Archive of Our Own

Jisung is just staring, spilled milk covering their cluttered table, heading toward one of the utility bills for the month. It takes a moment to jump into action. Jiyu is staring at him with wide eyes, her small hands outstretched, and for a moment he’s torn between scooping her up close to his chest and cleaning the fucking milk and grabbing the bill and stepping into oncoming traffic and-

“Appa? I’m sorry. It was an accident,” she says, and Jisung snaps out of it, smiling over at her and shaking his head. He’s trying his damnedest to not instill his own anxieties into her. He’s maybe failing.

“It’s okay, baby bear. Nothing a rag won’t fix!” He assures, reaching over to ruffle her still-wet hair.

And it’s true. The counter is cleaned a minute later. The bills are dry, and Jisung’s hands are washed. He pours Jiyu a new glass of milk, setting it out for her and dipping to press a gentle kiss to the crown of her head.

Sometimes, he misses the way she smelt as a baby. The faintly sweet, clean fragrance of a newborn baby isn’t the kind of thing he ever expected to think about. Then again, maybe he misses that time in Jiyu’s life for any number of other reasons.

Jiyu takes a gulp of her milk, and this time, when she sets down her cup, it’s with painstaking care. Her upper lip is white, and Jisung grins, reaching out to tap her nose.

“You’re very messy, baby bear. What will your teacher think?” he says, and Jiyu giggles, making a show of licking her lips.

“Seonsaengnim thinks I’m cute.” She gulps down the rest of her milk before she runs off toward her bedroom, little feet padding against the laminate floor.

The apartment is perpetually a mess. Jiyu leaves her toys and books everywhere, and Jisung is too exhausted to care about them much. No one ever comes over anyway, not really. Changbin and Hyunjin come occasionally, but that’s it. And it isn’t frequent enough for him to worry.

It’s been a long week.

No, it’s been a long three years. His entire body aches most days, and he still struggles to sleep through the night.

Most days feel a bit brutal like he’s rubbing salt in every wound. They’re never deep enough for him to bleed out, just a million paper cuts scattered across his soul.

The air pollution is bad today, painting the sky a hazy shade of grey. It paints his bedroom drearily. He would give almost anything to crawl back underneath his covers and stay there. Instead, he goes through the motions. Button his shirt. Pull on his pants. Tie his tie. Run his hands through his hair.

The dark circles are getting concerning. Maybe no one will look at him long enough to notice it. That would be a small mercy, Jisung thinks. He deserves that at the very least.

When he finally makes his way back toward the living room, Jiyu is already dressed in a rainbow dress that she picked out herself, and Jisung’s heart settles when he sees her kicking her small feet on the couch.

“Ready?” he asks, and she looks up at him, smiling so wide her mochi cheeks bunch up. She got that from him. She’s gotten a lot from him, both good and bad. Having a kid is like having a mirror sometimes.

“Ready,” she agrees, climbing down and running toward their shoes.

He’s lucky. He knows that he’s gotten lucky. She’s an easy kid, usually excited and sweet and happy to be here. Jisung wishes he had a little bit more left in him at the end of the day, but he’s like an empty cup.

“And then, Appa. Appa are you listening? After that, the robot is under the water and Pororo has to go and save him so that the water doesn’t hurt and so the mean sharks don’t try to eat him,” Jiyu chatters while they walk.

“Mm, I’m listening.” He placates. They watch Pororo together. He’s seen the episode. He knows how it goes.

“Seonsaengnim said that we shouldn’t lie because then bad things might happen. I think sneaking is kind of like lying, right?”

“That’s right, bug,” he agrees, swinging their hands.

They miss the bus. They always miss the damn bus, and the next one doesn’t come for almost twenty-five minutes. He looks at his watch, “Shit.”

“Bad word,” Jiyu says sagely, and Jisung lets out a drawn-out sigh.

“That’s right, but I’m a grown-up. And we can say bad words when we miss the damn bus,” he counters, and she narrows her eyes. Sometimes, she looks so much like her mother that it steals the air from his lungs.

Right now, her head is tipped to the side. She’s watching him with careful eyes, and he checks his watch again. One minute has passed. Fucking great .

His shirt is sticking to his back where the skin is sweat-damp when he slides into his chair at precisely nine. He grimaces, peeling the shirt free. Jiyu was late for Kindergarten (again), but he’s here. And he’s on time thank god.

“Busy morning?” Changbin drawls. The right corner of his mouth tilts up. Jisung rolls his eyes, not dignifying that stupid question with a response.

“Not all of us live in a fucking officetel across the street from the damn office,” he grumbles, “And some of us have other responsibilities.”

“How’s the princess this morning?”

“She’s great, sweet as ever. It isn’t her fault I’m always running behind,” he says, voice softening, “Sorry I snapped. I’m just…”

“Exhausted,” Seungmin says, popping up from his own desk and smiling brightly, “Listen, I know I’ve already offered, but I would be remiss if I didn’t just remind you that-”

“Sex is a great stress reliever,” Changbin and Jisung say in unison, words monotone.

“I’m just saying. If you ever-”

“God, you two are so fucking weird. Seungmin. I am not going to sleep with you. I don’t think your boyfriend would appreciate that much,” he says, and Seungmin grumbles something so quietly that Jisung can’t make out the words.

“We’re having dinner. Are you down?”

“When?” Jisung says before immediately mowing over whatever Changbin’s answer is, “Actually, no. I don’t have time for Dinner. I have a parent teacher conference on Wednesday, and Jiyu starts dance this week. And therapy on Friday. And maybe sleep this weekend, but probably not sleep this weekend. Maybe, in thirteen years when Jiyu goes to college, I’ll be able to get some fucking sleep,” Jisung rants, and Changbin sighs. 

“Saturday. We’re having dinner on Saturday, and it’s at mine, so Jiyu is more than welcome to come. You know Jinnie would die for her. He’ll entertain her the entire time. We could-”

“Absolutely fucking not. I’m not ruining Hyunjin’s dinner party with my bullshit.” Jisung tries to put his password in four times before he’s finally successful. His desktop is littered with a million documents, most of which are only half dealt with. 

“Sung, you seriously need-”

“Jisung-ssi, the KBS project was due yesterday, and you haven’t submitted it,” Jisung’s supervisor drawls with narrowed eyes. His cheeks are immediately red, and his eyes scan the desktop. 

“Sorry, bujangnim. I’ll send it over now,” he says, and his senior scoffs. 

“Watch yourself, Han-ssi, or you’ll be out of a job,” it’s probably an empty threat. No one does work as well as Jisung does (even if he consistently misses deadlines and forgets about meetings).

“Yes, sir,” he mutters to himself. 

Jesus fucking christ, could today get any worse?

The woman on the phone had told Jisung three times that Jiyu cannot dance if she isn’t on time. She’s bouncing on the balls of her feet where she stands between his own feet, her small hands gripping the pole in the subway.

He won’t be late. He won’t let himself be late because Jiyu has been asking for months if she can take ballet classes like Dana does. She watched a film and saw a pretty ballerina, and now it’s all she ever talks about. She wants to be a pretty dancer, and Jisung will not ruin this for her.

They get there ten minutes before class starts, and he has never felt so much relief. She’s holding his hand, singing along to some song they had learned in class the day before. He’s still in his work clothes, dressed up and mostly unrumpled.

He has never felt more out of place than he does when he pushes inside. A couple of young women are chatting, each cleanly dressed and folding tiny tutus while they gossip. He smiles woodenly at the woman behind the desk.

“Hi, I’m Han Jisung, and I’m here with my daughter Han Jiyu? She’s signed up for the beginner ballet class, ages four to six,” he says, and she swings his hand from her place below, “We may have spoken on the phone? I’m not quite sure what I’m doing,” he admits.

She smiles kindly, her eyes tracking small Jiyu, “Welcome, it’s so nice to have you two here at the studio with us. We have a few waivers to sign, and I have a handout with rules for you to look over.”

He signs and reads and listens to her carefully practiced monologue about how most parents like to meet their child’s instructor before their first class. He thanks her and follows her instructions to studio B. Jiyu is tugging him along, so eager to finally start her journey as a dancer.

They have to take off their shoes before going inside, and Jisung sighs, kneeling to unlace his oxfords while Jiyu pulls on her tiny pink ballet slippers.

Jisung had fallen down an obsessive kind of rabbit hole when he was buying her gear. The shoes were more money than they probably should have been, and the leotard she’s in had incredible reviews on some dance mom forum. He hopes she fits in with the other kids.

She’s still talking, telling him the names of spins that they said in that movie she likes. She falls silent when Jisung stands to push the door open.

Everything is bright and pristine inside the studio space, and he looks around, taking in his reflection. It goes on endlessly. There are a thousand Jisungs and not a single one looks like he knows what he’s doing.

“Look, Seonsaengnim!” Jiyu says, her voice booming in the quiet room. Jisung cringes, turning to look at his daughter’s teacher.

He goes marble-still, standing there near the entrance. Bile is rising in his throat so quickly, he isn’t sure he’ll be able to hold it back. He’s going to vomit right here on the perfect wood floor. He’s going to ruin Jiyu’s first dance class before it even starts.

No.

No.

This can’t be fucking happening.

Blood is rushing in his ears, so loud that he can barely process Jiyu trying to tug him over to Lee Fucking Minho .

No. No, this can’t be happening right now. He wishes some kind of vengeful god would strike him down here and now.

The worst part is that he looks fucking good. He looks stunning. His face is bare and harder than the last time he saw him, the years between etched away all of the youthfulness leaving him faded into something refined. He’s dressed like a dancer, casually but severely in all black, and a pair of sweats that somehow emphasize his fucking thighs. And Jisung really might throw up.

He looks softer too, somehow. Although if he’s here, he isn’t dancing, Jisung supposes. If he isn’t dancing, there isn’t much reason to keep up with that ridiculous diet he was always on.

“Hello, Seonsaengnim! It is very nice to meet you. My name is Han Jiyu and I am going to learn how to be the bestest ballerina!” she chirps, and oh god Minho is her ballet teacher , “This is my Appa! He signed me up here because he read on the internet that this is the best studio in Seoul, and I am going to be a ballerina. So, I need to-”

“Jiyu-yah,” Jisung says gently, squeezing her hand to remind her to breathe. She does this sometimes, rambling endlessly, forgetting herself. It’s sweet.

Minho’s eyes are trained on Jiyu, very pointedly avoiding Jisung’s steady gaze.

He is dropping then, squatting so that he is at her eye level, “It’s very nice to meet you, Han Jiyu. I promise to teach you well,” he says seriously, and Jiyu giggles, scooting closer to Jisung’s leg, “Class starts soon, do you know how to stretch?”

“I do! My Gym Seonsaengnim says I’m very bendy! Want to see?” she asks, and Minho smiles, his face softening. Jisung is going to scream.

“How about you go over with your classmates and introduce yourself? And then I need you to stretch. Every prima ballerina has to be well-stretched before she can dance. We have to take the best care of our bodies, okay?” Jiyu stares at him like he’s the most magnificent thing she’s ever witnessed before she’s scrambling off toward the other children.

Jisung is still frozen, heart hammering in his chest.

It’s been almost ten years since he’s spoken with Minho. When he straightens up, graceful as a cat, Jisung wants to flee. He wants to run until his lungs burst.

What is he supposed to say to Minho? Hey, I know it’s been a while? Sorry I broke your heart? You look just as handsome as the day you left? Fuck that, Jisung is never leaving his bed again. He’s quitting his job and moving Jiyu to some remote state in America. He’s-

“Parents aren’t allowed in the studio during rehearsals. Go out the way you came and there’s another door. You can sit in the viewing room,” Minho’s words are cold, and he goes to turn away, and every fiber of Jisung’s body is screaming.

“Minho,” is all he says, and he watches his hyung’s body go rigid, taut as a violin string.

“I need to start my class. Parents are not allowed in the studio during rehearsal. Go-”

“I heard you the first time,” he says, and Minho glances back at him with narrowed eyes.

“You may have heard me, but evidently you weren’t listening. It’s seven. You’re eating into your daughter’s rehearsal time.”

Jisung is reeling, the very precarious sanity he’s built crumbling in an instant.

Well, fuck.

There is no room for argument, so he turns on his heels, following Minho’s clear instructions and seeing himself out of the room. He pulls his shoes on and double knots them with trembling fingers while he tries to fight the sea of memories.

He never thought he’d see Minho again. He thought that they left each other in the past. They both made their choices, and those choices led them far from each other.

Except… It turns out those choices led them both here to a stupidly expensive dance school in Seoul, South Korea.

Jisung didn’t even know that Minho was back home.

The observation room is occupied by seven mothers watching the class. He takes a seat in the corner, leaving as much distance between himself and… this as possible.

He spends as much of the class watching Minho as he spends watching Jiyu. He’s clean lines and warm smiles and encouraging words. Jisung might be dreaming. Is this a dream? Is this what dreaming feels like?

It’s been so long since he hasn’t had a nightmare.

Or maybe this is a nightmare. It’s impossible to tell. Is this the best thing that’s ever happened to him? (No, there’s Jiyu). Is it the worst thing that’s ever happened to him? (No, Eunseol’s gone, and she’s never coming back).

Minho teaches them how the class will go before he teaches them the foot positions. Jiyu watches with bright eyes, so alert and responsive. She answers questions when Minho asks and preens when he praises her.

Before he’s even realized it, they’re done. The mothers are chatting idly and making their way out to meet their kids, and Jisung follows.

Jiyu plows into him when the dancers pour out, and Jisung smiles down at her, “Good job, bug! You looked like a proper ballerina in there,” he says and she giggles, her nose scrunching up.

“Seonsaengnim says we have a lot to learn,” she says, and Jisung hums.

“There’s always more to learn,” he agrees, “So what do you think? Want to come back on Thursday for your next class? Or should we try another studio? There’s a really great-”

“No! I don’t want to learn from anyone but Seonsaengnim. Did you know that he used to be a pincipal dancer in Australia?” Her eyes sparkle when she says it.

“Principal,” Jisung corrects, “Okay. We’ll be here Thursday.”

“We’ll have a meeting with the parents on Thursday immediately after class.”

Jiyu is grinning, and Jisung takes a measured breath before he turns to take in Minho once again, “Okay. Do I need to bring anything?”

“No.” The silence feels never-ending until Jiyu is thanking her teacher again and complaining about wanting a snack.

“Okay. Well, thank you. Jiyu loved class, so… I will see you on Thursday,” he says, and Minho nods once, turning to Jiyu.

His entire face transforms, brightening and softening in a way that Jisung will maybe never get to experience firsthand again. Jiyu hugs his thigh, and Jisung balks.

“Han Jiyu, you have to ask before you hug! Minho, I’m so sorry. We’re working on physical boundaries but-”

“It’s okay, Jisung-ssi.” It’s like falling. Not the swooping, airless, soft kind of falling. It’s bloody knees and aching palms. It hurts . He’s never been Jisung-ssi. Not even when they were teenagers. Not even when they met.

“Right. I better get her some dinner,” he says quietly, offering his hand and forcing a tight-lipped smile when she slots her hand there easily.

“Bye, Seonsaengnim! See you Thursday!” She sing-songs. Jisung knows he won’t sleep.

Wednesday is grueling, but Thursday manages to be worse.

The day starts with Jisung waking in a cold sweat, gasping and clawing at the empty side of the bed. It’s vast, stretching endlessly away from him. A wounded noise falls from his lips, and he curls into himself, burying his face in the pristine pillow beside his own.

The clock on his bedside table reads 4:37. He only fell asleep an hour and a half ago. Sleep will never find him like this, with a heaving chest and salt-rimmed eyes.

God, he wants it to stop. He wants everything to feel less like a fight. He wishes vaguely for a time when it had been easy, but he comes up empty. It’s always been like this in some way or another.

He takes a cold shower. He takes a hot bath. He eats a chocolate bar. He stares out the window.

And then, just when he feels like nothing could ever save him, he hears a set of tiny feet against the floor. He turns to see Jiyu there with pink cheeks and drooping eyes. She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Morning, bug. What should we have for breakfast today?”

“Rice,” she says sagely, and Jisung grins, moving to scoop her up into his arms.

She fits there so perfectly, like he was born to cradle her lovingly in his arms. With a gentle kiss to her temple, he takes her to their kitchen, setting her on the counter.

“Mmm, how about an egg too? Ballerinas need their protein,” he points out, and she sighs, her tiny bottom lip jutting out.

“Do I have to?”

“No, but I’d like it if you did,” he admits before pulling a few eggs out of the carton.

She sings while he works at scrambling her eggs, giggling when he does silly dance moves to match her song.

By the time he drops her off at school, everything feels a little bit less like a catastrophe.

The building is unassuming, the third, fourth, and fifth floors of a nine-floor building in the Gangnam area. Jisung feels like it’s a hundred floors tall as he leads Jiyu upstairs for her second class.

Jisung’s throat is full of cotton. He’s felt off-kilter all day, but he’s here. He’s finally here, and he’s in no way prepared to see Minho again. Today, he says hello to the nice lady at the desk and to the moms who are rhinestoning costumes while Jiyu runs off to stretch.

They’re earlier today, a whole fifteen minutes before class starts, and it takes every ounce of self-control he has to not barge into the studio and demand that Minho look him in the eye.

Jisung has thought about Minho’s eyes a lot in the last 48 hours. It happened sporadically throughout the day. He would be making a copy at the machine and remember the way Minho’s eyes used to shine when he got his way. He would type up a report and remember the way Minho’s eyes narrow when he’s scheming. He was waiting for the subway and couldn’t get the image of Minho with glossy eyes out of his fucking head. Those were from the last time they had spoken before Tuesday.

Jisung’s chest is a black hole, consuming and consuming and consuming and leaving nothing in its wake.

He goes to the bathroom and splashes water on his face. His fingers tremble where they clutch the porcelain of the sink. His head aches. His chest aches. His fucking knees ache, and he isn’t old enough to feel this weathered. But here he is anyway, trying not to have a panic attack in a bathroom.

He dries his face with a paper towel and checks to make sure he doesn’t look too awful before he goes to sit in a room full of beautiful trophy wives in their Better Homes and Gardens dresses.

The door pushes in when he goes to open it, knocking into him. He sucks in a sharp breath, jumping back. It’s Minho, standing there in the doorway.

“Sorry,” he says hoarsely, and Minho raises his eyebrows, glancing in the direction of the urinals. Jisung’s cheeks burn, and he steps back again to let Minho come into the room.

He’s wearing concealer. He’s wearing concealer to try and hide the eye-bags, but it isn’t working. His eyes are slightly reddened, a hangover from sleepless nights if Jisung’s memory is correct. Minho’s eyes go bloodshot when he hasn’t been sleeping.

Jisung wants to touch. He wants to trace the shadows below Minho’s sharp eyes. Instead, he clears his throat and makes his way toward the viewing room.

He does a better job of watching Jiyu today, following her small movements and intense stares. She’s enthusiastic, eager to please and perform. Jisung smiles and sits straighter when Minho high fives her.

When the class ends, Jisung watches as Minho hands the kids off to a beautiful young woman who starts chatting with them happily. Minho leaves the studio, and Jisung’s eyes stay locked on the door he left, jumping when the viewing room door slides open.

“Is everyone still here?” Minho asks, and one of the moms with a fancy manicure assures that they are.

