep.

"You have a bunch of new songs lined up already, right?" Minghao sounds so certain Jihoon finds himself smiling a little. "Try not to stay up too late. Drink less soda and more water. Be careful when you're working out."

The sleep-fuzz and Minghao's gentle voice makes Jihoon feel as if he's floating on a cloud. Right as his consciousness begins to fade, a melody creeps in. Soft, tinkling piano. Sweet, crooning vocals. A lullaby for a sunrise.

"Goodnight, hyung."

⏪

Writing Ready To Love again feels like a betrayal.

He meant it the first time around. He was picturing Mingyu's face when he was mapping out the beat. Now it feels like a lie, feels like a bastardisation of something that was once beautiful. Jihoon can't sing it the right way anymore, can never mean it as much as he did the first time.

Seungcheol didn't understand, in the future-past. Jihoon tried to explain, how he had to leave because all the songs were broken, how Jihoon couldn't sing them right anymore. Because half of them he'd written for Mingyu, and now, well… if he tried to sing them now he'd only be ruining them.

Up until now the songs were still pretty tame, still Jihoon mostly holding himself back, still songs vague enough that they weren't really about anybody at all. But now, well. Ready To Love was the most transparent he'd ever been on a song. He'd packaged it as a gift, as a confession, because he wasn't sure how else to phrase it to Mingyu.

The first time Mingyu heard it, the original version, they were alone. This time, the room is full, and Jihoon's trying to resist the urge to burn everything to the ground.

He accepts all the genuine, half-hearted, and false praise from everybody with a tight smile, and tries not to think about how this Mingyu won't know. Will never know. And yet, Jihoon still can't bring himself to fully erase it.

He digs his palms into his eyes, groaning.

A hand falls on his shoulder.

He assumes it's Seungcheol at first, but the touch lingers for a beat too long.

Jihoon pulls his hands down and opens his eyes to find Minghao leaning over him slightly, face close. Jihoon goes still, head entirely emptied of thought, his eyes locked somewhere on Minghao's cupid's bow. He hasn't looked at Minghao this up close ever, he doesn't think. Not head on like this, the both of them alone in the studio like this.

Minghao parts his lips to speak and Jihoon jerks his chin up, eyes flying to somewhere more appropriate. "Are you okay?"

Ready To Love is still playing softly in the background, looping endlessly. He winces at the sound of his own, dispirited voice singing back to him. "Fine," he lies. "You don't need to be here."

Minghao pretends he doesn't hear the dismissal, choosing to sit in the empty chair beside Jihoon instead, in Bumzu's usual place. Minghao doesn't immediately speak, doesn't immediately try to poke or prod, he just attempts to get comfortable in the seat. He tests the traction on the wheels for a bit, moving the chair back and forth until he finds a good position.

"Do you want to go with a different song?" Minghao asks eventually.

It's a little scary how he got there so quickly, how most of the time it feels like Minghao can see right through him. It was easier to handle back when Jihoon didn't have anything to hide.

Jihoon tilts his head back and looks up at the ceiling. Safer that way. "Why do you ask?"

"You don't look very… happy with it," Minghao says. And he's right, of course. "The song obviously means something to you, but…" He doesn't finish the sentence. The silence lingers.

Jihoon exhales. "It's just wrong."

"Wrong?"

"The premise. Everything. Me. None of it fits. It wouldn't—I wouldn't really be singing it, I'd just be… singing it."

It probably doesn't make any sense, but Minghao accepts it all like Jihoon isn't just being pedantic. For a second, Jihoon considers spilling the beans, considers telling Minghao about it. How it all went the first time, how he swore not to repeat any of it. How this song is still evidence of a love he wants to leave behind but just can't seem to fully let go of.

He doesn't end up saying anything.

Eventually, Minghao asks, "does it have to be this song?"

Jihoon blinks, then lowers his head to meet Minghao's eyes. "What?"

"It doesn't have to be the title, does it?" It's a stupidly simple question. An easy answer. Yet Jihoon never considered it. Never thought to stray from their discography. But really, does it? At this stage in their career, does Jihoon have to stay within the lines? "Just keep this one. Not everyone has to hear it."