Jisung’s thoughts are all over the place. Minho’s hairline is sweaty, and his white t-shirt is sticking to the defined curve of his pecs. Jisoo is looking at him like she wants to devour him whole. Jisung would maybe also like to swallow him whole, but he pretty much obliterated his chances of that ever happening again.

A sharp laugh startles him out of his thought spiral, and he glances at the woman he’s sitting closest to. She’s covering her mouth. Jisung drags his eyes back to Minho and takes a measured breath in.

“Ah, so like I was saying, the winter recital is only four months away which may seem like a lot of time, but we’ll blink and it’ll be here. We won’t start practicing their choreography until October so they can have a couple of months with just the technique. Ideally, we would add a third class for them all so that they can still get all of their fundamentals in,” Minho explains, “But we’ll make it work! At this age, recitals are mostly about building confidence.”

Jisung’s eyes slide to the mirror. He sees Jiyu laughing, her little face scrunched up in joy. He smiles softly.

“When we get closer, we’ll talk about costuming. I just wanted to thank you all again for trusting me with your kids. They’re lovely,” he says, and Jisung swallows thickly, “Alright, I’ll let you all get back to your lives,” he says.

“Ah, we never mind stealing a few minutes with you, Minho-yah,” one of the moms says, and Minho’s ears warm. The left side of his lips pull up, and his eyes narrow a bit.

“Ah, Jihyo-noona, flattering as always. Tell Yugyeom-hyung I say hello, hm?” he teases back, smiling when Jihyo laughs again.

Everyone gathers their stuff and starts to filter out of the room and into the hallway.

Jisung’s eyes are glued to the back of Minho’s head, tracking him while he moves. He’s so human . So much more real than all of Jisung’s memories of him feel. They’re mostly tainted by embarrassment or shame. But right now, all he sees is Minho. Flesh, bone, blushing ears. Jisung’s stomach lurches.

“Minho-ssi,” Jisung says before he’s even really thought about it. Minho goes ghost-still as if he’s hoping to disappear into the room. Jisung waits patiently until he can see the expansion of Minho’s lungs resume.

“Do you need something?” Minho asks carefully, and Jisung swallows thickly. He needs water suddenly.

“Hi,” he breathes out, and it sounds so stupid he wants to cringe. Minho blinks once, his head tipping to the side.

“Hi?”

“Hi,” he repeats, ducking his head and chuckling sheepishly, “I just wanted to say hi. Jiyu looked like she had fun today. So… Thank you. For teaching them so well. I know-”

“I have another class soon,” Minho says, his voice quiet, “So as much as I’d love to stay and chat, I need to go make sure everything is ready. I’ll see Jiyu and you next week.”

“Hyung,” The word comes out mangled, writhing and bloody from Jisung’s lips. Minho blinks one time, and for the briefest second, something painfully human flashes in his eyes before he schools his expression yet again.

“Jisung,” he says, fingers twitching where they rest at his side, “I’m not dodging you or whatever, but I do have a class to teach soon. I need to go. And you need to go get Jiyu.”

Jisung is a lot of things, most of which he would argue boil down to being a goddamn idiot, but he knows when he’s being dismissed. It isn’t cruel (although Minho could never be cruel. Not even when Jisung had ripped his beating heart from his chest and devoured it whole. He decimated the elder in a way that he would typically consider unforgivable. But Minho is still… kind).

“Okay. Sorry. Sorry, yeah. I’ll go,” he says, words quiet in the hallway. He dips away without another glance, afraid to meet Minho’s eyes again.

Sundays always start earlier than Jisung would like. He’s all but begged Jiyu to sleep in, but she bounds into his room at eight every time, calling out to him, a lighthouse on the shore. He peels his eyes open and flinches at the sting before pulling her up for some cuddles.

“Appa, can we go get fish bread?” she asks, and Jisung laughs, ruffling her hair. It sticks in every direction, knotted up on her crown.

“The stalls won’t be open yet, bug. We have to wait a little while. Maybe this afternoon, hm? We can go get some fish cakes and some bread and take a walk. You can even wear your new pink boots that uncle Binnie bought,” he says, and she grins, face splitting open.

He loves her so much it hurts.

She drags him to the door just after noon, babbling about the story her school teacher had read this week and making animal noises in English.

Jisung still looks kind of like a mess, dressed down in sweatpants and a sweatshirt that hasn’t been washed in far too many days. He took the time to put Jiyu back together though, gently combing out her hair and braiding it back before helping her into the shimmering purple tights she had picked out to wear for the day.

The air is crisp outside, the air clearer than it should be for a late August day. He’s just thankful that his favorite neighborhood Ajumma starts selling bungeoppang so early in the year. He squeezes her hand and dances to the silly song she sings about the magpies. He spins her once and then again when she’s captivated by how her skirt twirls.

“Little bug, you seem mighty jovial today,” he says in English, and she rolls her eyes.

“That’s a big word.” Her words come out a little lopsided, but he grins at how much her pronunciation has improved since being enrolled in the too-pricey English kindergarten.

“It’s very very happy. Jovial,” he says, and she repeats him, brows furrowing at the V. Jisung has her say it again a second and third time while they walk.

They get their fish bread and their fishcakes and Jisung watches her chomp down on the snacks, wiggling happily at the taste. They’re still hot enough to burn his tongue.

“Appa, do you think we could learn how to make bread at home? Eunwoo said his Eomma bakes bread every weekend, and he’s been learning too!” Her eyes are wide, and Jisung swallows thickly, nodding while he shoves an entire piece of bread into his mouth to avoid talking.

The red bean burns while he chews, making the ache in his chest falter momentarily while his body worries about the damage to his tongue.

“And they make rice cakes and tteokbokki! Could we make our own tteokbokki? Or- Seonsaengnim !”

Jisung jumps, whipping around to make eye contact with Minho because of fucking course . His hair looks soft, his face too, cheeks rounder today. Jisung forces a smile onto his face while Jiyu runs over to him, skidding to a stop and bowing.

“Ah, good afternoon Jiyu,” he says, offering his hand for a high five. Jisung slinks over.

“Seonsaengnim, do you like fish bread? Appa bought lots for us to eat, and he’s the very best sharer,” she says, and Minho’s lips quirk up into the ghost of a smile. His eyes flit over to Jisung before he hums.

“Is that so? The best sharer? For some reason, I don’t believe you,” he says, and Jisung bristles, bottom lip jutting out.

“Well, that’s not fair,” he whines, peeking into their bag to fish out a sugar cream and offer it, “I’m a perfectly fine sharer, I’ll have you know.”

“Ah, my favorite,” Minho says after he examines the snack. Jiyu preens, gobbling down the rest of her fishcake while Minho eats.

“I like sugar cream too, but Appa-”

“Prefers the red bean,” Minho finishes, eyes widening after he’s said it, “some things don’t change.”

Those words aren’t for Jisung, but he frowns, gaze dipping to his shoes, “Some things do, though. And it isn’t entirely fair to think that people can’t change.”

“Ah, but then where would that leave us, hm?” Minho says, grimacing a bit before he kneels to meet Jiyu’s eyes, “Thank you very much for sharing your sugar cream bread with me… I think maybe you’re the best sharer. Don’t forget your worth, Jiyu-yah. And thank you, Jisung-ah. I have an appointment soon though, so I have to go.”

“Bye, Seonsaengnim! See you soon,” she says, and he nods before turning on his heels and disappearing up the street.

How many times will Jisung have to watch him walk away?

Jisung is haunted. His dreams, his job, his thoughts have been steadily infiltrated by Minho. Now that he’s seeing him, he keeps remembering. They happen in flashes. He’ll see a stray cat and remember the way Minho used to carry cat treats in his pockets just in case. He gets on bus 5601 and remembers Minho’s childhood home, unit 601. He eats some mediocre kimchi and remembers sharing Minho’s halmeoni’s because it was the best.

And as much as he hates it, as much as it makes him lock up and go wistful, he can’t make it stop. The bad memories come up with the good ones. Minho gritting his teeth, his eyes wild with hurt. Minho flinching when Jisung’s words were serpentine. Minho’s eyes the day he walked away.

He wishes he could forget the last one. He wishes he could forget all of it sometimes.

And then he sees Minho again on a Tuesday or Thursday afternoon, and all he can think about is how miserably he fucked everything up. Minho was his best friend, his soulmate, his other half. How do you come back from that?

(Well, that's not all he can think about… Minho’s thighs are right there).

Today, Minho is obviously annoyed. He’s sharper than usual, eyes a bit narrower, shoulders tense. He still chats idly with the moms and talks sweetly with the kids, but even after a decade, Jisung can read him well enough to know that Minho is upset about something.

He sits down for the parent’s meeting and today the kids have shuffled in. Jiyu barrels into Jisung’s side, smacking a kiss against his arm. Jisung pulls her onto his lap, rocking her back and forth idly while they wait for the meeting to start.

Jisung likes when they have Thursday meetings because he has an actual excuse to study the way the years have changed Minho. He can stare openly because he’s supposed to be listening.

“Alright, this first sheet is my proposal for the costumes for the winter recital. They’re simple and not too expensive, but if anyone has an issue, please feel free to bring them up now or with me later. We need to do some measuring next week at our meeting so we can get everything ordered in time,” Minho starts.

The costumes are cute, an icy blue leotard with a soft, shimmering skirt and sparkling tights. He thinks Jiyu will look adorable.

“But the real point of business today is… kind of a big ask. The studio owner thought it would be a nice addition to the program if a few parents would be willing to get on stage. Ideally, we would like to have a few parents from each class to learn a simple routine. I’ll be choreographing, and I’d even be willing to get on stage with you if it would make everyone more comfortable,” Minho rambles, his brows furrowing a bit, “I know some of you maybe have never danced, but I wouldn’t be creating anything too intense.”

Everyone is silent, staring up at him. The silence feels tense for a moment before Minho pushes on, trying to keep his tone light, “Well, don’t all volunteer at once… We’ll need a couple of rehearsals which we can work out after I see who will join me.”

One of the moms stifles a cough, everyone else averts their eyes. It’s quiet for a long time until Jiyu shoots her hand up. Jisung jumps.

“Seonsaengnim?” she says, and Minho hums, his eyes softening when he looks at her, “My Appa can dance really well! He used to dance lots when I was little.”

Jisung gapes, shaking his head while Jiyu talks, “No, no, she’s just being generous. I really don’t dance. I’ve never-”

“Appa is being silly. I want you to dance,” the second part is directly to Jisung. And how can he argue with that paired with her wide eyes? He nods robotically, glancing between his daughter and her teacher. He swallows thickly.

“I mean… if the dance isn’t hard, I could probably find some time to practice,” he says, and Jiyu grins.

“I will make Appa practice at home! We will do our stretches and I can count,” she says. Minho nods, standing for a moment before he claps his hands.

“Excellent, who else will be joining us?” he asks, but all of the moms stay silent, shaking their heads or avoiding eye contact.

“Not me. I’m busy enough as it is. I’m sure Jisungie will do well enough,” Jisoo says after a moment, and Minho sighs.

“No one else, then?” The silence is answer enough, “Okay. I’ll choreograph a duet or something. We’ll find some time to get together.”

Jisung nods. He rounds his shoulders, making himself as small as he can manage. Jiyu hadn’t been entirely lying. He used to dance, especially with Eunsol. They used to move the furniture and dance around their tiny living room together.

Everything he knows, he learned from Minho.

A fresh wave of memories pulls the air from his lungs. Minho’s strong hand in his, spinning him and giggling when Jisung’s resulting spin was clumsy. Minho’s hands settled on his waist, swaying to some pretty music. The way Minho smiled when Jisung learned enough to get through a few stuttering eight counts.

They were teenagers, sixteen years old and clutching at each other like one wrong step would crumble their precarious dance. A pas de deax set to Jisung’s shitty hip hop music.

“Okay, sounds good.” He hears the words, and he knows they’re his own. But it feels like someone else has spoken.

When they’re dismissed, Minho walks over, gaze pressing and unyielding. Jisung feels hunted.

“I need your Kaotalk so we can figure out our practice schedule,” he says, and Jisung just nods, fumbling with his phone while he hands it over to Minho. The dancer doesn’t say anything else to him, complimenting Jiyu on her work today and slipping out the door before Jisung has mustered the courage to speak.

Shit .

Jisung changes his outfit seven separate times before he settles on the first thing he pulled on, black joggers and a black t-shirt with a black sweatshirt pulled over top. The studio is quieter than it is when Jisung is usually here.

Ryujin is behind the desk, typing away at the computer. Jisung double-checks his phone, and then he checks again for good measure. Minho hasn’t answered him.

It’s Saturday morning, and Changbin had graciously agreed to go see the newest Disney movie with Jiyu so that Jisung could come and rehearse with Minho. But Minho still hasn’t answered his texts. He doesn’t know where he’s going or what he’s doing, and he’s about five seconds from a fucking panic attack when Ryujin looks up and smiles.

“Ah, Jisung-ssi! Minho is upstairs on the fourth floor in studio C. He told me to send you up,” she says, and Jisung nods, wringing his hands together and walking back to the stairs.

If you had told him two months ago that he’d be here ready to dance with Lee Minho, he would have laughed. He isn’t laughing now.

When he pushes inside the room, Minho is already there, sitting in the corner and scrolling through his phone, pointedly not answering any of Jisung’s texts. He sighs, making his way over. He leaves his shoes on, mirroring Minho.

“Hi hyung,” he says when it’s clear that Minho doesn’t plan to acknowledge him without prompting.

Minho hums but doesn’t say anything for a while, eyes trained on whatever he’s reading. Jisung stands there in the stifling silence of the studio until Minho sets his phone aside and hauls himself up to his feet. Jisung smiles softly, waving over at his hyung.

Minho raises his eyebrows and rolls his neck, “So I choreographed a duet, but there isn’t much partner work, and none of it is complicated. We’ll dance together, but it isn’t really dancing together,” he says, and Jisung nods quickly.

“I mean, we could. I wouldn’t mind. I know it would take a lot of practice on my part, but if you wanted to really do something cool, we could. I’m not completely hopeless,” he says, and Minho shakes his head.

“No, simple is best. We aren’t reinventing the wheel. Neither of us even wants to do this,” he reminds Jisung, but he just shakes his head, pressing again.

“No, it could be fun. I haven’t really danced a lot lately, but I always had fun when you dragged me into it. So if you want me to stand here and support you and make you look good, I’m down. That’s like half of a male dancer’s job, isn’t it? To make their partner look good and-”

“Jisung, drop it,” he warns.

“Why, though? I know your strengths are a little different than a ballerina’s but like… you could do some supported pirouettes. I’ve seen you do them before. If you wanted to-”

“I can’t do that,” Minho forces through grit teeth. He won’t meet Jisung’s eyes, looking to the left.

“What do you mean you can’t do that? You’ve been dancing for decades and you can’t-”

“Why do you think I’m here, Jisung?” Minho asks, and Jisung has to tamp down the desire to reach out and smooth the furrow between his eyebrows. He blinks once.

Jisung has done a lot of thinking about Minho in the last few weeks. He’s thought about Minho’s eyes and the soft strength of his body. He’s thought about the way his words lilt when he’s speaking to his students outside of the studio. He thinks about a dot of sugar cream sitting in the corner of his mouth from the fish bread passed between their hands. He’s thought about the way Minho’s lips felt on his, more than a decade earlier and tainted by all of what came after.

But he hasn’t thought much about why Minho is here in his childhood dance studio instead of on a stage in Australia.

“I don’t know…you retired?” he says, but the words are awkward, and he cringes when Minho’s face contorts for the briefest second before he schools his expression again.

“Retired? At thirty? Fuck you.” Minho takes a swig from his water bottle, muttering something bitterly too quietly for Jisung to pick it up.

“I don’t know! You always liked kids, maybe you decided to pivot and spend the rest of your time training the next generation of dancers. Some people like teaching! My friend Hyunjin is a kindergarten art teacher, and he literally couldn’t be happier,” Jisung exclaims, and Minho scoffs.

“Try again.”

Jisung worries at the bottom of his t-shirt, curling and uncurling the hem, “You got fired?”

“Okay, if you say one more stupid thing, I swear to god I’m going to-”

“You’re hurt,” Jisung whispers, but Minho goes silent, mouth snapping closed so harshly Jisung can hear his teeth click.

As soon as he’s realized, it’s obvious. He’s spent a few weeks watching the way Minho moves. He’s always been startlingly graceful, light on his feet, and powerful like a feline. He’s always moved like he knows every fiber of his own musculature perfectly. Except, now he’s off-kilter. He’s tentative when he moves like he’s anxious he’ll crumble. Jisung takes a step closer.

“You’re hurt,” he repeats, and Minho’s eyes are trained on the floor.

“Ding ding, we have a winner,” Minho says bitterly, biting back a grimace.

“What happened?” Jisung asks, and Minho clenches and unclenches his jaw three times before he shrugs.

“I was dancing in a show, went to move, and heard a pop. Fucked up my Achilles, ruptured it. I had to have surgery. I’m still healing,” he says, and Jisung wants to reach out so badly his stomach churns, “It probably wouldn’t have been as big of a deal, but I had just gotten over fucking up my knee. Same leg. I had to learn how to walk again. Dancing is still… difficult.”

Jisung moves forward and reaches out to touch, but Minho flinches away.

“Don’t fucking pity me.”

Jisung shakes his head, pulling his hands to his chest, “I don’t. don’t pity you. Minho-hyung, I-”

“You don’t get to pretend to care now. You made your feelings for me perfectly clear, Jisung. So you don’t get to pretend now. Sorry, you won’t get to show off to your daughter. I’m sure she’ll get over it, but I’m not some-”

“That’s not fair,” Jisung counters, expression hardening, “I didn’t know. You can’t be mad at me for not knowing that you got hurt. Of course, we won’t do anything that hurts you. Hell, you don’t have to get on stage at all! I can do it alone if it’s better for you. I’ll make a fucking fool of myself if it keeps you healthy, okay?”

Minho is silent, staring at him with narrowed eyes, expression still guarded. This Minho is familiar. This Minho, Jisung still remembers intimately. This is the Minho that lashes out when he feels cornered. This is the Minho that has been beaten down until he’s nothing more than a raw nerve. It isn’t the first time Jisung has dragged him here to this place. It hurts just as much now as it did when he was seventeen.

“I’ll be fine,” Minho says, and Jisung nods, knowing better than to argue. Minho knows his own limits better than Jisung does.

“Okay, so we dance now?” he prompts, and Minho rolls his eyes.

“Did you stretch?”

“Of course, I didn’t stretch. Do I look like the kind of person that has a morning stretching routine? I can barely get out of bed in the morning,” Jisung argues, and Minho sighs.

“Stretching first,” he says, and Jisung agrees easily, watching Minho count and move. He follows the movements, doing his best to mirror Minho.

The studio is quiet except for the shifting of fabric and the soft counting of his hyung. It feels a bit like free fall. Jisung isn’t sure if he can catch himself this time. He isn’t sure if he even wants to.

By the time they get to actual choreography, Minho shows him what they’re doing. He hadn’t been lying when he said it would be simple. Jisung is confident that with enough practice, he’ll look okay doing the moves.

“Okay, show me the first eight count again,” Jisung prompts, and Minho nods.