Right. Right. That makes sense. It's enough that it exists, even just in demo form. Enough that the proof is there at all, that he could give his feelings for Mingyu a final resting place. Even if no one ever hears it again.

"You have a point." Jihoon's breathing a little easier already. Already thinking of the possibilities, the songs he could write in its place. A melody, new and unhaunted. Untouched by a past that's already been overwritten.

Minghao smiles. Jihoon smiles back.

⏪

Initially, Jihoon assumes the headache is just from drinking a little too much with Soonyoung the night before. He'd gotten reckless, because he remembers rejecting Soonyoung's offers for a nightcap more than he remembers ever accepting. So he went, just to tip the scales a little, just to watch Soonyoung's face morph into surprise before it leaps into joy.

He doesn't regret it on the whole, though he does regret specifically agreeing to actually have a drink, or two or three. No one was expecting Jihoon to say yes to the offer, maybe that's why. Maybe he just… wanted to be a little reckless this time around.

Waking up hungover only seems appropriate, but when the day continues to crawl on and he still feels awful, he starts to suspect there's something else at play.

"Are you sick?" Minghao looks concerned.

They're alone in the recording booth. Jihoon should've postponed. He tips his head back and groans, but it doesn't help the dizziness, doesn't help how hot he feels. "Sorry," he mumbles, as Minghao's cool fingers press against his forehead.

"You're running a bit too warm." Minghao pulls his hand away and Jihoon quashes the urge to whine and ask for it back. "You should've told me. We could've done this another day."

Jihoon makes a noise of protest. "Didn't want to."

"Why?"

"I promised." And he was always bad at recognising symptoms of an illness until it hit him full force. (Another way to say it is that he likes to ignore all the warnings until he can't anymore). "Didn't want you to have to move your schedule around just for me."

Minghao laughs a bit. "Well now I'm gonna have to anyway."

Jihoon peels his eyes open. It shouldn't take as much effort as it does. He pushes himself back up in his seat and turns to look at Minghao. He's bare faced today, dark hair unstyled and falling softly over his forehead. "No. I can do this."

"But you're—"

"I can still sing," Jihoon insists.

He doesn't really know why. It'd be better if he was doing this in a more clear-headed state, but it stings a little to think that he might be letting Minghao down in some way. That he might be making things tougher on his schedule. He promised today, so that's what he's giving him.

Through the fever-haze, Jihoon somehow manages to record the chorus without a hitch. It's still a beautiful song, and he still remembers how it goes. Minghao is quieter this time. Not doing much more than watching and listening. Jihoon feels the weight of his eyes differently. He wonders if it's because of the sickness or if this is actually something that's changed from last time.

Afterwards, when they're done, Minghao is sitting with Jihoon while they wait for his driver to return from his break. Jihoon's head is so heavy he can't resist resting it on Minghao's shoulder.

"Hyung," Minghao half-whispers.

Jihoon's eyes are closed. "Hm?"

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"For helping me record Hai Cheng."

"Don't need to thank me for that."

He thinks Minghao might be smiling. "Who's it for?" Jihoon finds himself asking. He doesn't mean to, not out loud, but the fever might be making his lips looser than usual. He goes a little stiff. Maybe he's crossed a line.

Minghao is silent for a moment. "Just someone I miss sometimes," he answers eventually. It's not much of an answer at all, really, but it feels tender. Feels true.

Jihoon opens his eyes and wonders. He's never really asked about Minghao's personal life, about any of the others'. It's just something you end up learning about after a while. Now he finds himself curious, finds himself wondering just how much Minghao means what he's singing.

For a brief, absurd moment, he even finds himself wishing. Daydreaming about what it might be like to receive a song for once. Fantasizing about being on the other end of that equation.

"That's nice," Jihoon sighs.

"You can have it if you like."

Jihoon pauses. Blinks. Runs that back in his head. Slowly, carefully, he lifts his head off of Minghao's shoulder and turns to look at him. Minghao is smiling, but there's something about it he can't quite place. Something ambiguous about it.