He explains it clinically, in simple words that Jisung can digest. He shows him where to put his hands and how to shift his hips. He tenses when he does some of the footwork, and Jisung fights the urge to coddle him.

They repeat it a few times until Jisung can do it without flailing. It isn’t much, but by the time his phone alarm goes off, they’ve muddled through a few eight counts and Jisung doesn’t look like a complete idiot (a testament to Minho’s teaching).

“So… I have to go,” Jisung says after he turns off the alarm, and Minho blinks at him owlishly, nodding once.

“Go then,” he says, and Jisung can’t fight back his flinch. Minho’s expression hardens when he sees it, “What do you want me to say? Did you want me to beg you to stay or something? I’m not-”

“Why are you so fucking mad at me?” Jisung demands, and Minho’s eyes go wild for a second before he takes a step back.

“No. I’m not fucking doing this with you right now. I have better shit to do than rehash whatever the hell this is. “

Jisung groans, shaking his head, “No, hyung! I’m serious! I wish we could just talk like grownups. We aren’t kids anymore. We’re adults now, and we’ve both grown and changed and I think it would be nice to-”

“I don’t care about what you think,” Minho snaps, turning until he’s faced away from Jisung, his shoulders curling forward. It makes him look smaller, and Jisung studies his face in the mirror.

His eyes are squeezed closed, and he might be holding his breath. Jisung takes a tentative step forward, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

When he makes contact, Minho sucks in a sharp breath, staggering forward out of Jisung’s reach, “I think you should go.”

“Hyung-”

“Go, Sung-ah. Please just go.” He sounds tired, as tired as Jisung feels. So Jisung whispers his okay quietly and gathers his stuff.

It feels cruel, leaving Minho there in the studio like that, curled in on himself and maybe falling apart. But Jisung knows that forcing himself into Minho’s space won’t help. He needs time. He needs space. He needs Jisung to listen which is something he had been notoriously bad at in their youth

Jisung doesn’t realize how upset he is until he’s slumped in the back of a bus, crying. Maybe someday all of this will be easier.

Tuesdays have become something delicate during his week. The stretch between Thursday and Tuesday night feels too expansive, and he waits with held breath for four days until he can step inside Jiyu’s studio yet again.

Looking forward to seeing Minho is masochistic. It’s ridiculous. By all accounts, it doesn’t make sense, and he should probably spend some more time examining that. Instead, he sends Jiyu off to stretch and says hello to Jisoo and Yeji. He bows to Ryujin at the front desk.

He makes his way into the viewing room and splits his time between watching his daughter, the light of his life, learn to control her muscles and hold her posture, and watching Minho. He tries not to think about it too hard.

Today, his past comes to haunt him twofold.

He blinks once, his hellos dying on his lips while he watches Bang Chan chatting idly with a pretty, waify man tucked under his arm. They look comfortable, and they’re chatting in English. He blinks again. Holy shit.

Holy shit , it’s Chris.

Jisung’s eyes sting, and he shakes his head, “Hyung?” he chokes out. Chris doesn’t notice him, still too wrapped up in whatever conversation he’s having with the guy he is obviously here with. Jisung takes a stuttering step forward, channeling any courage he manages to walk up and interrupt.

“Chan-hyung?” he tries again, and this time, Chris hears him, turning to study Jisung. He suddenly feels sixteen again, too gangly and awkward and angry. Chris doesn’t miss a beat, a blinding smile breaking across his face. His dimples are just as magnificent as always.

“Han Jisung? In the flesh? Damn, dude, it’s been forever. How are you?” he asks, disentangling himself and stepping forward to reach for Jisung’s hands where they’re curled into fists at his side. Chris squeezes once, and Jisung lets out a shaky breath.

He hasn’t seen Chris since they were kids, really. He looks good, strong and smiling, and honeyed from the Australian sun. He looks happy.

“Hyung.” It’s the only word Jisung can manage at first. He shakes his head, stunned until he remembers that they don’t really know each other anymore, “Sorry. Sorry, I know we aren’t-”

“No, stop that. I’ll always be your hyung, Sung-ah. Don’t be ridiculous,” he says it like it’s simple. It’s easy. Before Jisung can convince himself not to, he’s wrapping his arms around Chris’s shoulders, tugging him tight and hiding in his shoulder.

Chris takes that in stride just like everything else, welcoming Jisung in and rubbing his shoulder blade.

“What are you doing here?” Jisung asks when they part, eyes shiny in the bright light of the studio.

“Ah, it’s always nice to come back home. It’s been a few years, and I’ve been antsy,” he jokes, reaching back to tangle his fingers with the lithe stranger behind them, “Lix and I are on vacation. Mostly to visit Minho. Do you know Minho? He’s one of the dance instructors.” Jisung says dance instructor at the same time as Chris, and they both stare for a minute before laughing.

“Yeah, yeah I know him. My daughter is in his class which is why I am here,” he explains, and Chris’ entire face lights up.

“Wah, my Jisungie is all grown up! You’ll have to point her out to me. I’ll be in the viewing room, you too? Lix was invited into class because he’s special.”

“Shut up. You’re the worst. I’m invited into class because I’m a dancer, you menace.” His voice is low, rich. Jisung’s eyes widen, “I’m Felix, Chris’ boyfriend.”

“Hi, nice to meet you,” Jisung says, shaking Felix’s free hand and looking between them.

It’s weird how everyone’s lives have kept happening without him. He knows, of course, that it’s a silly thought to have. But everyone has made a life for themself, and he’s barely treading water.

“Jisungie and I have known each other since we were teenagers. He’s one of my favorite dongsaengs,” Chris says, and Jisung’s eyes sting again. It’s his fault they haven’t spoken in years, but Chris doesn’t seem angry at him.

“Your English is incredible,” Felix says, and Jisung laughs, nodding mechanically.

“Thanks, I lived abroad for a lot of years, and went to an international school,” he explains, and Felix nods.

“Lee Felix, if you aren’t in this room in thirty seconds, I’m locking you out,” Minho calls from the doorway, and Felix squeaks, turning to press a peck to Chris’ cheek before he runs off.

It’s sweet. They obviously adore each other. Jisung’s chest aches, “C’mon, we’re this way too,” he says, guiding Chris into the viewing room and dropping down next to Jihyo who nudges him with her elbow.

“I was starting to think you weren’t watching today,” she teases, and Jisung pouts.

“I’m always here. Have a little faith.” Jihyo laughs while he turns to survey the room.

Jiyu is at the barre, her tiny hand curled around the wood. He gets lost for a moment before Chan whispers, “That one is yours, right? She has your nose.”

“Yeah, Jiyu. She’s the sweetest. You’ll have to say hi. I’m sure she’d love to have another uncle,” he says, and Chris beams, nodding.

“Of course! I love kids. Felix keeps talking about having one of our own, and it’s kind of giving me baby fever which is ridiculous.” They laugh, and Jisung studies Felix, the way he moves. He’s stunning.

“They danced together? Minho and Felix? He’s very handsome, and he seems nice. How long have you two been together?” Chris hums, trying to stifle his smile.

“He is, isn’t he? So beautiful. We met six years ago. We’ve been together for five. I’m going to propose, actually. I have a ring and everything… just nervous, not that I think he’ll say no. He’ll say yes. You know how it is.”

Jisung nods, remembering how nervous he had been before getting the nerve to ask Eunsol to spend the rest of their lives together. He remembers the way the ring burned a hole in his pocket.

“Congratulations, hyung. I’m so happy for you… and I’m sorry. That I stopped answering your calls. I was a stupid-”

“Sung-ah. Don’t worry about it, okay? I get it. We were kids. You were going through a lot,” he says, and Jisung’s throat constricts. He doesn’t deserve such kindness, but Chris gives it freely. He always has.

They’re quiet for most of the class, watching with rapt attention while Felix dances for the kids, showing them what rigorous training for your entire life creates. They follow him eagerly, obviously enamored by him.

When class is over, Jiyu runs over to Jisung and wraps herself around Jisung’s leg, “Appa! Did you see!? Yongbok-seonsaengnim danced for us! He’s a real ballerina in Australia!” She exclaims, and Jisung scoops her up, smiling warmly.

“Yeah, bug. I saw. He’s very talented, hm?”

“I want to be just like him and Minho-seonsaengnim someday! I wanna dance in Australia,” she vows, and Jisung nods, hugging her a little tighter.

“Well, you better keep practicing then. Your English too,” he says, and she nods, immediately switching to her non-native tongue. She’s eager to practice.

“I want dance in Australia. Yongbok teacher says it is pretty,” she says, and Jisung hums, spinning around once.

“You want to dance. Yongbok teacher says it’s pretty,” he corrects, chuckling when she huffs, “It is pretty. You would like it there, I think. I’ll take you when you’re a little older.”

She grins, her cheeks bunching up. Jisung remembers Chris then, turning to meet his gaze.

“Ah, Jiyu-yah. I want you to meet someone. This is my hyung, Chan. Or Chris? He lives in Australia too, and he wants to say hello,” Jisung rambles, and Jiyu studies him, smiling over. She wriggles in Jisung’s grip until he sets her down.

“Hello, keunappa,” she says simply, and Chan sucks in a sharp breath, his eyes softening. He takes a step closer.

“Hello, Jiyu. You danced very well in class. I can’t wait to see you in a ballet someday,” he says, and Jiyu preens, wriggling to be let down. Once she’s free, she hugs Chris’ legs, looking up at him.

“I will be the bestest ballerina in the whole world. Like Felix-seonsaengnim,” she says, and Chris bends to hug her back. He seems a little lost, not entirely sure what to do. Jisung watches on fondly.

They chat idly, Jiyu telling Chris about school and dancing until Felix is making his way over with Minho. He’s watching Chris with a strange look on his face, equal parts fond and hungry. Jisung wonders if anyone will ever look at him like that again.

When Jiyu notices her teachers, she grins, turning and telling Felix the same thing she told them, excited to dance in Sydney just like they both have. Jisung is studying Minho, the way his gaze hardens at the mention of Sydney. He encourages her gently, kind as ever, but he seems thrown off.

Felix pulls out his phone to show Jiyu some pictures of the hall, telling her all about it. Jisung checks his watch, moving to grab her hand.

“Ah, Jiyu-yah. I know you love talking with everyone, but we should go. I’m sure they all have things to do, and-”

“We’re having dinner,” Felix says suddenly, “You should come. It isn’t every day you get to see an old friend, and I know it would mean the world to Chris.”

“Oh, no. I couldn’t intrude,” Jisung says, and Felix rolls his eyes.

“It’s not an intrusion if you’re invited. Besides, I would love to get to know you better,” he gushes, and Jisung’s fingers tighten minutely on Jiyu’s hand.

“I need to get Jiyu home.” He’s trying to give them an out, a reason to leave him behind and return to the lives they’ve built without him. Chris steps closer, nodding. But Felix juts out his chin.

“Well, I would never complain about having a small friend at the table. We’ll just go somewhere that Jiyu will eat, and she can join us too,” Felix says, leaning down to squeeze the fat of Jiyu’s cheek. It makes her giggle.

“She has another class, actually. She takes an art class on Tuesday nights, and she spends time with her friend Dana. Dana’s mom takes them to class, but she does dinner with them first, and she can’t be late, so-”

“Even better,” Chris says pointedly, “No offense to you, milady,” he kisses the back of Jiyu’s hand, pulling another laugh out of her. She reaches out to poke his dimple, “Get Jiyu to Dana’s and then meet us at the restaurant. Give me your kaotalk, and I’ll send you the address.”

Jisung opens his phone and passes it to Chris while he talks, “It takes almost an hour to get over there. You really don’t need to wait up for me. I’d love to go to dinner with you, but there’s no reason for you to rearrange your schedule for me. I-”

“Sung-ah," Chris admonishes, shaking his head, “We weren’t going out until later anyway. You’re coming.”

And Jisung can’t find another argument. He nods slowly, looking between the three men.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. I’ll be there.”

Jisung’s practically vibrating with anxiety when he steps into the restaurant, his eyes scanning until he catches Felix’s eyes. He raises his hand, and Jisung forces a smile onto his face. They look comfortable, Chris’ hand wrapped loosely around a beer. He pushes forward.

The open seat is next to Minho, and he sits down gingerly, regretting every decision that has led him here to this moment, “We’re so happy you could make it out, Jisung-ssi,” Felix muses, and he just nods for a moment.

“Yeah, thanks for inviting me. I don’t get out much y’know. Kids take a lot of time. And energy. And attention. It’s busy,” he explains, and Chan nods.

“No kidding. I think it’s so sweet that you have a baby. Where’s mom?” he asks, and Jisung goes still. He doesn’t talk about Eunsol that often. People don’t usually ask, and he isn’t exactly jumping to bring it up.

“Oh, uh… she’s not here exactly. Single parenting is a lot more difficult than co-parenting was, but I make do. And Jiyu is an angel. She’s really worth everything.” Jisung says, and Minho sips his beer.

“So what, you’re divorced then?” He asks, and Jisung is quiet for a moment.

“Widowed, actually.”

It would be funny if Jisung didn’t feel like he was drowning. Felix’s eyes get comically wide, and Chan sucks in a sharp breath. Minho has gone still beside him, and no one says anything for a minute. Of course, they don’t. What do you say to that?

“Shit, Sung,” Chan says eventually, and Jisung shrugs, gaze dropping to his hands.

“I’m sorry,” Minho says, whisper-quiet, and Jisung shakes his head.

“No, don’t be. It’s been a few years. It’s been a very long few years, but I’m not as fragile anymore. You don’t have to worry about me spontaneously bursting into tears or anything.” The words are light, but no one is laughing.

“What was she like?” Felix asks, and Jisung’s gaze snaps back up, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, of course. But my Grandma used to say that she loved when people would ask about grandpa, that it was nicer to think about him than about… y’know.”

Jisung nods slowly, “She was incredible, maybe the smartest person I’ve ever known. She was gonna be a doctor, finished school and everything. She was pregnant with Jiyu during her intern year, and she was an absolute legend. She never complained. She was always funny and kind and… I miss her,” he says simply, and Felix is smiling so kindly it makes his chest ache.

“She sounds amazing,” he says, “How long were you together?”

“Just over five years. My parents were less than thrilled that we were doing everything so fast, but maybe I would have gone faster if I’d known,” he says, shaking his head, “And to be fair, Jiyu wasn’t exactly planned. We wanted to wait a while before having any kids, but shit happens. And it’s true what they say about kids, I didn’t even know I was capable of loving someone so much. It like rewired my brain or something.”

“You have help though, with Jiyu, right? You aren’t doing everything by yourself?” Chan asks, and Jisung shrugs.

“My parents still live abroad,” he says, and Chan and Minho both nod, “Her parents live in Australia, so they’re not exactly close. They visit, and my friends Changbin and Hyunjin and my brother help me from time to time, but it’s mostly just me.”

“Wow, Sung. I had no idea. If I had known-”

“Please, you don’t even live here,” Jisung reminds him, shaking his head, “I’m fine. It’s been hard, but I’m okay.”

“What happened?” Chan asks, and Felix glares at him.

“ Christopher .”

“No, It’s okay. I can talk about it, honest. We were in a car accident. A drunk driver blew through a red light and hit the passenger’s side. She was gone before paramedics were on scene.”

“We?” Minho asks, anxiety seeping into his voice, “Was Jiyu-”

“No, no , thank god. My parents were in town, and they were watching her for the night so we could go out to dinner. Just us. And I walked away with nothing more than a minor concussion.” His smile is bitter, and the silence that settles is the loudest thing he’s ever heard.

'“Well, enough about that,” Jisung says, clapping his hands, “Please, someone talk about literally anything else.”

“Jennifer lost her shit in rehearsal a couple of weeks ago, and Maurine told her to get the hell out,” Felix says to Minho whose eyes widen.

“Good, she deserves it. She’s the most entitled person I’ve ever met,” Minho counters, and Felix laughs, nodding.

“Yeah, come back and take her off my hands, will you?” he says, and Minho kicks him beneath the table. Jisung is just happy to have the attention off of him. Chris keeps looking in his direction. He tunes out Most of Minho and Felix’s conversation, eyes trained on the table or Felix’s freckles or Chan’s smile.

When Jisung was four, his mom bought him a stuffed squirrel for his birthday. It had a soft, fuzzy tail, and he took it around with him everywhere. There were a lot of different people at his preschool, kids from all over the world shoved into tiny desks beside each other, and he refused to let go of his squirrel.

One day, an older boy stole it away and threw it in the mud. His Eomma cleaned it and made her all shiny and new again. But he was afraid to hold it, worried to talk, to speak with his peers in class. He went from cheerful to withdrawn, and he still hasn’t quite escaped that nagging fear that everything he’s ever loved will be ripped away from him.

At some point, he started doing the ripping himself.

Jisung’s leg is bouncing, rhythmic and quick beneath the table when their meat comes. Minho instantly grabs the tongs, taking on the job of grilling. Jisung’s shoulders are tense.

He keeps tapping, tapping until he feels a hand on his elbow.

He jumps, shocked back into the moment by Minho’s sturdy hand on his skin.

His gaze snaps up, but Felix is saying something to Chris, squeezing his hand before slipping out of his chair and heading to grab more lettuce. Minho is studying Jisung with an impassive look in his eyes.

“Your bouncing is distracting,” he says quietly, and then his hand is gone and Jisung is untethered.

“Sorry. Sorry, hyung, I-”

“Don’t apologize for that. It’s stupid,” Minho says casually, rolling his shoulders.

Chan watches them with a small smile on his face, “You two should spend some time together. You’re both alone here. It might be nice to have a friend,” Chan says, speaking in Korean now. Jisung wonders absently if Felix speaks Korean well or if they’ve settled into English because it’s what the other three are used to speaking with each other. Minho hums.

“Ah, we’re both busy, I think,” Minho says, and Jisung bites back a wince.

“Don’t be stupid. No one is too busy to have a friend. And it’s nice to not be alone. You shouldn’t be alone,” he says, and Jisung smiles shakily, shrugging his shoulders.

“I’m used to it by now. If Minho-hyung doesn’t have time to hang out with me, I can respect that,” he says, and Minho blinks once, flipping over their samgyeopsal and sighing.

“Listen, I just don’t think it’s responsible for me to just agree to spend time with someone when I have so much going on,” he says, and Chan laughs, his eyes widening.

“So much going on? Min, the other day, you sent me forty-seven texts detailing everything Doongi was doing while you were home? You have class and PT, but isn’t that it? Lix said you don’t have any-”

“If you keep talking, I’m going to shove these scissors down your throat, Christopher Bang,” Minho says, pulling them out of their container and pointing them at Chan blade first. Everyone is quiet for a second before Jisung giggles.

“Wow, you have two friends, and you’re really that ready to make it one?” he says, and Minho makes an affronted noise, turning his attention over to his seatmate.

“I have more than two friends, you little shit. I swear to god, if either of you says one more thing, I will cut your tongues out. What do I need to do to get some respect around here!?” Minho demands, but they just laugh, amused by Minho’s plight while Felix slides back into his chair.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, and Minho glares.

“They’re ganging up on me. I swear, Yongbok-ah, you’re the only one who loves me,” he says, and Felix hums.

“Does that mean I get custody of the cats if you mysteriously go missing?” he asks, and Minho makes a pained noise.

“What, you’re going to kill me now? This is ridiculous. I want to go home.”