"Huh?"

"The song," Minghao elaborates, but it's all still going over Jihoon's delirious head. "It could be yours, if you want it."

"But isn't it your song?"

Minghao's smile only softens, while Jihoon's only getting more confused. "It is."

"Then why're you giving it to me?"

Someone from the door starts calling for Minghao. Jihoon blinks uncomprehendingly as Minghao rises to his feet, readjusts his shirt, then flashes Jihoon one last ambiguous smile.

He walks out the room without giving Jihoon any answers.

⏪

The cameras are off and Jihoon can't stop staring.

He doesn't know what it is about the way the scene is staged, but something about Minghao today, with his dyed hair wet and slicked back, and his sweatpants sagging low on his hips, is making it hard for Jihoon tear his eyes away. The white towel in Minghao's hand is being dyed pink due to the hair dye running. Jihoon keeps staring at Minghao's bare chest.

It's nothing he hasn't seen before, this pale expanse of skin. But something about it is different today. There's water trailing from Minghao's head down to his collarbones, then to his chest, then down his stomach. Jihoon feels something stirring deep within him. A familiar, uncomfortable heat licking a trail up his neck.

Minghao turns and meet his eyes. Jihoon freezes. Then he whips his head around so fast his neck pops.

This is bad. Being attracted to a group mate is okay only in a loose, detached sense. A healthy appreciation for your peers who are objectively good looking is fine. Normal. To be expected. But this is… this is something else.

This is real heat. Real desire. Burning.

Jihoon has to leave. He makes it all the way into the dressing room, in fact, where most of the members are already packed and ready to leave. But Jihoon, Jihoon is… he's struggling. He's running a little hot.

It occurs to him, as he clenches and unclenches his fists, that it's been a while. Actually maybe not since he first got back, feeling too large and at the same time too small in his eighteen-again body.

He's just pent up, is all. He hadn't meant to let it go on this long, it's just been strange, being back in his own body like this. He had other things to think about other than touching himself.

He's paying for it now though, getting all hot and bothered just because he caught a glimpse of Minghao half naked. He doesn't dwell on the fact that Joshua, too, was stood just a couple feet away shirtless, and Jihoon hadn't even looked twice.

Soonyoung turns to Jihoon suddenly, eyes narrowed and suspicious. "Are you constipated?"

Jihoon stiffens slightly. "Yep. I'm just gonna go… relieve myself."

He flees. Down the hall and into the first bathroom he sees. Which is probably the worst thing he could've done, because inside the room is Minghao, still with his shirt off, still drying his hair. And he's alone.

Jihoon almost turns on his heel to run back, but Minghao doesn't let him. "Hyung, you look flushed." He's standing a little too close. He smells of chlorine. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." Jihoon's jaw is tense. The heat hasn't dissipated at all.

Minghao goes silent. Then, slowly, he looks down towards… "You're hard," he points out.

Jihoon's hand slips off the door handle. Shit. Minghao is just staring. Jihoon should be running, but he's so embarrassed he's lost the energy and will to move. Minghao capitalises on this, reaching around behind Jihoon to shut the door, and then lock it.

"It looks painful," Minghao remarks, but he's looking at Jihoon's face.

"I'm—it's—"

"It's okay. Nothing to be embarrassed about," Minghao says. But the attempt at reassurance only makes Jihoon want to crawl into a hole and never come back out.

"No, I—"

"Do you want my help?" Minghao asks.

Jihoon opens his mouth, but doesn't say anything. What does one even say to that? But more than shocked, Jihoon is weak. And he wants this. And seven years is a long, long time for a dry spell.

He really, really should say no. "Yes," Jihoon expels on an exhale. So terribly weak. So terribly pathetic.

Minghao smiles, briefly, like he'd been expecting that answer all along, then he reaches towards Jihoon's belt. He's just starting to undo it when Jihoon's suddenly hit by a panic so strong it makes him lightheaded. His hands go to Minghao's wrists, gripping tight.

Minghao doesn't say anything, just looks at Jihoon calmly, patiently. What do you want? Jihoon exhales shakily. The weight of what they were doing felt so heavy for a moment, like this is the first real thing he's actually done since he came back. The first real decision he's making as Lee Jihoon—the terrible, mangled whole of him, and not just some imitation of who he used to be, or wanted to be.

Minghao's eyes are still so painfully accepting. What do you need?

"Can you—can we just—" Jihoon's struggling to get the words out. But he does want them out there, does want this, want Minghao, despite all rational thought.

In the end he doesn't say anything, just walks Minghao back until he's pressed up against the bathroom counter, until he's caged between Jihoon and the sinks. Why are you letting me do this, Jihoon almost asks, before he decides he doesn't want to know the answer to that, actually.

Even just this is excruciating, pressing up against Minghao, who still isn't fully dry. Jihoon stills, unsure how exactly to proceed. There's probably no coming back from this once they cross that line. Minghao seemingly has no such qualms, placing his hands on Jihoon's hips and guiding him closer, a little higher, until they're lined up properly.

Jihoon's breath hitches. He looks up into Minghao's clear, open eyes, then drags his hips up slowly, to test the waters. The friction feels intense, even through two layers. Jihoon watches as Minghao's skin turns pink, as he begins to warm up against Jihoon's body. He grinds against Minghao again, this time a bit harder, and manages to wrest this pleased little sound from Minghao's mouth.

It's a lot already. Jihoon leans forward to press his forehead against Minghao's shoulder. It's taking everything in him not to just come in his pants here and now. Minghao laughs and it brushes against the shell of Jihoon's ear, making him shiver. He moans a little when Minghao cards his fingers through Jihoon's hair; a quiet, comforting gesture.

Closing his eyes, Jihoon begins moving in earnest. Thrusting quick and frenzied against Minghao, swallowing up all the sounds he makes. He's straining painfully against his zipper, but it's hard to care too much when he has Minghao here, panting over the back of his neck, tugging at his hair intermittently.

It doesn't take very long at all. Jihoon's grinding starts to lose its pace, his hips stuttering out of time. He opens his mouth and bites down on Minghao's shoulder as the orgasm hits. It's the only touch Jihoon will permit himself in this moment.

Minghao gasps at the sudden bite, at the pain, shuddering against Jihoon's body.

Jihoon doesn't unlatch until the growing wet spot at the front of his jeans starts to become uncomfortable. He pulls back, eyes dazed, and meets Minghao's equally clouded gaze. The heat begins to crawl back in, a flame that it seems hasn't been entirely doused. Minghao looks neat still. Mostly untouched. Nothing to give him away save for the flush on his cheeks and the look in his eyes.

"That was fast," Minghao remarks after a second.

Jihoon coughs. "It's been a while."

Minghao considers that for a moment. "You were saving yourself for me?" It's a joke. Jihoon knows it's a joke. His stomach drops anyway.

The "no," that comes out is almost automatic. Immediate. A little too quick.

"No?" Minghao's eyebrows raise.

Jihoon exhales. "…Yes." He doesn't really know how to explain this. The yes that slips out of his mouth, just because he thinks it might be nice to say. To mean. Because Minghao seemed—not disappointed, but slightly subdued, and Jihoon doesn't like that. Still, it should've stayed a no.

He does get rewarded with a smile, though. A subtle, small quirk of Minghao's lips, but there all the same.

"Did you…?" Jihoon trails off before he can say finish, looking down to find Minghao still erect. And that he himself, is recovering a lot quicker than he'd expected. The residual heat lingers in the air, making Jihoon hesitate between staying or going.

"Not yet." Minghao doesn't seem all that uncomfortable, though. And he's not asking Jihoon to help him get there, even though he was kind enough to help Jihoon.

Jihoon should ignore it. Should leave while he still can, should forget this ever happened. "What do you need?" He asks instead.

Minghao smiles, doesn't say anything, just cups Jihoon's face in his hands and kisses him. Jihoon's first instinct is to flinch, is to turn away, to run, but his legs are a little weak and Minghao is holding him in place with his hands. So Jihoon stays, he kisses back, even though he feels a bit like crying, like something inside him has been cracked open.