“No, you don’t,” all three of them say in unison, and Minho huffs, going silent and tending to the meat.

Jisung smiles, really smiles for the first time at something that isn’t Jiyu in a long time. Chan meets his eyes from across the table and winks.

“So, maybe you guys should exchange kaotalks… I know it would make me feel a little better if I knew my favorite dongsaengs weren’t so alone out here,” he says, and Minho raises his eyebrows, cutting their meat with practiced precision before he speaks.

“Ah, we already have each others’ kaotalks, old man. Keep up,” Minho says, and if anyone notices that Jisung’s cheeks go pink, they’re merciful and don’t point it out.

It’s the first time Jisung has really seen Minho since dinner, and the air is charged with something new.

When he walks into the studio, Minho is stretching with his teeth grit, “Hey, don’t push too far,” he says immediately, and Minho rolls his eyes.

“You’re gonna tell me what my body can and can’t handle? That’s a new low even for you,” he says casually, but Jisung isn’t sure if it’s supposed to be a joke or not.

Instead of responding, he starts his own mini-stretching routine, the one Minho had taught him during their first rehearsal. He starts with his arms, holding each stretch for a count of twenty before he moves on to his legs.

They’re silent while they move, standing a few feet away from each other in the studio. Jisung wishes he knew what to say. Instead, he rolls his neck twenty times and does some kinetic stretching before he turns to Minho.

“Do I have to do any more? It’s not like you’re making me do the splits,” he whines, and Minho rolls his eyes.

“Ah, how dare you ruin our big finish. You’re telling me you don’t have a flawless middle split?”

Silence. And then a giggle bubbles out of Jisung’s lips. He shakes his head, rolling his eyes and taking a step closer.

“Oh, hyung. I’ve missed your weird-ass sense of humor. No one else can say something that ridiculous with a straight face,” Jisung muses, and Minho’s eyes narrow. When he turns toward the mirror, Jisung catches the sight of his ears, pink at the tips. Maybe today won’t be so bad after all.

They start by reviewing the first four eight counts, Minho stunning and fluid while Jisung moves a bit behind, following Minho carefully with his eyes.

“I thought you were going to practice,” Minho accuses, and Jisung’s cheeks warm. He nods slowly.

“I did,” he says, and Minho hums, rolling his shoulders.

“Not hard enough,” he counters, “Watch closely. Internalize.”

It’s so different from the way he speaks to the kids. His words are sharp, expectant. He looks at Jisung so seriously, none of the playful mirth left. He misses it.

He nods when he realizes that Minho is waiting for a response. He counts steadily, moving sharper so that Jisung can catalog every movement. He’s so stunning, it steals Jisung’s breath away. He counts quietly while Minho moves, marking the choreography in his head while he watches.

When Minho finishes, he turns to study Jisung’s face, “Your turn,” he prompts, softer now.

Jisung rolls his neck and nods, “Count for me?”

And he does, a steady five six seven eight before Jisung is moving, thinking two moves ahead while he goes. He’s a specimen, a sample under a microscope, and Minho watches him intently, adjusts the exposure. He feels bare, stripped, so seen it hurts. He wants to scream.

When he finishes, Minho nods once.

“Better,” he says, and Jisung accepts that as praise, “We need to get through twice as much as last time. Try to keep up.”

        Jisung: Hyung.

        Jisung: Hyung, look I found a cat after work today. She looks like you.

        Jisung: Should I take her home and raise her as my own?

        Minho: Could you even keep her alive?

        Jisung: I keep a literal child alive.

When his phone lights up, Jisung blinks uselessly at the notification. He smiles at his phone, loitering outside the school to pick Jiyu up for the day. It’s a miracle that he hasn’t been left on read (again).

        Jisung: She ran away though. Belongs to the street which is unfortunate because I was already looking at cat towers on coupang.

It feels a little like becoming, allowing himself to hope. Maybe he and Minho can be friends. Maybe they can mend whatever was broken. Maybe they don’t have to be so alone anymore.

He’s startled from his musings by a text from Changbin, a selfie of him and Hyunjin in their stupidly large apartment with something on the stove. It’s been a while since they spent any real time together, and Jisung yearns. He’s so tired of waking up alone. And going to bed alone. And wishing to not be alone.

The door to Jiyu’s kindergarten opens, and his baby girl runs out, latching onto him immediately, words tumbling from her mouth.

“Appa! We planted seeds today in science class, and they’re gonna grow and then I get to take it home! We can’t forget to water him, or he’ll die, Appa!” she exclaims, and Jisung lifts her up, propping her on his hip and nodding seriously.

“Well, we can’t have that,” he agrees.

They make their way to the bus station, hopping on for three stops and making their way into Changbin’s officetel. The building is so tall that it makes Jisung’s stomach churn when he looks up. Changbin lives on the seventeenth floor.

Jiyu bangs on the door with tiny open palms, and Hyunjin swings it open, beaming at them and immediately stealing Jiyu from his arms, “Wah, my best friend is here!” he muses, leaning in to pull Jisung into a half hug.

“Missed you too, Jinnie,” he says, and Hyunjin laughs, his face scrunching up with the weight of it.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” he sticks his tongue out before he heads back into their apartment, spinning every few steps to pull smiles from Jiyu.

Jisung slips his shoes off and follows them inside. Changbin is in the kitchen, humming to some top 100’s kpop hit and rapping along.

Hyunjin has set Jiyu on the counter, pulling her shoes off and turning to chuck them at Jisung with a gleeful grin.

“Yah! Hwang Hyunjin, I will flay you,” he threatens, and Hyunjin just rolls his eyes.

“Be a gem and put those by the door, kay Jisungie?”

Jisung grumbles but does as he’s told, making his way back to the entrance and placing Jiyu’s pink shoes by his own. He jumps when his phone vibrates, pulling him out of his thoughts.

        Minho: Smart kitty. Hopefully, a nice ajumma takes her home and spoils her.

Jisung grins, running a hand through his hair and staring at the text. Every time he gets a notification, it feels like a joke. Why is Minho answering him? He’s made it pretty clear that he isn’t happy that Jisung marched back into his life.

        Jisung: What are you up to?

He regrets it as soon as it’s sent. He worries at his bottom lip and stares at their conversation. It goes from sent to seen, and Jisung is tempted to crawl out of the damn window. He hears Jiyu giggle in the other room, and he smiles.

        Minho: Goodnight.

One word. And Jisung traces it with his eyes again and again while he walks back to his friends, the little makeshift family he’s fashioned. Hyunjin is doing some kind of weird interpretive dance, and Changbin is hyping him up, bobbing his head with a spoon in his hand.

“Appa! Hyunjinie-oppa is so silly!” she muses, and Jisung nods, moving to press a kiss to her cheek, watching him go.

“Almost as silly as you, baby bear,” he agrees, and Jiyu makes grabby hands at Hyunjin, kicking her feet when he swoops her up and dances around the kitchen with her in his hands.

It’s so easy for him, making Jiyu smile. He has some kind of magic touch that makes babies adore him. Kids are mystified by his kindness and his demeanor. Jisung envies that. He envies a lot of things about Hyunjin.

When the song ends, he sets Jiyu on the ground and wipes his brow exaggeratedly before plastering himself to Changbin’s back, pressing his face into the hair at the top of his head.

“Yah, you’re getting me sweaty. You need a shower now,” Changbin grumbles, but Hyunjin just burrows further, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like y ou love it into him. Jisung just watches, glances down at his open texts, and smiles again.

“Han Jisung is smiling at his phone!” Changbin declares, and Jisung’s gaze snaps up, settling on his best friends. Changbin is pointing the spoon at him, eyes wild and accusing. Hyunjin is peeking up at him from his place as Changbin’s oversized backpack.

“No, I’m not,” he argues, and Changbin raises his eyebrows.

“Oh, we’re lying now? Han Jiyu, your father is a horrible influence. He’s lying here in my house after I have so graciously cooked him a meal,” he says, and Jiyu frowns.

“Appa, lying is bad,” she reminds him, and Jisung bites back a curse.

“I’m not lying. It’s nothing ,” he argues, and Hyunjin scoffs.

“People don’t smile at their phones like that for nothing. Who is she?” Hyunjin demands, and Changbin grins.

“Or he could be a he,” he reminds, and Hyunjin agrees.

“I’m serious. It’s no one. It’s nothing. It’s just a friend,” he says, and Hyunjin laughs, hand moving to cover his smile while Changbin’s spoon clatters to the counter.

“You lie again! You don’t have any friends that aren’t us!” he accuses, and Jisung pouts, crossing his arms.

“That’s not fair. Seungmin is my friend,” he points out, and Changbin snorts.

“Sure, Seungmin is your friend. But he and Yeni have date nights on Wednesday, and he’s probably in a very compromising position that cannot be discussed with current company,” he says, eyes flitting to Jiyu who is watching their interaction with rapt attention.

“Does your Appa have any other friends, Jiyu?” Hyunjin asks, and Jiyu hums, her lips pouting while she thinks.

“Yes! He has Chan-oppa,” she says, and Jisung frowns, “And maybe Felix-seonsaengnim and Minho-seonsaengnim. They went to eat while I had art class,” she explains, and Jisung wants to call her a traitor.

“Wow, Jisungie is growing up,” Changbin muses, walking over to ruffle Jisung’s hair, “Who’s making you all smiley?”

Jisung swallows thickly and shrugs, “It’s really nothing. I don’t think three texts count as anything.”

“Damn, that smile over three texts? I doubt you’ve ever stared at your phone like that for me,” he says casually, studying Jisung’s face before the turns back to the stove, “Keep your secrets, Sung.”

He leans against the counter, letting out a shaky breath. Hyunjin has gone back to chatting with Jiyu, and he opens his phone again, reading the text again. He wants to say something, but he understands a dismissal when it’s given. Best not to push his luck.

Dinner is an exuberant affair, filled with laughter and kind-hearted ribbing. He laughs until his cheeks ache, and he frets over Jiyu while she tells them about school and dance classes and the documentary on wolves that they had watched a few days earlier.

They chat until Jiyu is leaning into Jisung with heavy eyes.

“Mmm, maybe you two should get home,” Hyunjin says, words gentle while he moves Jiyu to lay on their couch, pillowed on a soft blue blanket.

She dozes, curling up there, and Jisung smiles over at her, nodding slowly.

“Let me help clean up, first?” he asks, relieved when neither of them argues with him.

He and Changbin clear the table, packing up leftovers and washing dishes together in comfortable silence. It goes on like that for a few minutes until Chanbin glances at him.

“We would be happy for you if you had someone making you smile into your phone, you know? You haven’t gone on a date in like… have you been on a date the entire time I’ve known you?” he asks, and Jisung shrugs.

“I went on that blind date Seung set up,” he says, and Chanbin hums, knocking their shoulders together.

“I forgot about that. Didn’t she tell you to not call?” he teases, and Jisung rolls his eyes.

“Turns out women don’t like it when you spend half of the date talking about your dead wife,” he says, and Changbin bites back a chuckle.

“Who’d have thought?” he says gravely, and Jisung dries their bowls, setting them in the cabinet.

“It really is nothing though, hyung. No point in lying to you guys when it’s less than nothing.”

“It’s not nothing if it makes you smile, Sung-ah. I’ve missed that smile.” He isn’t used to Changbin being so serious. They lapse back into silence, and Jisung mulls over his words.

It’s nothing. It is nothing. A few texts from Minho means nothing. Maybe he was bored. Maybe he feels pity for Jisung who is alone and widowed and raising Jiyu. Maybe he felt some weird blast from the past nostalgia.

Or maybe he just wanted to talk to Jisung.

“Hyung?” he says slowly, and Changbin hums, pulling down two wine glasses for after Jisung and Jiyu have left, “If it wasn’t nothing… do you think I’ll be okay?” he whispers, and Changbin’s entire demeanor softens.

He turns to study Jisung’s face, his downcast eyes and the nervous jitters in his hands. He pulls Jisung in and squeezes him tight, “I think so, Sung. And even if you aren’t, hyung is here to help put you back together, okay?”

It might be stupid, but his gaze goes blurry, and he sniffles into Changbin’s shoulder.

It’s been a long few years, and Changbin has been right there the entire time, ready to hold him and laugh with him and tease him. Maybe hope isn’t the worst thing that could happen, but it is terrifying.

“I’m scared,” he admits, and Changbin makes a sad sound, squeezing again.

“Feelings are scary,” he agrees, and Jisung rolls his eyes.

“Shut up, you and Hyunjin were like love at first sight, and I don’t think you’ve ever even fought or anything,” he accuses, and Changbin rolls his eyes.

“Ah, you must be forgetting when he wanted to buy that god awful salmon rug. I was about ready to divorce him then and there,” he says gravely, and Jisung jumps when he hears Hyunjin from right behind him.

“You’d have to marry me first,” he drawls, hugging Jisung from behind, “So maybe we should make an appeal to the government about gay marriage. Also, the salmon rug was stunning, and you lack taste. If I let you design our house, we would have protein powder and weights displayed everywhere.”

“Mmm, baby, you can-”

“I refuse to be in the middle of your weird foreplay. The moment is effectively over,” Jisung says, voice still wavering when he speaks. They both squeeze him again before they separate.

“Thanks for coming over, Sungie,” Hyungjin says, and Jisung nods, smiling at him.

“Thanks for having me,” he argues, and Changbin pats his shoulder.

“We love you, man. You know you’re welcome any time,” he muses, and Hyunjin nods.

“Don’t forget to send us dates for Jiyu’s recital. I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Hyunjin says, ruffling Jisung’s hair before leading the way back to the living room where Jiyu is fast asleep on the sofa.

“Want me to call you a taxi?” Hyunjin asks at the same time Changbin says, “Do you just want to stay tonight?”

And maybe it’s stupid, but he nods, glancing in Changbin’s direction. He doesn’t want to wake up alone tomorrow. They drink wine and Hyunjin explains his most recent project. Changbin tells jokes and Jisung laughs, and when they’re all tipsy and soft and the hour hand has slipped back into single digits, Changbin yawns. They fetch him pajamas, let him take a shower in their fancy bathroom, and pull him into their massive bed without fanfare.

He plugs his phone into the charger and opens it up to read goodnight from Minho one more time before his eyes close.

Thursday comes again, just like it does every week, and Jisung wakes up to Hyunjin’s exhausted face smashed into the pillow. He yawns and presses up, leaving the room to see Jiyu and Changbin sitting on the couch and watching Pororo.

Changbin is drinking a smoothie and Jiyu is eating an egg. He yawns again and smiles, “Morning, hyung,” he grumbles, and Changbin smiles.

“Morning, Sung. We still have a t-shirt from the last time Jiyu was over and she spilled Kimchi juice,” he says, “So she has to go to school in the same pants… sorry.”

He shrugs and drops down beside her on the couch, “Morning little bug,” he says, and she smiles up at him with a mouthful of rice. It’s gross, but he’s hopelessly endeared.

“You can borrow some of Hyun’s clothes,” Changbin adds, and Jisung nods again, stealing a bite of her breakfast.

“Thanks again, Hyung. I know I probably ruined your plans, and-”

“I’m going to stop you right there because you sound stupid. Come on, you know better. We love having you two over. You didn’t ruin anything,” he argues, and Jisung nods, curling up to finish the episode with them in silence.

The day passes slowly, and then he’s rushing to get Jiyu ready for class, running with her through the streets and getting into the studio just in time. Jiyu pushes into the studio and runs to her spot, looking up at Minho with wide eyes.

He smiles at her before his gaze moves to the mirror that the parents sit behind. He stares for a moment, quirking an eyebrow before he turns his attention back to the kids.

It’s been a long time since he’s gone out. It took a lot of convincing, Changbin and Seungmin wearing him down until he finally agreed. It’s lowkey, they promise. It’s simple and casual and just a night at a bar.

Hyunjin jumped at the opportunity to watch Jiyu for the night. He sent Jisung no less than fifty texts with ideas for art projects to try and documentaries to watch. Jisung’s heart clenches. You should let us help more often. You know Hyunjinie always wanted kids , Changbin had said with a sad smile.

And so now he’s here, pulling on the most flattering pair of jeans he owns and a soft sweater. He styles his hair and pulls on an expensive pair of boots that he hasn’t donned in years. He feels… good. Tentatively good. Good enough to push his front door open.

The bar is close enough to where he lives that he decides to walk, welcoming the autumn air. It’s still warm, but the syrupy warmth of summer has faded away, leaving something harsher in its wake.

He pushes inside and looks around, shoulders relaxing when he spots Seungmin’s familiar fringe from across the room. He pushes through the other patrons before he drops down at the table beside Changbin.

“Damn, Sung, you clean up nice,” Changbin muses, reaching out to ruffle Jisung’s hair with a fond smile. He bats his hyung’s hand away, grumbling to himself about disrespect.

“Oh, I didn’t realize we were dressing up. I want a do-over,” Seungmin says, pouting his bottom lip and laughing when Jisung kicks him under the table

“God, you two are insufferable. I take it back. I’m going home,” he says dramatically, and Changbin pulls him into a headlock, clutching at him and muttering a string of threats that sound mostly empty, “Drama queen, Hyunjin-ah is rubbing off on you- Ow! Don’t squeeze me.”

It’s worth it to hear the sound of their laughter, a kind of balm on his aching soul.

One beer turns into three which turns into bottles of soju which turns into Jisung’s easy laughter, Changbin's raised voice, and Seungmin’s lovely smile. 

He isn’t sure how much time has passed by the time they’re looped together and making their way from their booth in the corner to the bar. A familiar figure is sitting there, and Jisung blinks once through the haze of alcohol.

“Oh, Hyung,” Jisung says before he’s realized it, and Minho turns to blink back at him, his eyes trailing down Jisung’s body and then lifting back up to his eyes just as quickly. If Jisung wasn’t already flushed pink from his drinks, he’d have blushed.

“Jisung,” he acknowledges, and Changin throws an arm around Jisung’s shoulder.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you, Minho-hyung. I just wasn’t expecting you,” he admits, and Minho shakes his head, taking a gulp of his Cass before he speaks again.

“Not bothering me,” he corrects, and Jisung’s cheeks feel warm.

“Minho-hyung,” Changbin says, a smug sort of realization coloring his words. Jisung is tempted to hit him or scream or run (but then Minho would be alone with Changbin which is far, far worse).

“I don’t think we’ve met,” Minho says casually, and Changbin shook his head.

“No, you’re the illusive other friend that Jiyu mentioned.”

“Oh my fucking god, hyung, please stop talking,” he says, and Seungmin decides then is the perfect time to add to the conversation.

“Wait, is he the one that you were-”

“If anyone says one more word, I’m going to drown myself in the bathroom.”

“Who’s dramatic now?” Changbin demands at the same time Minho says, “Drowning? Pick something more creative.”

It’s quiet for a moment before Seungmin starts laughing, his shoulders shaking with it, “Minho-ssi is funny, where have you been hiding him, hyung?”

Jisung sighs dramatically and shrugs, “We were here to grab shots, I think. Can we get our shots? I would like a shot,” Jisung rambles, eager for the conversation about him and Minho to be over.

“Minho-ssi, would you like to partake in a shot? I’m trying to convince Jisung to do a tequila shot, but he wants something fruity that tastes good. Thoughts?”

“I was just here for a beer,” he says, lifting his Cass, “It’s been a long day.”