It's too sweet for what this is. Impossibly tender, the way Minghao kisses him. Gentle, like he's taking his time, like he's savouring it.

Jihoon's already hard again. Aching and straining against his jeans. While their mouths are still connected, Minghao sneaks a hand down to start undoing Jihoon's belt buckle. Before he can pull the zipper of his jeans down, he breaks the kiss to gauge Jihoon's response.

It's an opportunity to say no, like he should've at the start, but suddenly he finds himself unable to even think it, like he's too tired to be anything but honest now. "You don't have to," is all he ends up saying.

Minghao leans in again. "You're so good at holding yourself back," he says into Jihoon's mouth, right before he pulls the zipper down all the way and sticks his hand into Jihoon's boxers.

Jihoon shudders, but doesn't forget to repay the favour, reaching his own hand down past the waistband of Minghao's sweatpants.

Jihoon only pulls away from the kiss when Minghao finally wraps his long fingers around his cock. Being touched after so long has Jihoon's lashes fluttering, the blush spreading from his neck to his face. He takes Minghao into his own hand while he watches for every twitch, every reaction that ripples across Minghao's face.

"Myungho," Jihoon calls out.

"Yeah?" Minghao's out of breath and more beautiful than he has any business being.

Jihoon doesn't actually have anything to say, he just wanted to call Minghao's name out once. He forgoes any more words after that and simply starts moving his hand as he leans forward to swallow up Minghao's gasp with his tongue. Minghao responds in kind, licking into Jihoon's mouth as he pumps his hand.

It feels better than it should, Jihoon thinks. It's just Minghao's hand, just a kiss, but every touch feels like it's been tailored specifically for Jihoon's pleasure.

Once Jihoon can feel himself nearing climax again, he pulls his head back. Minghao's eyes are closed, and once his mouth is free he tips his head back, lost in ecstasy. Jihoon feels a sudden rush of… something. He wants to do more, do better, wants to give Minghao something really worthy of that expression. Something better than just jerking him off in the bathroom.

It's this last, perplexing thought, and the sight of Minghao losing himself to pleasure, that pushes Jihoon off the edge. Minghao blinks his eyes open as Jihoon ejaculates all over his hand, then straightens up in surprise when Jihoon's hand suddenly picks up speed. He puts just the right amount of pressure on Minghao's cock, then watches with a small, satisfied smile on his face when Minghao let's out a half-choked "ah," and comes all over his own stomach.

With his energy depleted, Minghao falls forward to drape himself over Jihoon, leaning his full weight onto him.

It only sinks in then, with Minghao folded over him, what they've just done. What he just let happen.

Fuck.

Minghao brushes his lips against the side of Jihoon's throat. Jihoon shivers.

Shit.

⏪

Jihoon surfaces from some kind of dream, eyes blinking blearily at the shadowy visage of Minghao in front of him. He starts to adjust to the light, or rather the lack of it. They're in bed, in a hotel room. They've got a concert to perform tomorrow. Or is it today?

"What?" He has the vague impression that Minghao asked something, but he'd been halfway asleep and couldn't remember what was said.

Minghao flips over onto his back, staring unblinkingly at the ceiling. "Sometimes it feels like there's something you're keeping from me. From the whole world." As soon as those words sink in, the last of Jihoon's sleepiness fades. "Is this what you want?" Minghao asks. Am I?

He turns to face Jihoon again. His expression's a little unclear in the dark.

"What do you mean?"

He's playing dumb, they both know it. What Minghao doesn't know is that Jihoon's done this before. The whole sneaking around and sleeping over in each others' hotel rooms while on tour thing. He doesn't know Jihoon's already watched it burn down once, and can't bear to let it happen again.

It's good when it's simple, see. When it's easy. When they're just fucking each other and not sending secret, romantic texts to each other under everyone else's noses. Nothing to break, then. Nothing to ruin. But somehow it still feels like Jihoon's standing on a cliff's edge. Saying the wrong thing again.

When Minghao doesn't say anything, Jihoon speaks first. "Well what do you want?" And he hates that it comes out as irritated as it does, but he can't help it. Can't help the nerves. This is on him, he knows it. He could've said no right from the very start. Could've said no the second, third, fourth time.

Could've been honest with Minghao about this was going to be. About what it could never be.

What do you want? Jihoon won't say, and Minghao won't tell.

Minghao's always been good at this, using silence to his advantage. He can weaponize it if he wants, or wrap it around him like a hug. Right now, he clearly wants Jihoon to squirm. Wants Jihoon to think, to come to a conclusion that'll satisfy him.

Jihoon can't think about what he wants. Can't even consider it.

He gets up. Slips out of the bed, fumbles around in the dark for his pants, then puts them on and grabs the rest of his belongings before heading for the door. He doesn't turn to look at Minghao once, and Minghao doesn't say anything to stop him.

But right as his hand twists the doorknob, Minghao calls out to him. "You should try just letting things happen, hyung."

Jihoon opens the door and leaves.

The walk back to his own hotel room is suffocatingly quiet.

Mingyu said something similar, before. During one of their fights. What are you so afraid of? Jihoon can't remember what he said then, what he thought. The truth is that when he's happy, he worries about when it's going to end. And how much it'll hurt when it does. The truth is, he thinks it's easier to be unhappy. Easier to not have what you want than to be scared of losing it.

He was in love with Mingyu, and he still was even when he started closing himself off. Even when he started drifting away. The sickest, cruellest thing about it was the relief he felt when it all ended. Past the heartbreak, the anguish, the pain, there was relief. He died with it in his teeth. Woke up again with it under his tongue.

Mingyu didn't really understand it, the one time Jihoon tried to explain.

Minghao does, but he's asking Jihoon for the impossible anyway. With his focussed, quiet eyes, trying to pry the one thing Jihoon won't give from his hands. From his mouth.

Jihoon doesn't have the strength to let go. He doesn't know if he ever will.

"Hyung?"

Fuck.

To cap off this disastrous night, who does Jihoon run into in the hallway but Mingyu?

For a second they both just stand there and stare at each other. Mingyu is sweating, fumbling around in his shorts for his hotel room key, clearly just back from a run. Jihoon is… his hair is dishevelled, his shirt's been haphazardly thrown on, and there are some dark smudges over his collarbone that point to one obvious conclusion.

"Mingyu." Jihoon tugs the collar of his shirt up, even though he knows there's no point now.

Mingyu pauses to take Jihoon in, then cranes his neck over Jihoon's shoulder to see which direction he came from. Once he realises, he doesn't look terribly surprised. Doesn't even seem all that bothered about it, which doesn't sting as much as Jihoon thought it would.

"You could've just told me, you know," Mingyu says.

"Told you what?"

Mingyu huffs a laugh. "That you were in love with someone else."

Jihoon tenses, opens his mouth immediately to refute, but stops at the look on Mingyu's face. He's smiling, carefree just like Jihoon remembers. "I was in love with you," Jihoon admits, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he can even try to stop them. "I really was."

That doesn't seem to surprise Mingyu much either. He just shrugs. Loose, casual. "Not enough, though. Right?"

Jihoon winces. "I tried," is all he can offer.

The door to Mingyu's hotel unlocks with a beep. Mingyu opens it, then turns to give Jihoon one last look. He's still smiling. Still Mingyu. And Jihoon is still Jihoon, despite it all. "Do you think it all turned out for the best?"

"I…" Jihoon hesitates. Mingyu encourages him with his eyes. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

Mingyu laughs a bit. "That's good, then." And then he walks into the room, and shuts the door behind him.

⏪

They've put his enlistment date on the calender. Cemented it in writing. There's still over a year until it comes, but they've got his every free hour filled up until then. They're milking him dry before sending him off.

Jihoon's scared in a way that feels alien. He never made it to enlistment, the first time around. He's never been thirty.

He's trying not to spin out about it in front of Seungcheol, but it's happening anyway. Seungcheol, for his part, is accepting it all pretty well, even though he has no idea what Jihoon's really worrying over.