“C’mon hyung,” Seungmin says, leaning against the bar, “Live a little.”

Minho blinks owlishly, his eyes trailing across all three of them before he nods once, “Fine. One shot,” he agrees, and Jisung leans into his space a bit, draping himself along the countertop.

“Something yummy, right, hyung? You won’t make me shoot tequila?” he asks with wide eyes, and Minho stares for a moment before he rolls his eyes.

“Oh, like I could ever say no to you,” he grumbles, letting Jisung pick something fruity and expensive from the menu.

Jisuung keeps thinking about it, the words at odds with the way he assumed Minho still felt about him. Why would he say that? Is it true? When he zones back in, Minho is chatting idly with Chanbin, chuckling at his jokes and smiling kindly.

He has the prettiest smile, bunny teeth and softened eyes leaving something so sweet on Minho’s face. He smiles softly to himself, hoping Minho will never stop.

The bartender sets down a tray of shots, and they each take one. Changbin mutters something kind, and Jisung tips his head back, eyes falling closed as the artificial liquored fruit flavor hits his tongue. When he sets his glass down, Minho is already looking at him, eyes glinting in the low light of the bar.

“Cheers,” Changbin says, smacking his lips and turning to say something that makes Seungmin laugh. Jisung is too busy staring. They don’t break eye contact until Seungmin leans on Jisung’s shoulder and asks why he didn't want to go to a club.

“We’re too old for that shit, Seungmin-ah. Don’t you have a husband to get home to?” he demands, and Seungmin grins, nodding his head and pulling out his phone to smile at the wallpaper version of Jeongin.

“You should get a husband, Sungie. It’s so nice. Ooh! Or-”

“I swear to fucking god, if you are about to insinuate that I should come home with you, I’m going to smash Hyung’s beer bottle over your head,” he threatens, and Seungmin rolls his eyes, straightening up, and looking at Minho.

“He’s so mean to me.”

Minho smiles, turning his gaze to Seungmin and shrugging, “Me too,” he says, and Jisung pouts, his gaze dipping.

He’s been trying so hard to be nice to Minho, to make Minho want to spend time with him again. He wants Minho to feel comfortable and adored and-

“That’s funny because I kept catching him smiling at the phone when you texted him,” Changbin says breezily, and Jisung goes rigid.

“I’ll kill you,” he threatens, and Minho laughs, shaking his head.

“Hm, that’s embarrassing,” is all he says, but the alcohol has made him looser, softer around the edges, and he can’t fight off the ghost of a smile that settles on his lips. Jisung groans, burying his face in his hand, and Seungmin laughs.

“Ah, so that’s why you won’t let me take you home,” he jokes, and Jisung glares at him

“You are all the worst. I’m going home,” he grumbles, and then there's a hand on his elbow, just for a second, light and barely firm enough to get Jisung’s attention.

“Don’t leave on my account,” Minho says before pulling himself away, tucking back onto his stool and taking a gulp of his beer. Seungmin snickers beside him, and Jisung’s cheeks warm yet again.

“One more shot,” Changbin suggests, and Jisung rolls his eyes.

“I said one shot! Now you want more shots?" You’re going to kill me. I don’t even really drink anymore. I’m too-”

“We know,” Sengmin drawls, “You don’t have to. But Bin and I are doing another shot. Minho-hyung, want another shot?”

Minho studies the three of them for a moment before he shrugs, “You keep plying me with shots, and I won’t make my rehearsal with Sung in the morning,” he says before he shrugs, “But what the hell, one more shot won’t kill me or anything.”

Jisung must be in the twilight zone. If you had told him even a month ago that he’d be here, he’d have thought you were losing it. He takes a step up to the bar and orders another round of shots, a mint chocolate concoction that he knows Minho will enjoy.

“You don’t like Mint Choco,” Minho says with narrowed eyes, and Jisung just shrugs, his cheeks pink.

“You do. You all do,” he mumbles, and Minho nods slowly, chugging the rest of his beer and setting it aside. He turns fully to face Jisung and his friends, leaning against his palm and watching them lazily.

“I don’t understand you, Han Jisung. You don’t make much sense to me,” he says, and Jisung swallows thickly.

When they were young, Minho seemed to always be an entire step ahead of Jisung. He could read Jisung with an ease that was almost unnerving sometimes. They were so deeply entwined in each other, it was difficult to peel apart. Jisung frowns.

“Well, if you figure me out, let me know, okay?” it’s self-deprecating, and Changbin nudges him, pouting.

“We’re having fun. No sad face tonight, okay? We’re here so you’ll have fun .”

Their shots are set down, and Jisung grimaces at the mint-colored monstrosity. Minho laughs, picking up his glass and raising it, “To Jisung’s unending stupidity, enjoy ,” Minho teases, and they all toss back their shots.

It goes down thick, and Jisung fights back his gag. He shakes his head after, groaning at the taste.

“God, it’s so bad. It’s toothpaste, but now my mouth feels gross,” he whines, and Seungmin ruffles his hair.

“You did this to yourself, Sung.” Seungmin muses and Jisung groans again, gagging dramatically. Everyone laughs, and it settles his stomach. At least everyone is having fun. Everyone seems happy. He’s doing a good enough job at entertaining the people he cares about.

“Well, it’s already later than I intended to be out, so I’m going to leave,” Minho says suddenly, bowing lightly at them, “It was nice to meet you, Changbin-ssi, Seungmin-ssi. Perhaps, we’ll see each other again sometime,”

“It’s not that late,” Jisung argues, his eyes wide, and Minho rolls his eyes.

“I have cats to cuddle. Don’t be late for rehearsal, or I’ll force you to eat some mint choco ice cream.” Minho says, and Jisung pouts, crossing his arms.

“Hyung. Please, just one more-”

“Goodnight, Jisung,” he says again, firmly but still kind.

Jisung’s shoulders slump and Minho closes his tab and pays for the second set of shots. He says goodbye again, and slips out of the bar, disappearing much like he came: quietly. Jisung’s eyes stare after him for a beat too long, and Seungmin is teasing him, distantly, somewhere far away that seems unimportant.

“Sung,” Changbin says suddenly, and Jisung flinches, eyes snapping over to where Changbin is looking at him expectantly.

“He left his phone. Go give it back, yeah?” he says, and sure enough, Minho’s phone is resting in Changbin’s hand. He nods slowly before he’s snatching it and rushing out the door and into the late evening air.

He turns and catches him walking away.

“Hyung!” he calls, voice too loud in the street. A girl glares at him, and he mumbles an apology before darting after Minho.

He has to weave a bit through bodies and cars, but then he’s there within reach.

“Minho, hyung. You forgot your phone,” he tries again, and Minho stops, facing away on the sidewalk. Neither of them speaks for a moment until Minho is turning, studying Jisung with narrowed eyes before he softens.

“Oh, thanks,” he says, and Jisung nods, passing it over before he takes a large step back.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks, and Minho nods, looking between his phone and Jisung’s nervous smile.

“Yeah. See you in the morning. I’m serious, don’t be late, okay? I have shit to do.” he warns, and Jisung nods.

“I wouldn’t dream of it… and hyung?” he says just when Minho has started to turn away again, “Have sweet dreams, okay? Sleep well.”

Minho goes still once again, and he looks at Jisung over his shoulder, lips separated in a small ‘O’. He nods mechanically, and they stand there in silence for a suspended moment until Minho laughs nervously, “Yeah. Yeah, you too, Jisung. Get home safely.”

Jisung smiles, fiddles with the hem of his shirt, and nods, “Okay. Goodnight,” he says one last time before he turns and makes his way back to the bar. It takes a lot to resist turning and looking back, but he manages to wait until he’s pulling the door open. It’s just a glance, a second of spared time, but Minho is still standing there, staring after him. His stomach flips.

His head hurts. The sun is too bright. The aircon is too loud. Jisung kind of wants to curl up in bed and stay there until night time comes back again.

Instead, he rolls out of the bed, landing in a heap on the floor, sprawling and groaning on impact. He crawls to his closet, pulling down a pair of joggers and sighing. This might be harder than he originally thought.

His morning routine is stilted, and his stomach lurches when he pulls the refrigerator open to eat something. It closes with a resounding thud. Maybe lunch.

It’s a miracle he pulls on matching shoes instead of something random, and he makes his way to the studio with sunglasses planted firmly on his face. At least he gets to see Minho again.

The thought makes him giddy. He bites back a smile, unwilling to think too hard about it. It’s been nice to see Minho out in the world without the constraints of his job and his injury and whatever the hell is going on between the two of them. He likes to see Minho smile and laugh and toss back shots with the entirety of his neck on display. It’s the little things.

He’s exactly on time, bursting through the door and wincing at the sound that rings through the room. Minho looks soft and well-rested, his skin dewy and eyes bright. He smirks, and Jisung meets his gaze in the mirror.

“You look like shit,” he says, and Jisung rolls his eyes.

“I’m here on time,” he argues, and Minho stands, turning to take Jisung in (did he remember to brush his teeth? Or his hair? Why is Minho staring at him?)

“Barely,” is all Minho says, “From the top, Sung.”

“I haven’t stretched,” he points out, and Minho lets out a long sigh.

“Amateurs,” he says, but his eyes are twinkling, and Jisung is fairly certain he’s amused. They go through some simple stretches together, letting a comfortable silence settle while they move. By the time they’re ready to dance, Jisung feels a little bit more like a person.

They’ve worked on half of the dance now, and Jisung has stolen a few minutes every night to run through it in the comfort of his bedroom where no one, including Jiyu, can judge him for looking awkward. When Minho counts off, Jisung steels himself, ready to impress his hyung with his hard work.

They start well, Minho looking stunning next to Jisung’s decent. Jisung isn’t bothered though, committed to doing his best. He watches the line of his body in the mirror and tries to correct anything that looks a little off. By the time they’re done, he’s breathing a little harder, and Minho is looking at him with a curious glint in his eyes.

“So? How was it, Minho-Saem?” Jisung asks, and Minho nods slowly, straightening his spine and turning back to the mirror.

“Not bad,” he says, and Jisung grins, “Ideally, we’ll finish learning it today so we can spend our last few rehearsals polishing everything,” Minho adds, and Jisung agrees easily.

This time, he’s ready.

He’s already at Changbin and Hyunjin’s when he realizes his wallet is definitely still at the studio. It’s not a big deal, just an extra step on the way home. He’ll pick up Jiyu, take the subway back to the studio, run inside to retrieve his wallet, and then he’ll take Jiyu home. Minho probably won’t even be there by the time he gets back. There’s no sense in worrying about it.

He peeks at his phone, wondering if Minho’s noticed. There aren’t any messages so probably not.

His knuckles rap against the door before he realizes that he should probably ring the doorbell. He can hear some running around on the other side and the sound of Jiyu’s booming laughter before the door opens, revealing Hyunjin and Jiyu on the other side, wearing matching grins and with flour streaked across their cheeks.

“Sorry, sorry. We were going to wash up, but I lost track of time! We made pancakes,” Hyunjin explains, and Jisung smiles, scooping Jiyu up and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Well, I think you both look adorable,” he says, and Jiyu giggles, throwing her arms around Jisung’s shoulders.

“Missed you Appa,” she says, and Jisung hums.

“I missed you too, baby bear. More than you missed me,” he vows, and then Hyunjin is pulling him inside so he can take Jiyu to wash her face. He loiters in the living room, comforted by the sound of laughter from the bathroom.

His head still aches, but it’s better now, subsiding after the day he’s had. It’s a good day. Jisung is glad he’s up and about even though he feels a little wrung out. When Jiyu runs out to find him, she’s carrying her overnight bag, and Jisung falls to his knees, ruffling her hair and asking her about the pretty painting she’s holding.

She preens, “Hyunjinie-oppa taught me how to paint flowers,” she says, and Jisung coos, smiling up at Hyunjin.

“Well, if you want to paint at home, you can. I would love to put some Jiyu creations up on the wall. Better than Monet, I swear.”

“You swear?”

“On my favorite blanket,” he says gravely, and Jiyu giggles, scrunching up her nose.

“You’re so silly, Appa,” she says, and Jisung nods, standing to pull Hyunjin in for a quick hug.

“Thank you again for spending some time with Jiyu last night. I never want you to feel obligated or-”

“Oh god, shut the fuck up, Jisung-”

“Bad word!” Jiyu yells, and Hyunjin’s eyes widen.

“Grown-ups are allowed to use grown-up words,” Jisung counters, winking at Hyunjin.

“Anyway, you literally never have to apologize about that. I love Jiyu, and I want to help,” Hyunjin assures, and Jisung nods, scrunching up his nose.

“I just feel bad,” he mumbles, and Hyunjin rolls his eyes.

“Watch out, or I’ll kidnap her and never give her back. She’s my favorite. Sleep with one eye open, Han Jisung,” he says, and Jiyu giggles

“No, that’s not allowed, Hyunjinnie-oppa!”Jiyu accepts Jisung’s hand when he holds it out, squeezing three times and tugging her toward the door.

“That’s right, Jiyu. You belong with Appa,” he says, ignoring Hyunjin’s bright laughter while they make their way outside.

“Don’t be a stranger, Sungie. Come over more often. We’ve loved being a bigger part of your life the last couple of weeks… we were worried about you,” he admits, and Jisung nods, his gaze dropping to his shoes.

“I know. I’m sorry,” he says, and Hyunjin shakes his head.

“No need to apologize. I just want you to remember that we love you. Both of you . Oh, I’m also jealous that Binnie got to meet Minho without me. Apparently, he’s very handsome, and you-”

“Goodbye,” Jisung says, voice tense when he slams the door shut. In the oppressive silence of the hallway, they can hear Hyunjin’s laughter from the other side of the door, “Hyunjinnie is the worst, did you know that?” he asks Jiyu before pushing forward. Jiyu swings her arms while they walk, moving confidently through the hallways and down the street.

“Appa saw Seonsaengnim last night?” she asks tentatively, and Jisung’s entire face heats up. It’s not that he’s embarrassed, exactly. It’s just that Jisung doesn’t know how to approach the subject with anyone (least of all his kid).

It’s complicated. The entire situation is so fucking complicated that Jisung feels like a cornered animal. He sighs and nods slowly, not trusting his voice. Jiyu doesn’t ask another question which would be concerning if Jisung wasn’t so thankful he could cry. 

“We need to stop by the studio, I forgot something this morning when I left rehearsal. It’ll only be a minute,” he says, and Jiyu nods, telling Jisung all about her adventures with Hyunjin. 

Apparently, he had an entire itinerary of activities ranging from painting to dancing to Jiyu’s favorite animated movie. They ordered pizza and made a blanket fort and woke up this morning to make pancakes. 

For a second, Jisung wonders why anyone let him have a child. 

He tries his best to be a good father, to support Jiyu and give her all the love she would get if she had two parents. But it’s a mountain that feels unclimbable most days. He looks up, and the peak is higher, further from his reach. Maybe one day, he’ll look around and find that he never even started the trek. It haunts him. 

They take the elevator because Jisung still feels unstable on his feet, the hangover trying its damndest to keep him from ever doing a shot again. Who thought that was a good idea in the first place? They aren’t college kids anymore. Their bodies don’t bounce back like they used to. 

“Hey, Ryujin. I forgot my wallet in the studio, can I run up and grab it?” he asks, and she nods, smiling from her seat and welcoming Jiyu with a grin, “Jiyu, stay here with Ryujin, okay? I’ll be down in just a minute,” he says, ruffling her hair before he jogs up the steps to their studio space. 

When he pushes the door open, his breath catches. 

Minho is dancing, moving fluidly with a strength Jisung hasn’t gotten to see in years. He has immaculate control of his body, his muscles, the way he moves. It isn’t ballet. Hip-hop maybe? There’s definitely popping, maybe some locking? Jisung has never really known much about dance. Everything he knows is because he’s somehow managed to surround himself with dancers through the years. 

He stays in the doorway, content to watch Minho move, spinning and doing a sinful body roll. Jisung’s eyes trail down his torso, caught on the firm muscle and the newly soft give of his stomach. Minho is still ridiculously fit, more fit than Jisung has ever been, but it’s less severe now that he’s working on healing and isn’t dancing all hours of the day. 

His hair is damp with sweat, t-shirt sticking to his frame, and Jisung kind of wants to lick. As soon as the thought enters his head, heat floods his face. God, Minho is so handsome. 

With another spin, he puts his weight on his right leg. 

It happens quickly. 

One moment, Minho is sturdy on his feet, and the next, his leg is buckling. Minho yelps, dropping on his hip and squeezing his eyes shut. His hands dart out, quick to apply pressure to his leg, cradling his own knee. 

“Hyung!” Jisung gasps, pushing inside without a second thought. He scrambles over to Minho, dropping to his knees in front of the dancer. His eyes dart between Minho’s face (brows drawn, sucking in air through grit teeth) and his knee (clenched fingers, shaking hands). 

“You’re okay, Minho-hyung. You’re okay,” he promises, fingers ghosting along Minho’s own hands. He wants to touch. He needs to make sure Minho is okay, not too swollen or raw or hurt , “Let me see.”

“You’re a doctor now?” Minho grits out, squeezing his eyes shut, and Jisung shakes his head. 

“No, but I am a dad. I have seen a fair few ouchies in my day,” he says, trying for light. It must work because Minho is laughing. It’s a miserable thing, clawing its way from Minho’s heaving chest. 

“I think this one might be above your paygrade,” he says, and Jisung nods. 

“Most definitely, but it would make me feel better to know you aren’t seriously injured,” Jisung says, and Minho shakes his head. 

He slowly untenses, straightening his leg out until it’s down and he’s sitting with both legs in front of him. 

“Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.” His voice wavers. It’s ghost-quiet in the studio, disappearing into the conditioned wood and mirrors. Jisung wonders how anyone lives a life in a room like this without walking out of it too aware of the way they occupy space. 

“Too late. I’m gonna worry,” he says, “I’m always gonna worry.” 

It’s too honest. He knows it as soon as the words tumble out of his mouth, but Minho stays quiet. He drops his chin to his chest and tries to keep his breathing steady. Jisung reaches out tentatively, slowly enough that Minho can pull away if he doesn’t want to be touched. 

He settles a hand on top of Minho’s fist where it rests atop his thigh. He squeezes once, runs his thumb across the knuckles, “You know, it’s okay to not be strong all the time. We all need to be taken care of from time to time. I can check your knee and get you some ice, and then-”

“When did you get so grown-up?” Minho asks, and Jisung’s eyes go comically wide. 

Minho is crying. 

Minho is crying . Minho is steel. Minho is concrete. Minho is his infallible hyung, the only person Jisung has never really seen cry. 

He asked once when they were young, and Minho had shrugged. I don’t cry in front of other people. It only ever makes things worse. They worry and fret. It’s easier to just deal with it myself. 

Jisung breaks. He’s a shattered mirror. He’s a scratched record. He’s a hundred broken pieces of a seemingly useless thing, and then he’s cradling Minho to his chest. He’s up on his knees, one hand curled against the nape of Minho’s neck while the other wraps around his shoulders. 

“I’ve got you, Hyung. You’re okay,” he promises again, and Minho lets out a wet laugh. 

“God, this is fucking embarrassing,” he says, and Jisung shakes his head. 

“Don’t you dare be embarrassed about this. It’s human. You’re human. None of us can be strong all the time,” he assures, and Minho shakes his head. 