"Must be nice not to have to go," Jihoon mumbles.

It's something of a sore spot for Seungcheol, he knows, but he means it nonetheless. In this moment Jihoon doesn't care about what they'd say online, what his cousins might say, the other men in his life. If someone offered him an out, he'd take it.

"Try breaking your leg then," Seungcheol says. He sounds cut up over it, over the things people have been saying, over the things he might've wanted for himself. As if going there would've proved anything. As if two years of conscription would've made him more. More everything. More man. More Seungcheol.

Jihoon doesn't bother trying to explain, trying to convince him otherwise. In the end, he doesn't have to go, and if he's smart, one day he'll wake up and realise he's relieved. "Maybe I'll just kill myself," Jihoon jokes. It comes out kind of flat, though. "Maybe I'll have some drinks and start driving and get in an accident on the highway. Maybe I'll flat line before anyone even knows."

Seungcheol frowns at Jihoon over the rim of his glass. "What's wrong with you?"

Jihoon laughs humorlessly.

"You don't even have a licence," Seungcheol continues, as he yanks Jihoon's beer away from him, as if he was doing much more than sipping on it anyway.

"But if I did. If, in some other world, I did, and…" Jihoon slouches in his seat, tilts his head down until his chin is touching his chest. "If I ever told you that I had to leave Seventeen, that I couldn't be in the group anymore, do you think you'd understand?"

There's a beat of silence. Jihoon glances up, only to catch Seungcheol frowning into his whiskey, not looking at Jihoon at all. "Would you have a good reason for it?"

Jihoon sighs. "A good reason for me or a good reason for you?"

"For me."

"Guess not, then."

Seungcheol looks over at him then, expression more questioning now. "So what's the reason?"

Jihoon stares at a wet spot on the table for a while. He thinks about Mingyu's face, how much easier it's gotten lately, how he's somehow managed to separate entirely the Mingyu he actually has now and the Mingyu he had once before. Maybe this is always how it was meant to turn out. A cleaner life, a happier Mingyu, and a haunted, but ultimately free Jihoon.

"I fell in love with a member and then we… broke up." The hypothetical isn't really serving anyone anymore, but at least Seungcheol won't have a name. Won't know. Jihoon made sure of that.

"Yeah, you're right. I wouldn't understand." Seungcheol doesn't say it unkindly. He even reaches out to pat Jihoon on the leg. "But just the part where you leave." Jihoon blinks, confused. "You know, this whole group is yours. Mine too, obviously, but you're the one who got us here. You're the one who kept us alive. I could've led us no matter where we were going, up or down, but you're the one who made sure it was up. And that we kept going up."

Jihoon swallows, surprised by the sudden sentiment, unsure of where this is going.

"I think you'd have come back eventually. I believe that." Seungcheol's smiling. "Even if you had to take two, three, five years to nurse your broken heart. You'd have come back. You've put too much into Seventeen not to."

Jihoon laughs. He thinks Seungcheol might be right. Maybe if he hadn't died, maybe if he had a couple days to think it through, he'd have taken it all back. He would've relearned all the songs, all the words he wrote for Mingyu. He would've learned how to sing them all over again, how to mean it without living in it.

Hell, didn't he already do it? Hasn't he already relearned how to live around Mingyu? With Mingyu? Hasn't he learned how to leave the love behind? How to move on?

Jihoon blinks, floored by this sudden realisation. "I—I didn't think I could. Didn't think it was possible."

"To do what?"

"To go on… go on being in Seventeen even if I couldn't be with him in the same way. I thought it—" He thought it was over. And then he died. And then it all started again. And he had to force himself to just do it. Grit his teeth. Face the music. And… hasn't he come out the other side now?

Seungcheol's expression shifts, like it just dawned on him that Jihoon actually meant all of that. "Wait. Wait, wait. Are you telling me you were really going to—"

Jihoon gets up. He feels jittery and kind of nauseous. "I'm gonna go. I'll call you later." He leaves Seungcheol with that before slipping his shoes on and then darting out the door.