“What the fuck,” he whines, “It isn’t supposed to hurt this much,” he admits, and Jisung bites back a whine. 

“Okay, so we’ll get ice and then I can call an ambulance, and we’ll go to the emergency room. Don’t worry about it, Hyung. I’ll take care of-”

“Not my fucking knee, Jisung. Just… everything.” 

The silence is heavy, and Jisung holds tighter, crushes Minho against himself. 

“Yeah. It kind of sucks sometimes,” Jisung agrees, “You think everything is supposed to be one way, and then it gets fucked up and like… how do you reconcile that, y’know? And every day is just like… making it up as we go along. But you don’t have to make it up all alone. It’s okay to lean on someone else sometimes.”

He’s rambling, but it’s mostly just in an attempt to hold himself together. He’s scared. 

“My Jisungie, all grown up. You know, the last time I talked to you. Before… you were like a fucking twelve year old, I swear to god. It’s like you had never had a single rational thought. You were-”

“The worst. I was the worst,” Jisung finishes, and he fights back the thoughts of Minho from the last night they spoke before Minho left for Australia, “And you deserved better. You deserved someone who wasn’t a fucking coward.” 

“It isn’t fair that you grew up and… you’re like an entire adult who makes sense and says rational things and I’m just-” his voice cracks, and Jisung shakes his head, rocking them back and forth. 

“You’re not just anything. You’re Lee Minho. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known, and you’re going to be fine,” he promises, “It isn’t going to be easy, but it is going to be okay. We’re going to be okay.” 

He musters all of the conviction he can. And instead of arguing, Minho lets himself be held. 

It only takes a few minutes for Minho to calm down. His tears dry, and he sniffles before pulling away from Jisung’s chest. He straightens up until Jisung is resting only a few inches above him. Minho wipes his eyes and looks up. 

Jisung sucks in a sharp breath. 

Somehow, Minho is just as beautiful like this, broken and red-rimming and vulnerable. He swallows thickly, and they just stare, so close they can feel the puffs of breath from each other’s lips. 

Minho’s gaze dips, traveling from Jisung’s eyes to his lips. 

He doesn’t know who leans in first. They’d have to watch the CCTV footage back, and even then there maybe wouldn’t be a conclusive answer. All Jisung knows is that Minho is looking, and Jisung is seeing and there is literally nothing he would like more than to taste Lee Minho again. 

Minho’s breath fans across his face, and Jisung tilts his head. His eyes flutter closed, and Minho’s fingers brush against his own hand. 

When the door opens, they both jump, falling apart and turning to stare. Jiyu is there in the doorway, peeking in with a smile. 

“Minho-seonsaengnim!” she says, and Minho forces a shaky smile. 

“Hello, Jiyu-yah. I didn’t realize you were here.” Jisung cringes, glancing back at him. 

“Appa forgot his wallet. Ryujin-unnie said I could come see why he disappeared,” she explains, and Minho chuckles, standing gingerly. Jisung rushes to help him, taking his hands, and offering some support. 

“Ah, I was having trouble with something, and your Appa helped me out. It’s okay now, though,” Minho says, and Jiyu pushes into the room. She smiles up at them, puffing out her chest. 

“My Appa is the best helper. He always helps me when I need it. Changbinnie-oppa says he even helps people when he shouldn’t. He says Appa is selfless,” she parrots, and Jisung scrunches up his nose. 

Minho has a complicated look on his face while he nods, quiet for a minute, “Well, I’m sorry I had to borrow him for a few minutes.”

Minho goes and grabs Jisung’s wallet, offering with a fully outstretched arm, putting some distance between them. Jisung blinks once before accepting it and slipping it into his pocket. 

“I was going to take Jiyu to a restaurant that’s down the street. Are you hungry? I don’t know if you’ve eaten yet today, but if you’re hungry-”

“Maybe some other time,” Minho says, a polite smile on his face. It’s a farce, a curated mask to add to the distance between them. Jisung’s chest clenches. 

“We really wouldn’t mind, right Jiyu-yah?” he says, and she nods. 

“They make burritos! Appa said when I’m big maybe we can go all the way to Mexico. I like burritos,” she explains, and Minho laughs, smiling down at her. 

“Thank you for inviting me, but I should get home. I’ll see you both on Tuesday. Enjoy your weekend.” Minho moves gingerly, picking up his things and hobbling to the door. 

“Hyung, are you sure-”

“I’ll be fine, Jisung. Spend the day with your daughter.” 

They follow Minho down the stairs, and Jiyu says goodbye cheerfully when Minho turns to go inside the lower floor of the studio. Jisung aches to follow, to hold, to make sure Minho’s okay. He wants to know if they’re okay. Instead, he says a quiet goodbye and lets Jiyu pull him down the stairs and toward lunch. 

He has a feeling he won’t sleep tonight. 

        Jisung: Hyung, did you know that baby cheetahs evolved to look like honey badgers from above?

        Minho: Why would I know that?

Jisung snorts, nose scrunching up while he wipes down the kitchen counter. It’s late, and Jiyu is soundly tucking into her bed. He wants to know if Minho is doing okay. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees the pained look on his face (and also the way his gaze went soft and wanting). Instead, he offers this fact, a conversation opener that Minho has accepted.

        Jisung: You like cats. 

        Jisung: It's so the eagles and other animals won’t try to eat them. Because honey badgers are the spawn of the devil. Evolution is cool. 

He makes his way to his bedroom, tossing his phone on the bed while he goes to change into pajamas. They were lazy today, he and Jiyu spent the day curled up on the couch together and eating snacks. They’re so busy all the time, and it’s nice to take a break. 

        Minho: Any particular reason you’re telling me about baby cheetahs. 

        Jisung: Jiyu and I watched a documentary about cheetahs. Any time I see cats, I think of you. 

        Jisung: Cheetahs are big cats! 

        Jisung: And they’re scarier, kind of like you. 

        Jisung: Cheetah-hyung

        Minho: Are you drunk?

        Jisung: No? Just an idiot. Don’t mind me. 

He smiles at his phone, burrowing into his bed and staring at the screen, waiting eagerly for Minho to answer him again. The lights are buzzing, and he’s pleasantly tired for once, not as bone-tired and wide awake as he normally is. 

        Jisung: minho.png

        Jisung: Look, it’s you in your natural habitat

He sends Minho a picture of a cheetah, biting his lip to hold back a chuckle. It’s dumb, he knows. But it seems like the kind of thing that would make Minho smile. 

The picture he receives in turn is a coffin

        Minho: You if you don’t watch it

        Jisung: You gonna kill me? At least take me to dinner first

He’s half expecting Minho to leave him on read or say goodnight. Instead, his phone lights up with a contact picture of a doodled kitten, and his eyes are as wide as saucers. It’s a video call. A video call from Minho. His chest constricts. 

When he answers, Minho is bare-faced and well-moisturized, his skin dewy and clear. His hair is still wet. He glances anxiously at his own picture, relaxing when he sees how normal he looks. 

“You’re texting me in bed?” Minho asks, and Jisung blinks. 

“Would you prefer I text you from somewhere else?” he rolls onto his side, hair falling onto his pillow. Minho rolls his eyes. 

“Cheetahs can purr like house cats. They can’t roar,” he says in lieu of an answer, and Jisung smiles. 

“Aw, that’s so cute. I want to have one as a pet,” he muses, and Minho scoops a cat into frame, petting its head. 

“Maybe you should start with something less high stakes. Like a succulent. Even better, a cactus. You can forget it for weeks, and it’ll be fine,” Minho drawls, and Jisung pouts. 

“Hyungie is so mean to me. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of a cat,” he says, and Minho’s face goes serious. They sit in silence for a moment. 

Why did Minho call? What is he intending to get out of this? Does he have a question? Is he lonely ? 

That seems like the most horrific thing Jisung has thought in a while. Lee Minho might be feeling lonely. He wants to reach through the phone and hold him. 

“How does your leg feel?” he asks tentatively, and Minho sighs, nodding slowly. 

“It’s fine. I’m wearing my brace. My Physical therapist wasn’t particularly happy with me. I’m supposed to be doing smaller steps. I have a very specific training regiment, and I’ve been… deviating,” he admits, and Jisung hums. 

“Listen to your doctor, hyung. I know you want to be 100% again, but you’re doing yourself a disservice by pushing past your limits,” he chastises, and Minho puffs out his cheeks. It makes Jisung smile, hiding his face in his pillow. 

“You have something on your face,” Minho deadpans.

It isn’t that funny, objectively. But Jisung laughs so hard, his cheeks warm. 

“You’re so ridiculous. I missed you,” he says, and Minho’s eyes widen. Perhaps Jisung has crossed over some invisible boundary, but Minho takes it in stride. 

“You can’t have missed me that much,” Minho counters, “You’ve been busy.” 

It’s both true and not: The Jisung paradox. He shakes his head slowly, opening his mouth to say something. Minho pushes on instead. 

“It’s okay, I’m not offended or anything. You hadn’t thought of me in years, I’m sure. Not until you saw me again. It’s fine.” 

It doesn’t sound fine. Minho’s gaze is lowered, his voice harder than before. Everything Minho is saying is both completely factual and the furthest thing from the truth. Jisung thought of Minho pretty often. He thought of Minho when he saw a cat or a dancer or the color mint. He thought of Minho when he saw funny videos that would definitely make his hyung laugh. He thought of Minho when the weather turned colder. He thought of Minho when the leaves turned vibrant hues of orange and red. 

But then sometimes he wouldn’t. For weeks. Or months. After Minho left, he thought of him every day. But a handful of years removed, it was mostly fleeting moments or haunting dreams.

The dreams were the worst. 

Sometimes, there would be months when he dreamed of Minho every night and awoke with only the fading wisps of memory. It left a hollowed-out feeling in his chest. It left him reeling. It left him sunken and gasping and full of remorse. 

And then, a few minutes into wakefulness, the dreams were gone, a hazy smokescreen memory, more pain than substance. 

“I didn’t forget about you,” he says quietly, and Minho shrugs. 

“It’s not a big deal,” he says, and Jisung nods. He knows that. It’s obviously not that big of a deal. What, was he supposed to think about Minho every day? He was married. He had moved on. He had carved a life for himself out of the wreckage of who he was as a kid. That righteous anger mellowed into something softer. 

He considers typing something like how to tell my ex-not-boyfriend/best friend that I didn’t forget about him after I ruined our relationship but he figures that won’t yield many results. 

“You know,” Jisung says, “I’ve never met someone in my entire life who understands me the way you do. Sometimes, I think maybe you understand me more than I understand myself. It’s kind of scary… and other days, I’m so frustrated because you’ve got me all wrong.” 

“Is that so? What is it that I’m missing, Han Jisung?” Minho taunts, and Jisung stares, studying his shifting expression and sharp eyes. 

“Well, you look at me and see the Jisung from a decade ago. He’s still here. I’m not… not him anymore, but that’s not… that Jisung feels like a stranger most days. But you seem kind of convinced that I haven’t changed at all. I hope you’re wrong about me, is all.” he whispers, and Minho frowns. 

He watches him think. He mulls over something in his head for minutes, the silence stretching out between them before he seems to settle on a response to that. 

“It’s easier if I don’t accept that you’re different now,” he says, and Jisung shakes his head. 

“That doesn’t make sense. Why do you want me to be a shitty person?” Minho chuckles, shaking his head. 

“If you’re the same Jisung I fell in love with when I was a kid, I know how to deal with it when you hurt me again. If I get used to this Jisung, the one you are now… it’ll be worse when you let me down again.” 

It’s a fatal blow. Jisung blinks once. Twice. Three times before he frowns. 

“Why are you convinced I’ll hurt you again?” 

“Because it’s less likely to destroy me if I’m expecting you to. If I trust you again-”

“I know I fucked up, hyung. I know. But I can be better now. I will do better now,” he argues, words coming out more desperate than he wants them to. 

“Han Jisung is a wild thing, a storm I thought I knew how to track… I’m tired. I’m tired, Sung. I’ve been in pain for a long time. And I wake up every day, and my body is betraying me. I just can’t handle any more pain. I’m maxed out.” 

Jisung squeezes his eyes shut. 

“Han Jisung was a wild thing. But… What if I’m a gentle thing now? What if I got tired of running and fighting and yelling and… I just want something comfortable. I just want-”

“We can’t always have the things we want, Jisung-ah. Trust me. I know that better than anyone.” Minho’s voice is hollow, and Jisung does want to scream. He wants to tell Minho that he’s right here. He wants to laugh in the face of god or the universe or whatever the hell made them circle back to here. 

He’s stripped down to sinew and bone. He’s something naked and bleeding and ugly, and maybe Minho can see all of it.

“That’s not good enough. I’m tired, too. I’m tired too, but I just… I have this feeling like maybe you were inevitable.” It’s the kind of thing he never thought he’d have the guts to say out loud. It’s too honest. Jisung is notoriously bad at honesty, but here in the low lamplight of his bedroom, he flays himself open and says here, come look at the crimson parts of my body. Look and tell me I’m not ugly. Tell me I’m human too. 

“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” Minho says, eyes guarded. Jisung shakes his head. 

“I meant it,” he whispers, and Minho shakes his head. 

“It’s mean, Jisung. It’s c ruel ,” Minho argues, and Jisung feels precarious. He doesn’t know how to make Minho understand that he’s never been good at being honest but these are the kinds of things he is afraid to say out loud. 

“You don’t have to agree,” he says simply, “It’s my feeling. You can’t tell me that my feelings are a lie. You don’t have to feel that way too, but I-”

“I don’t want to get into it,” Minho says even though it’s clearly too late. They’ve both said too much. They've admitted more than they probably should have. Jisung has allowed Minho to peek over his fortified walls again, and with a vague sense of horror, Jisung realizes that now, Minho will be back to where he always was, ten steps ahead. 

How does Minho understand Jisung better than Jisung can even understand himself? How can he see things that Jisung won’t realize himself for years to come. 

“Hyung,” he says, no begs. He’s tired of endings. He’s tired of radio silence and the incessant buzz of thoughts in his stupid head. He’s so tired, and he just wants to be seen. He just wants to be seen by someone who will know the worst parts of him and hold him anyway. It’s selfish, maybe. 

“Goodnight,” Minho says, and Jisung squeezes his eyes shut. 

“Please don’t hang up,” he whispers, and he can hear Minho’s breathing, the soft shift of fabric against sofa. His eyes sting. His chest aches, “I’m sorry. Hyung, I’m sorry. I didn’t-”

“Jisung-ah,” Minho says, his voice softer again, “Hey. Open your eyes.”

The silence is back while Jisung tries to build the courage to blink his eyes and look at Minho again. 

“You’re okay,” he says, and Jisung shakes his head. 

He isn’t okay. He isn’t okay, but he wants to be. He wants a lot of things. He’s suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion. 

“Hyung,” he says again, voice wavering in his quiet bedroom. Minho sighs, leaning closer to the camera. 

“It’s late, Sung-ah. We need sleep. We both need to sleep.” It’s reasonable. Jisung grits his teeth and tries not to cry. 

“I’m tired of nightmares,” he admits, and Minho nods. 

“Me too, but it’s time to rest. We need rest,” he repeats, and Jisung wants to scream. 

“Did you know that male cheetahs live together? The females are solitary, but the male cheetahs usually live together in coalitions,” he says, and Minho smiles softly. 

“I didn’t know that,” he says, and Jisung sniffles. 

“I’m not very good at being alone. I’ve had a lot of practice, but I’m still not very good at it,” he says, and Minho nods. 

“I’m not either,” he admits, and Jisung nods slowly, “We’re a mess, I think. But sleep will help. Drink some water and take a shower. Sleep well, okay? Have good dreams.” 

He isn’t sure if he’ll be able to manage that, but he nods anyway, “Okay.” 

“Goodnight, Sungie. I’ll see you on Tuesday,” he says, and Jisung nods. 

He doesn’t cry until the call is over. 

He should probably be embarrassed. Instead, he’s never been more relieved to set his eyes on Minho. It’s like two days of tension bleeds away until he’s nothing but a beating heart again. 

He’s been thinking a lot, lost in his head as he recalls all of the ways he’s ever messed up. But he’s realized that it’s funny how he’s not uncomfortable with Minho. Ever. He wasn’t uncomfortable when Minho was hostile or upset or frustrated. He wasn’t uncomfortable when Minho opened up again. 

He was nervous, sure. He was anxious sometimes, but never because of Minho. Talking to Minho is a lot like coming home. He doesn’t have to pretend to be anything that he isn’t. He can just be Jisung. It’s been so long since he’s just been Jisung. 

Minho is leaning on the reception desk, talking to Ryujin and pointing at her computer screen. He looks as handsome as always, hair freshly washed and skin glowing. His eyes are a bit red like he hasn’t been sleeping. 

Jisung can’t help but smile when he looks up and their eyes meet. 

Minho smiles back, lips twitching into something small. Jisung squeezes Jiyu’s hand before she extracts herself to go stretch. Jisung watches her run off with a fond smile. 

“Good evening, Jisung,” Ryujin calls over, and he walks to the desk, smiling kindly at her. She’s always been so nice to him. 

“Hi, Ryujin. I hope your day has been good,” he says, and she nods. 

“So, like I was saying before I was interrupted , we need to update the schedules with my advanced prep classes. They aren’t on the monthly calendar, and people keep asking about it. I know it’s annoying to send out an email to your already prepared email chain, but-”

“Don’t be a bitch, Oppa,” Ryunjin says casually, and Jisung laughs, smacking his hand over his mouth. Minho glares at him, but Jisung just shrugs. 

“There are children present,” Minho deadpans, and Jisung looks around at the lobby which is completely devoid of children. 

“You better not be late or you won’t be allowed to join the class,” Jisung says, and Ryujin and Minho both stare at him. It’s silent for a minute before Ryujin is tossing her head back and cackling. 

“Oh god, that was good. He’s right though. You can’t be a bastard and then be late to your own class,” she teases, and Minho’s eyes narrow. 

“I’m the teacher. I can do whatever I want,” he grumbles, but he pushes off the counter and stalks off toward the classroom. Jisung and Ryujin sit there giggling for a minute before Jisung settles down enough to make his way to the viewing room.

Minho looks better today. He’s standing a little taller than he was a few days prior, and his eyes are bright. The class goes well, and when Jiyu comes and plops onto his lap, Jisung smiles down at her. 

“Hey, bug. You looked good today,” he says, and Jiyu’s cheeks go pink. 

Minho pokes his head into the room to tell them there isn’t a meeting this week, and Jisung stands, holding Jiyu on his hip and scrambling after his hyung. He wants to catch him before he disappears yet again.

“Hyung,” Jisung says, and Minho’s eyes widen where he stands. He studies them for a moment before he nods. 

“Hi,” the usual snark is missing, leaving something gentler in its wake. Jisung wants to live there in the soft rasp of Minho’s voice. It’s all comfort and familiarity. It feels like home. 

“I’m too lazy to cook, so I was going to take the little bear out to dinner… have you eaten?” he asks, and Minho looks between Jiyu and him a few times before his head quirks to the side. 

“What, are you going to keep inviting me to meals until I let you feed me?” he asks, and the teasing lilt is back. Jisung nods immediately, not interested in avoiding the topic. He wants Minho to know that he’s serious about spending more time with him.