He's got shit to think over.

⏪

The timing could be better. Really, everything could be better. As it is, maybe Jihoon should just be glad it's happening at all.

Minghao's looking at him curiously. He's not angry. He never was. Something Jihoon's never been more grateful for than now.

The night before, Jihoon spent hours feverishly listening and re-listening to Minghao's EP. He kept reading and re-reading the translated lyrics. Over and over and over, like he could unravel it all to get to the core of Minghao's feelings for him.

You wrote Cold Love about me, Jihoon wants to accuse. All those words, all those feelings, all packed into three minutes. Never once did Minghao ever let it show.

"I think we should write a song together," Jihoon blurts out. Like he doesn't know how else to start this, how else to express what he wants to get across.

Minghao seems… sceptical. "You do?" Jihoon's going to throw up. "I'm just not sure our styles really… mesh, you know? You—"

"I listened to your EP," Jihoon cuts him off to say.

Minghao blinks. "You did?"

"I did. I liked it." I think some of those songs were about me. Or at least I hope they were. I hope you still mean them. I hope there's still something here. I hope I'm not too late. "It—yeah, it's not really the type of sound I'd normally go for but I can—we can meet in the middle, I think. I'd like it if we could."

Something flits across Minghao's face, too fast for Jihoon to catch. He does seem to soften slightly, though. More receptive to Jihoon now. Or at least to the prospect of the two of them making a song together.

"Okay," Minghao agrees eventually. "We can give it a try."

Jihoon's shoulders relax. "Okay. Good."

"I already started writing a song, actually," Minghao tells him.

"Oh yeah?"

"It's a love song."

Jihoon tenses right back up. "Oh."

Minghao smiles lightly, then he pulls his phone out of his pocket and goes straight to something in his notes app before handing it over to Jihoon.

The lyrics are in Chinese, but Jihoon scrolls down to find a half translated version in Korean underneath. As he begins to read, he can feel the temperature in the room drop a few degrees.

It's sweet. Really sweet, actually. All about the beginnings of affection. A new love starting to take root. Jihoon can hear his heartbeat rattling in his skull. This can't be about him, not after everything. Not after Cold Love.

The optimism and hope is hard to stomach.

Jihoon blinks away the dread and smiles painfully at Minghao. "The lyrics are nice. Romantic."

"Yeah?" Minghao's smile is genuine, maybe even a bit amused. "You don't think it's too sappy?"

"No. It's—" great, he wants to say. "Who's it about?" He asks instead.

Minghao looks at him. Through him. Like he knows exactly what Jihoon's thinking. Jihoon shifts on his feet a little uncomfortably, but doesn't take it back. Eventually, after watching him squirm for a bit, Minghao finally smiles.

He steps in closer. Jihoon holds his breath, doing nothing but watching silently as Minghao bends over to tap at the phone screen, scrolling up to the top of the note and then pulling it down to reveal the date.

It was last edited in 2021.

Oh.

"It's an old one, but I just couldn't bring myself to get rid of it," Minghao says.

Jihoon's heart settles. "I could help you," he offers, just a bit too quick. "To finish it." Minghao just continues to look at him. "If you think it still has… potential."

Minghao's face is carefully neutral. "Do you?"

He pushes it back to Jihoon, naturally. Jihoon places the phone down and takes one of Minghao's hands in his. Minghao lets him, lets Jihoon pull him closer, lets Jihoon lean up to kiss him.

Jihoon kisses him soft, careful, like they're right back at the start. Doing it all over again. Minghao, mercifully, kisses back, bringing his free hand up to cup Jihoon's cheek.

It's brief. Chaste. Jihoon pulls back feeling broken apart all the same. Born anew, put together again at the touch of Minghao's lips.

"Myungho, I love you," Jihoon confesses. I think I can survive this.

This time, he just might. At the very least, it's worth a try. It's always worth a try.

Minghao smiles. It lights up his whole face. He tells Jihoon, "I love you too," before leaning in to kiss him again.

⏩

At the cusp of thirty for the second time, Jihoon decides to finally try letting go.