“Yeah, I am. So maybe you should just give in now to save us the time,” he says. Minho laughs, shaking his head fondly and sighing. 

“Always so persistent,” Minho muses, and Jisung pats Jiyu’s head. 

“Only when there’s something I want.” It’s a bold thing to say, and Minho goes very still for a moment before he nods jerkily. 

“Okay. Fine. Dinner, then,” he agrees, running a hand through his hair, “You have to wait a few minutes for me though. I have to speak with Ryujin and also get my stuff. Also-”

“Hyung, it’s fine. Go do what you need to do. We’re not in a rush, right, Jiyu-yah?” She nods rapidly, grinning up at her teacher. It settles something in Jisung’s chest. 

They sit in the lobby of the studio for a while. They sit there until the other parents have all filtered out. Jisung quizzes Jiyu on the new English words she’s learned this week while they wait. That’s how Minho finds them, speaking in soft English back and forth. 

“Ah, are we practicing our second language?” Minho asks in English that is so near-perfect, it steals Jisung’s breath. It isn’t the first time he’s heard Minho’s English, of course. Almost his entire meal with Chris, Felix, and Minho had been in English. But it’s still surprising to him. He remembers Minho struggling through English class in school, constantly confused. 

“I have to practice for Australia,” she informs him, and Minho nods. 

“That’s true, you do. Don’t be like me. My first year in Australia was horrible. I barely spoke a lick of English,” he says, and Jisung chuckles. 

“And now you’re more fluent than I am,” he says, and Minho shakes his head. 

“I believe I was promised dinner? What are we having?” 

Jisung is about to give options when Jiyu screams, “Katsu!” He flinches, glancing at her with widened eyes before he nods once. 

“Well… katsu, I guess. If that’s okay with you, of course.” Minho nods, jerking his head in the direction of the door. 

“That works. I’m not picky.”

Thursday was long. By the time Jiyu is in bed, Jisung is excited to collapse into bed nursing a headache that is probably from stress. He gets ready for bed and rolls his shoulders, walking back to Jiyu’s room and cracking the door open, checking the steady movement of her shoulders while she breathes. 

He closes his eyes, leans his head against the doorframe, and lets himself fall into the exhaustion a bit. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he jumps. He slips out of Jiyu’s room quickly before he pulls up his phone. It’s Minho again. Another video call. 

It’s the first time Minho has reached out to him first. He smiles softly and accepts the call.

Minho is curled up in his bed, hair fluffy and fanned out around him. They’re silent for a while as Jisung makes his way into his bedroom, dropping down on the mattress and yawning. 

“Are you tired? Sorry, I can let you-”

“‘S Okay, Hyung,” he says, smiling and dropping to lie down. He’s mirroring Minho, both of them staring where they lay. 

Why is Minho calling? Why did Minho call last time? How the hell does he act natural when this feels like uncharted territory. He waits for Minho to speak. 

“It was too quiet. In my apartment. The cats are being lazy, and everything is just…” He trails off, and Jisung hums so that Minho knows he’s listening. He watches Minho’s eyebrows furrow, “I’m sorry. I’m probably bothering you. I don’t even really know why I called. It’s stupid, I-”

“Minho,” Jisung says softly, “Hyung, it’s fine. You aren’t bothering me. You’re never bothering me,” he promises, and Minho laughs. It’s a humorless thing, punched out of him, sardonic. He shakes his head and seems to think about something before he says it. 

“I used to. I used to bother you,” he says, and Jisung shakes his head. 

“No, you didn’t. You never bothered me, Hyung. You were my favorite person in the entire world. I’m really sorry I made you feel like you were less than that,” he says, and Minho squeezes his eyes shut. 

“I feel… like I’m scared to trust you,” Minho admits, and Jisung nods. It makes sense that he feels this way. It makes sense that Minho is tentative, but Jisung wants to fix it. He wants to prove that he isn’t that boy anymore. He wants to treat Minho the way Minho deserves. 

“I know. I can be patient,” Jisung says, and Minho laughs, shaking his head. 

“Han Jisung? Patient? Never thought I’d see the day,” he says, and Jisung pouts. 

“Gimme a chance. I just need a chance,” Jisung says, and Minho nods slowly. They settle back into silence, and Jisung just watches Minho breathe. He studies the soft curve of his jaw and the slope of his nose. He’s so pretty. He’s the most handsome person Jisung has ever seen, and it feels unfair to not tell him. He opens his mouth, but Minho beats him to it. 

“That’s my shirt,” Minho says, words hushed and accusing. Jisung goes still, glances down at the threadbare t-shirt, and gulps. It’s a heather grey thing with a faded brand logo printed across the chest, “I couldn’t find it when I was moving. I thought… Why do you have my shirt?” 

Jisung doesn’t know what to say to that. It feels dangerous like he’s teetering on the edge of something. He shakes his head slowly, and Minho’s eyes narrow while he thinks. Jisung looks down again, stares at the M on his right pec. 

“It’s comfortable,” he says, “I didn’t really think about it, I just-”

“You still have my shirt,” Minho says it like it’s an impossible thing. Like how could Jisung still be carting around a piece of himself for a decade? Why did he keep it that long? 

“How did you even get it?” he asks, and suddenly Jisung’s throat feels tight. He doesn’t want to answer. Suddenly, he wants to be anywhere else but here. He watches realization spread across his hyung’s face. His eyes go wide before they go glassy, “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” he asks, and Jisung shakes his head. Minho’s voice wavers. 

“You were such a fucking asshole,” he accuses, and Jisung just nods again. He can’t make it better. He wants to scrub the memory from both of their brains. He wants to take it away and tuck it someplace where it will never hurt them again. 

“I know,” he says, and Minho squeezes his eyes shut. 

“You called me pathetic. You thought I was pathetic. You-”

“No, no no no. Hyung, look at me,” Jisung pleads, but Minho is shaking his head. His breathing has sped up, and Jisung thinks that maybe he’s going to cry. 

“You thought I was pathetic, and I let you…. God , Jisung. Maybe you were right. Maybe I’m-”

“ No ,” Jisung says firmly, sitting up and shaking his head, “You are not pathetic. I didn’t think it then, and I don’t think it now. I was pathetic, and I was projecting my insecurities on you. You never did anything wrong, okay? You were so good to me, and I fucked it up. None of this is your fault. It’s on me, okay? I wish I could take it back. I wish you could see how incredible I always thought you were. I didn’t deserve-”

“Jisung, why did you keep my shirt?” he demands, and Jisung flinches.

This time, the silence is tense. He shakes his head, and he swallows thickly. Why did he keep it? It’s been a decade, and yet he’s brought this t-shirt with him through every move, every moment. How does he explain that? It doesn’t even make sense to him, so how is it supposed to make sense to Minho?

“It’s comfortable,” he says again, running a hand through his hair, “I don’t know, Minho. It feels like home, okay? It’s comfortable, and it’s threadbare, and after you left, it still smelled like you. I don’t know what you want me to say.” 

“I just want the truth,” Minho argues, “I don’t want you to say anything. I just want you to be honest.” 

“I am being honest! I kept your shirt. I wear your shirt. I like it. At this point, I’m pretty sure it’s my shirt. I’ve had it for way longer than you did.” Minho laughs at that, shaking his head. 

“I liked that shirt, asshole,” Minho says, and Jisung laughs too, shaking his head. 

“I did too. Still do,” he says, fiddling with the hem. The stitching has come loose on the left side from all of his pulling, but he doesn’t want to stitch it back up. 

“I thought you had forgotten all about me, and here you are… sleeping in my shirt. You sleep in my fucking shirt. You’re unbelievable. Sometimes, I’m convinced that I’ve made you up. Like you’re just a manifestation of my worst dreams… maybe the best ones, I don’t know. What the fuck.” 

“I’m real, thank you very much,” he mutters, and Minho shakes his head. 

“Unfortunately,” he teases, and Jisung whines, pouting his lips and staring at Minho through the phone. 

“Hyung, don’t be mean,” he says, and Minho rolls his eyes before he buries his face in the pillow, muttering something that sounds a lot like you deserve it . 

Jisung sighs, laying back down and biting his lip. 

“I wouldn’t be able to trust me right away either if I were you. I know I fucked up, and I know that I can’t change it even though I want to. But I do want to be better now. I want to be kind and understanding. I want to be your friend, and I want to be able to love you openly without it making things worse,” he says, and Minho stares at him for a few minutes before he nods. 

“We have more to talk about. We aren’t… I’m not all there yet. I’m still working through it,” Minho says, and Jisung nods, “But I don’t… I’m not mad at you, okay? I’m just still confused and a little hurt. You did a number on me,” Minho explains, and Jisung nods. 

“Okay, just let me know what you need,” he offers, and Minho smiles softly. He doesn’t know where they go from here. How can he be the man he wants to be? How does he improve himself? What does he need to do? 

“Will you sing to me?” Minho asks quietly, and Jisung’s eyes widen. 

He used to sing for Minho when they were young when his hyung had trouble falling asleep. He would sing random k-pop songs or his favorite R&B tracks. He would sing until he was sure Minho was asleep enough to no longer hear him. 

“What do you want me to sing?” he asks, and Minho just shrugs. Jisung is quiet for a minute before he starts, voice low in the lamplight of his bedroom. He watches Minho settle, turning off his own light. He’s still illuminated by the phone screen, laying on his side in bed. 

Jisung sings until Minho’s breathing has evened out and then he sits there for a minute, making sure Minho doesn’t need anything else. He smiles softly, “Goodnight, hyung,” he whispers before he settles into an easy sleep himself. 

When Saturday rolls around, Jisung is anxious. They haven’t spoken since Thursday night, and Jisung doesn’t want to shatter the precarious understanding they’ve established during the last week. 

Minho is strong, but he’s been going through so much. He’s been hurting for so long, and the last thing Jisung wants is to make it worse. Unfortunately, he’s pretty bad at keeping the peace. 

He slips into their rehearsal room to see Minho stretching with grit teeth, his shoulders tense. Jisung creeps closer, watching while Minho pushes himself further, breathing through his teeth. 

“Hyung, don’t hurt yourself,” he says, and Minho glares at him through the mirror. He doesn’t mean to push. He doesn’t want to act like he understands Minho’s body better than he does, but it’s so obvious that it hurts. 

Minho stands straight and lifts onto his toes, flinching at the strain on his leg, and Jisung shakes his head, stepping closer, “Hyung,” he warns, and Minho clenches his jaw. 

“Let it go, Jisung,” he counters, but Jisung doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to watch Minho slow his own progress by pushing too far. 

“You just hurt yourself last weekend, hyung, I don’t think-”

“That’s the fucking problem, Jisung. You never fucking think,” he snaps, and Jisung flinches, taking a staggering step backward. It isn’t unwarranted, but he doesn’t know what to do with that statement. They stare at each other through the mirror. Jisung’s eyes are wide, and Minho’s are defiant. 

He nods once before deflating, turning to go toward the door. 

“Where are you going?” Minho demands, and Jisung shakes his head. 

“You can do whatever you want, hyung, but I’m not going to stand here and watch you hurt yourself. So if you want to do that…” He shakes his head. When he looks up, Minho is turned around now, staring at Jisung’s back. Their eyes meet in the mirror once again. 

“So, what? You’re just leaving? That’s typical,” he says, and Jisung bristles. 

“No. That isn’t fair. You left me, you-”

“Bullshit,” Minho argues, shaking his head, “You didn’t exactly give me the option to stay, Jisung. You didn’t want me to stay.” 

“Of course I wanted you to stay,” Jisung says, squeezing his eyes shut again, “I loved you, okay? I know I didn’t say it, and I didn’t really show it. I know you think I was using you or that I was hurting you without even caring, but I was fucking ripping myself apart to-”

“I’m supposed to feel bad for you, now? Of course you fucking loved me! It was so obvious! And you were fucking infuriating,” Minho yells, and Jisung flinches again. The anger is somehow better and worse than when Minho is sad. The sadness hurts more, but it’s easier to fix. How does he fix Minho’s anger? How does he replace it with something gentler? 

I just want the truth. I don’t want you to say anything. I just want you to be honest. 

Jisung takes a deep breath before he turns to look Minho in the eye for the first time today. He’s tired of running. No more running. 

“Yeah, I was. I was the fucking worst. I know that!” Jisung points out, and Minho groans, “No, I’m not done. I can’t take back what I did. I already told you that. I wish I could take it back. I was a stupid fucking idiot, but I needed time. I was so scared, hyung. You were so comfortable and confident, and I was fucking terrified. It isn’t an excuse. No excuses. What I did is awful. Maybe it’s even unforgivable… I don’t know, you’ll have to decide that.”

“Can you just let me be mad at you? Stop being rational!” Minho says, and Jisung shakes his head. 

“No, I’m not done. I don’t deserve your kindness and your trust. Maybe I don’t deserve a second chance, but I want one more than almost anything. I want a chance to make it up to you. I want a chance to give you the kind of support you always deserved. I wasn’t ready then, but I’m ready now,” Jisung says firmly, and Minho shakes his head. 

“Okay, now it’s your turn to listen. You keep saying that I left you… Jisung, I’m not sure why you thought I would stay. I gave you so many opportunities to be honest with me. I gave you so many chances to apologize, and you fucking threw them all in my face. I didn’t leave you. I auditioned for one of the best ballet companies in the world, and I got in. How selfish do you have to be to expect me to not take that? Especially after everything that happened!” He says. Jisung is silent, waiting for him to continue. Minho’s chest is heaving, and his eyes are wild. But Jisung will be quiet. He will wait because Minho asked him to. 

“You said that I know you better than you know yourself, and maybe that’s true, but Jisung you saw through me too! You knew how much you meant to me. And it was so easy for a long time. You were my best friend. I was your best friend. And then you came back from your fucking summer intensive thing, and you were so weird. It was like I didn’t even know you anymore. Some days, you were still my best friend and other days you were so cold. And then… and then,” 

“You don’t have to. Not if you don’t want to,” Jisung says because he knows where this is going, but Minho shakes his head. 

“And then,” Minho pushes on, “You were so sweet. You were so sweet to me, and I thought wow. He finally figured it out . I thought you realized that we were good for each other. You made me kinder, and I made you more confident. You made me slow down, and I pulled you out of your head. And you kissed me, and it was the most incredible thing I’d ever experienced. And then, I let you fuck me. Which, in hindsight, was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done because the next day, you wouldn’t talk to me. And then the day after that. And the day after that. I was trying so hard to understand why you didn’t want me anymore. And then, I tried to ask, and you broke my fucking heart. Do you remember what you said?” 

Jisung swallows thickly. How could he not remember? How could he forget the look in Minho’s eyes? 

“I saw you out with Miyeon, and I confronted you about it. Do you remember what you said?” he demands again, and Jisung nods. 

“God, Minho. Do you think I can’t see what you’re doing? You’re throwing yourself at me all the time. I don’t even like dudes. I’m straight. It’s fucking pathetic,” Jisung spits. Minho recoils, kickback throwing him miles away. His face goes dark, blank. He stares back at Jisung with wild eyes, but the rest of him is empty.

He takes a step back, and the fight drains from Jisung’s body, “Hyung, I didn’t mean it like that. You know I don’t think-”

“No. I heard you crystal fucking clear,” Minho says, words calm. He takes another step back and nods, “Message received.”

“I remember,” Jisung says quietly, and Minho laughs, shaking his head, “But I didn’t mean it. I didn’t even mean it then. I tried to apologize as soon as I said it, but you left,” Jisung argues. 

“You two started dating like a week later, and you wouldn’t talk to me. And then I was moving to Australia, so it didn’t matter anyway. You didn’t want to spend time with someone who was pining after you when it wasn’t going to work out, so I left you alone.” 

“I was scared,” Jisung says again, and Minho shakes his head again. 

“You think I wasn’t scared? You weren’t the only one figuring everything out. I wasn’t as confident as you thought I was. I just wanted my best friend. I just needed my best friend. Fuck my feelings for you. They were so much less important to me than having you as my best friend. But you wouldn’t even look at me.” 

“Minho,” Jisung says, walking closer. He wants to touch. He wants to reach out and hold, to promise Minho that he’s never going anywhere ever again. 

“When I told you I was moving to Australia, you didn’t even care,” he whispers, and Jisung shakes his head. 

“Of course I cared. It felt like the world was ending. Everything was falling apart, and it was my fault. I knew it was my fault, but I couldn’t figure out how to fix it. I thought you were better off without me.” 

And maybe Minho was better off without him. Maybe he’s still better off without him. Their years of friendship were some of the best years of Jisung’s life. He always felt seen. He was always understood. Minho was always there supporting him, and before Jisung had a crisis over his feelings, he was there for Minho too. 

“You just let me go, and you never reached out. You never-”

“I went to Australia,” Jisung says, and Minho goes rigid. They stare at each other for an eternity, studying each other. 

“Two years after you left. I went to Australia, and I saw your show,” he says, voice coming out quiet, “I went to therapy, and I worked through my crisis. I was ready to be a better man for you. I was ready to be the person you needed me to be. I had flowers, and I went to the show… and you were incredible. You were so incredible, and I just… I couldn’t ruin it. I didn’t want to ruin anything for you. You were doing so well, and I couldn’t fuck it all up again.”

Minho is bewildered. Minho drops down to his knees, eyes focused on the floor. He hugs himself. He shakes his head slowly, and Jisung follows him down until they're both on their knees less than an arm’s length apart, “You’re lying.” 

“No, I’m not. I studied abroad in Sydney for a semester. I wanted to give us time to work on it, but-”

“You came to Australia,” Minho says, and Jisung nods slowly. “That isn’t fair. It isn’t fair. You should have told me. You should have-”

“I was just trying to-” 

“No, Jisung! For once in your goddamn life, just listen to me! You should have let me make my own decision. I’m not stupid. I was never fucking stupid. Who the fuck do you think you are, making my choices for me? I deserved the chance to decide, but you stole that from me!”

For a moment, Jisung thinks Minho might hit him. Beautiful, fierce Minho who has suffered in silence his entire life. Beautiful, passionate Minho who has never hurt anyone except for himself. Instead, both of Minho’s hands reach out to clasp the sides of his face, pressing his cheeks until his lips are puckered.

“You stupid, stupid man. Don’t you know how much I loved you?” his voice cracks, and Jisung’s eyes widen. 

He does know. He knew then, too. Minho wasn’t always the best at saying it out loud, but it was so painfully obvious that Minho would have done anything for him. Their entire futures were stretched out in front of them, and Jisung wasn’t ready yet. He didn’t know how to deserve something as raw as Minho’s love.

“Hyung, I-”

“I wept for you, Jisung. You left me, and I thought about you every single day. I thought about you when I took my first audition and my first bow. I thought of you when I was sleeping with nameless men in Sydney. I thought of you when I was in the hospital, staring down a fucking death sentence. Every day. Every damn day , and you didn’t even let me-”

“You would have chosen me!” His voice is strangled, and he shakes his head, “You left me first, Minho, but I know. I know if I had brought those flowers to your fucking dressing room, you would have dropped everything to-”

“You really are the dumbest person I have ever met. Do you even hear yourself? You think I would have dropped dance for you? You think I would have left my career? Everything I had worked for on the off chance that you were finally mature enough to help me make it work? I only left you because I had to! You know what you did, Han Jisung! Don’t pin that on me!”

Minho is yelling now, words shaking through his delivery.

When Jisung’s fingers pry Minho’s away from his face, he cradles them in his own, “When did you stop thinking about me? How many days before I got to see your face again?”

The silence is deafening. The clock on the eastern wall tick tick ticking as the seconds pass. Their chests are heaving, and Minho shakes his head.

“No?”

“Don’t make me say it,” Minho begs, and Jisung softens. He squeezes Minho’s hands in his own, reassuring him as much as he can.

“Hyung-ah. How many days?”

“Han Jisung, there hasn’t been a single day.”

What can he say to that? How can he respond? A disbelieving laugh is punched out of his lungs, and he shakes his head. There hasn’t been a single day. It’s been thousands of days, and Minho has thought of him on every one.

“You deserved better than me. You still do, I think. I’ve never met anyone like you, and I never will again. You’re-”

“Not nearly as infallible as you seem to think. I’m a fucking mess, Sung. Felix came to visit because I’m a damn nightmare. I’m not adjusting well. I haven’t had a good day in god knows how long. You talk about me like I’m some kind of miracle or something. But I’m just… scared. And tired. And so fucking lonely. I don’t have anything or anyone. I’m barely a fucking person nowadays. The boy you fell in love with is gone. I’m just…” Tears make Minho’s pretty eyes glossy, and Jisung shakes his head.

“No. You aren’t alone. I’m right here,” he says, and it pulls a wounded noise out of Minho’s throat. He keens, curling in on himself and shaking his head.

“You can’t do that. It isn’t fair. Don’t make any promises you don’t intend to keep.”

“Who said I won’t keep it?”

Minho laughs bitterly, shaking his head, “Forgive me if I don’t have the most faith in your ability to keep a promise.”

“The boy you fell in love with is gone too, y’know. You aren’t the only one who’s seen hell and been back.”

“I’m still there,” Minho croaks, and Jisung’s hardened gaze softens again.

“I am too.” It hurts to admit. Jisung has tried desperately to hold everything together. He tries so hard to seem okay, and even though he isn’t sure he’s ever truly succeeded, he hasn’t admitted his struggles aloud. Not even to Changbin.

“Well, shit,” Minho says, burying his face in his hands, and Jisung laughs. It’s mostly out of surprise.

“Y’know, nothing can ever be easy,” he grumbles.

Minho nods slowly, letting his eyes trail across the room. They’re a sight, the two of them on their knees in the middle of the room. If Minho were more of a crier, he’d be sobbing. He reaches up to wipe the tears that escaped, sucking in a shaky breath.

“So, what now?” he asks, and Jisung shrugs, inching forward.

“What now,” he echoes the words in the quiet studio. The only sound is their breathing until Minho stands, hissing when he puts his weight on his left leg. Jisung is there immediately, hands darting out to steady him. Minho raises his eyebrows.

“I can walk just fine, Jisung.”

“It’ll make me feel better if you let me help you,” he says, and Minho relents, letting Jisung slide an arm around his waist. They walk over to where Minho’s bag lies abandoned on the floor. He pulls out a water bottle and some painkillers, tossing them back and sighing.

“I finished teaching you the choreography last week. You do it, I’ll watch,” Minho offers, and he sounds exhausted. 

Jisung doesn’t argue with him, doing as he’s told and getting into his starting position. He dances for Minho for an hour and a half, taking corrections when they’re given and focusing on doing everything as perfectly as he can. 

When their time is up, Jisung is covered in a layer of sweat, and Minho is still staring at him. He chugs some water and raises his eyebrows, “You’re staring,” he says, and Minho rolls his eyes. 

“You’re insufferable,” he counters, and Jisung nods. 

“Absolutely, and you still like me,” he says more confidently than he feels. Minho blinks once and then shrugs. 

“Unfortunately,” he drawls, and Jisungs’ cheeks go pink. He wants to hug him or ask him to lunch or scream. Maybe all three. Instead, he lets an indulgent smile spread across his face. 

“I like you too, hyung. Even when you’re mad at me.” 

“I’m not mad at you,” he says, and Jisung raises his eyebrows. He seemed pretty upset, but maybe they’ve gotten past that. Maybe they're okay? 

“It’s okay if you are,” Jisung says, and Minho rolls his eyes. 

“You’re an idiot. I’m not mad at you. I just… needed to yell. And maybe some more time. I don’t know where we go from here, but I’d rather be here than where we were a month ago,” he says, and Jisung nods. 

It makes sense. Healing isn’t linear, and it isn’t easy. Sometimes, you have to be angry. Sometimes, you have to cry. At some point, you have to stop avoiding the ugly feelings. You have to feel them before you can move past them. 

“Hyung?” he asks, and Minho nods. He worries at his lip for a moment before he speaks again, “Can I hug you?”

If Minho is surprised by the request, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he reaches out and pulls Jisung to his chest. Jisung hooks his chin on Minho’s shoulder and releases the tension in his own. They stand there like that for a while, rocking gently back and forth before Jisung sniffles. 

“I can do better,” he whispers, and Minho nods. 

“I know, Sungie. I know.”

When Jisung sees Minho at Jiyu’s class on Tuesday, he smiles warmly and waves. On Thursday, he brings a book and hands it to Jisung with ruddy ears, mumbling something about thinking Jisung will enjoy it. 

On Friday, when Hyunjin calls Jisung in a panic, apologizing profusely for having to cancel their weekend plans even though it’s Jiyu’s birthday, Jisung doesn’t even think about it before he’s calling Minho. 

Jisung is in the kitchen, wiping the counters with one hand and listening to the ringer. 

“Sung?” Minho says, and he sounds tired.

“Sorry, are you busy right now?” he asks, and Minho yawns. 

“No, ‘m fine. I was just reading,” he says, and Jisung smiles, picturing a sleepy Minho curled up on the couch with his cats and a book. What a dream it is. 

“Sorry to interrupt you. It’s Jiyu’s birthday tomorrow,” he says, and Minho hums. 

“I know, we already canceled our morning rehearsal. Don’t worry about it. I hope her birthday is lovely,” he says, and Jisung stops his cleaning to lean against the counter. 

“Hyunjinie can’t make it tomorrow. We were going to take Jiyu to a show at the aquarium, but something came up with his family. He needs to go back home,” Jisung rambles on, picking at his cuticles, “I already have the tickets… Do you want to come with us?” 

It’s quiet for a minute. Jisung can hear Minho breathing and the ticking of the clock in his kitchen. Maybe it’s too early. Maybe it’s too weird. Maybe Minho will laugh at him or tell him off or-

“I mean, wouldn’t she prefer someone she knows a little better? I don’t want to ruin her day,” he says, and Jisung shakes his head. 

“No, I mean maybe. Sometimes, I think she loves Hyunjin more than she loves me… they’re big shoes to fill, but she adores you. And… I would like it. If you came, I mean. I figured we could do the aquarium after we see the show. It would be fun. It’s just the afternoon, and I know you don’t do PT on Saturdays. And we don’t have rehearsal, so unless you’ve made other plans… you’re free?” 

Minho is quiet for another moment, “If you don’t think it’ll be weird… Sure, I’d like to come,” he says, and Jisung beams. 

“Okay. Okay, perfect. I’ll text you my address, and you could come over at like noon? Or, we can just meet there. It’s Coex, so if you’re closer to there than you are to me, we can-”

“Send me your address. I’ll be there at twelve,” Minho says, and Jisung nods, relaxing. 

“Okay. Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, and Minho nods. 

“See you then.” 

Jisung is vibrating where he stands, wringing his hands in his sweater while he waits for Jiyu to pull on the rainbow dress she had picked out for her day. Jisung loves watching her dress herself, fond of the bright, eclectic pieces she pulls from her closet.

It gets easier every day. Jisung wakes up to a picture of Dori or the sunrise. When he’s bored waiting for Jiyu’s center class to be over so he can take her home, he sends Minho a new song. They text every day even if it’s just goodnight or good morning. 

He dressed a little nicer today, tight jeans and a fitted turtleneck. He used to be in better shape, but the single dad life hasn’t made it very easy to get to the gym, and most days he just wants to curl into the fetal position instead of getting out of bed anyway.

When Jiyu finally comes out, she grins, spinning in a circle and giggling when her dress turns into a perfect bell shape. Jisung scoops her up into his arms, spinning around three times before he presses a gentle kiss to her temple.

“My beautiful girl,” he muses, going still when the doorbell rings, “Ah, that’ll be Minho-hyung.”

His voice shakes when he says it. Instead of setting her down, he carries her to the front, pressing the button to unlock their door and pushing it open, letting Minho get a look inside.

He looks good. No, he looks better than good. Minho’s hair is sweeping across his forehead, and he’s in a pair of tight, ripped jeans and a nice sweater. It’s the nicest Jisung has seen him dress since he graduated and had to wear a button-down. Jisung has the urge to scream.

“Seonsaengnim!” Jiyu yells, and Minho smiles, shaking his head.

“Ah, we’re not in class, Jiyu-yah,” he says, and she hums, head tipping to the side. She wriggles in Jisung’s grasp, “I have presents for the birthday girl,” he says suddenly, holding out his hands.

Jisung’s chest warms, and Jiyu preens, wiggling until Jisung sets her down. Minho drops down to her height and offers a small bouquet of daisies and a pretty purple box. She looks at Jisung with big eyes and offers him the flowers.

“Water, Appa,” she says, and Jisung nods, jumping into action.

“yeah. Yeah, of course. Hyung, come in. I’ll just-” he grabs the flowers and turns on his heels, jogging toward the kitchen. He can hear Jiyu’s tiny footsteps behind him, and he smiles.

They only have one vase, a pretty thing that Eunsol had bought when they were dating. He hasn’t taken it down since she passed away, and it does something complicated to his chest. Dutifully, he fills it halfway with water and pours in the plant food before settling the flowers into the vase.

He lifts Jiyu to the counter so she can appreciate them. She reaches out to pet one of the petals reverently.

Minho rounds the corner into the kitchen and Jisung temporarily forgets how to breathe. It feels like the universe is crushing him here while he stares at Minho walking into his small kitchen.

“Did you cut the stems?” he asks, and Jisung shakes his head. It’s uncanny watching as Minho scans the kitchen counter until he pulls a pair of scissors from the container of miscellaneous cooking utensils that sits beside the stove. He plucks each daisy from the vase and cuts an inch off of the stems before replacing them.

It’s domestic, simple. Jisung Lets out a shaky breath, “Maybe Minho-hyung would like to stay for dinner, and you can open your gift after cake?” he asks, and Jisung glances nervously toward Minho who blinks once and nods.

“I could do dinner, I think.” Jisung's smile is shaky, but it’s honest nonetheless.

“Sounds like a plan,” he says, turning to pat Jiyu’s mochi cheeks, “To the aquarium?”

Jiyu squeals so loudly that Jisung has to bite back his flinch while he laughs. Minho doesn’t even blink.

Jisung doesn’t know how to talk anymore. It’s difficult to reconcile this Minho with the one he remembers. They’re the same, but also painfully separate. Minho is quieter now. He moves tentatively, but when he speaks, he sounds so sure it takes Jisung’s breath away.

They’re on the subway, sitting with their thighs pressed together. Jiyu is sitting firmly on Jisung’s lap, staring with wide eyes at the cycling advertisements on the screen. Every time a new stop is announced, she reads the station name to herself. She practices in both Korean and English and listens attentively and eagerly.

Jisung kisses the crown of her head, relentlessly adoring.

“You know,” Minho says quietly, and Jisung’s spine goes straight. He glances in his hyung’s direction and hums so Minho knows that he’s listening, “We could have taxied. It would have taken a lot less time.”

“I don’t like cars,” Jisung says back, cheeks warming when he realizes how that sounds out loud.

Minho blinks once and nods, turning to follow the advertisements with his own eyes. Ice cream. A dentist’s office. Chilsung cider. A reminder of the upcoming stops, “Sorry. I should have realized.”

Jisung chuckles, a self-deprecating thing, and he shakes his head.

“No, it’s been years. I should be over it. And I can… taxi, I mean. But if I don’t have to, I avoid it,” he explains.

Minho nods, turning to study Jisung with piercing eyes. He must find what he’s looking for because he settles after staring for a moment, turning back to face the young woman sitting across from him.

“There’s no reason to force yourself into situations that make you uncomfortable. The Subway is fine,” he assures. And that’s all they say until they’re going up the stairs forty-five minutes and two transfers later.

Jiyu chatters excitedly, tells Minho about the fish documentary that she had watched with Appa a few weeks before. Jisung holds her hand, swings it gently while she speaks.

“Oh, wow. I didn’t know that!” Minho encourages. Maybe he’s pretending to care, but if he is, he’s doing an excellent job. She rattles off facts and tells him about the fish schools.

The aquarium is beautiful, and Jiyu wriggles once they’re inside, buzzing with energy she can’t conceal.

“Alright, little bug, come here. Show first and then we can go look at the exhibits, okay?” he says, and she nods.

The true purpose of their aquarium visit is the mermaid show, pretty divers decked out in prosthetic tails. One of Jiyu’s friends came to see it, and she has become fixated on it. Jisung hopes she loves it.

He scrolls until he finds the QR for their tickets, letting them scan it before they go inside. There are a lot of people, and his grip on Jiyu’s hand tightens. His other hand moves to the small of Minho’s back before he’s even thought about it. He guides him forward, keeping him close.

He stumbles a little, ears tinged pink, but he doesn’t pull away from Jisung’s touch. They don’t separate until they’re dropping into their seats in front of the glass wall.

The water is clear blue, fish and seaweed and whatever else they need inside to keep the ecosystem alive. It’s beautiful. Jiyu kicks her legs, squeezing Jisung’s hand and giggling.

“Appa, wouldn’t it be cool if mermaids were real?” she asks, and he hums.

“How do you know they aren’t, huh?” he counters, elbowing her. She rolls her eyes dramatically, shaking her head.

“Appa, if mermaids were real, we would know. Don’t be silly.” He wonders when she got so smart.

“Ah, well I think if mermaids were real, they’d want to be secret, yeah? Just think of all the mean things we would do to them if we found them. I bet mermaids would be the best at hiding,” Minho says, and Jiyu considers this, humming and tipping her head to the side.

“That’s true,” she concedes, and Minho’s lips twitch into a smile. Jisung huffs, muttering under his breath.

“Don’t pout, it’s unbecoming,” Minho drawls, his smile widening. Jisung bites back a whine, crossing his arms over his chest, “Jiyu-yah, your Appa is a baby, did you know that? You must raise him well, okay?”

She giggles and agrees, and Jisung’s eyes widen, “Yah! Lee Minho, you’re such a-”

“No grown-up words, it’s my birthday. If you say it, I will say it too,” she warns, and Jisung’s mouth hangs open. He resembles a fish, sucking in air between his puckered lips.

Minho cackles, throwing his head back, “She’s trained you well.”

“You’re insufferable,” Jisung argues, and Minho hums.

“Yet, here I am.”

Jisung swallows thickly, glancing over at him. He tries to stop looking so stunned. He closes his mouth and shakes his head.

“Yeah, hyung. Here we are.”

When they’re outside, ready to head back home, Jisung pulls his phone out, focusing most of his energy on keeping his hands from shaking.

“What are you doing, Sung-ah? The station is this way,” he recalls gently, and Jisung shakes his head slowly.

“"I’m calling a taxi. And I can order our food while we’re in the car so it arrives when we get back home. We’re getting Jiyu’s favorite, I hope that’s okay. I also made some miyeokguk, but it might be garbage. I don’t make it often,” he rambles, selecting his home address and letting out a shaky breath.

“Sung,” Minho says, shaking his head, “don’t worry about it. We like the subway, right Jiyu-yah? Makes for fun people-watching, and Jiyu can keep practicing her English pronunciation. It’s fine. We-”

“Hyung, I’m hungry,” he says. It’s a half-truth and they both know it, “It’ll be quicker. I don’t mind.”

Minho doesn’t argue again, nodding slowly and grabbing Jiyu’s hand, spinning her a few times with a smile, “Your Appa is a silly man, Jiyu. How did you get stuck with such a silly father?”

She spins gracefully and shrugs, “I think maybe Appa got stuck with me,” she says sagely, and Jisung balks, his eyes widening.

“That’s not true at all. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, bear,” he says, and she hums. She spins again before she turns to look up at Jisung with her bright eyes.

“Two things can be true at the same time,” her words are simple, and Jisung shakes his head.

Eunsol used to say it all the time, especially when Jisung was being difficult. Sometimes, he convinces himself that he’s right and that no one else’s perspective could possibly be more correct than his own. Jiyu might be the best thing that has ever happened, but he is, indeed, stuck with her.

Two things can be true at the same time .

“Sometimes, you’re so much like your Eomma it’s uncanny,” he says instead of really responding to her.

“And sometimes, she’s exactly like you,” Minho says casually. Jisung’s gaze snaps over to him. Minho is watching them with a complicated look on his face.

“Two things can be true at the same time,” he parrots, and Jiyu giggles happily, reaching for both of their hands.

The taxi appears then, and they shuffle in, Jiyu tucked between them in the backseat.

The sun is falling lower, splashing light across them where they sit, and Jiyu is humming along to the radio while it plays some kitschy tune.

One breath, hold for four, release, hold for four. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

Minho’s hand settles on Jisung’s shoulder, thumb tracing a small circle where it settles. He leans into the touch. One breath and then another. Jiyu is singing beside him. Minho is here. Jisung lets out another shaky breath and reaches up to place his hand atop Minho’s, squeezing despite the awkward angle.

They’re home in half an hour, and Jisung gulps in air once he’s outside. Jiyu wraps her arms around his leg, and he lets out a shuddering chuckle. The ground always feels like the sweetest kind of mercy after he’s been in a car.

He leads the way up to the apartment, punches in the door code, and kicks his shoes off.

“I forgot to order food,” Jisung says, grimacing at his hands while he makes his way into the apartment. He had cleaned up just in case Minho would come in. He and Jiyu had put all of her toys away, and he had folded the blankets on the couch.

Jiyu runs after him, jumping up on the couch and shrugging, “Cake first?” she suggests, and Jisung rolls his eyes, reaching down to tickle her.

“You’re a menace, Han Jiyu. Cake after dinner,” he says while she squirms.

Minho is standing in the doorway, watching them with a fond expression. When their eyes meet, Jisung’s cheeks warm. He can’t help but smile.

“Minho-oppa!” she squeals, and Minho’s eyes widen. He’s there in an instant, striding across the room and tugging her into his lap, hiding her away from Jisung with a grin.

A million thoughts flash through his head. Minho with Jiyu on her lap. Minho in his nicest suit. Minho ten years younger and smiling twice as wide. The way Minho’s sure mouth felt pressed against the curve of his jaw. Minho rolling his eyes and shoving Jisung off the bed, laughing when he landed in a heap. The way Minho stares at things he wants.

That’s what it is, right? That look in Minho’s eyes? He tries so hard to keep his feelings concealed, but Jisung has had years to practice peeking behind Minho’s fortified walls. Even now, they can peel each other apart so easily it makes Jisung’s heart clench.

Minho looks at them like he wants.

Jisung wants too. More than he’s ready to admit. More than he’s ready to think about.

Jiyu beams up at Minho, and Jisung sucks in a sharp breath. He drops his gaze and pulls out his phone, ordering their dinner while holding his breath.

It’s so obvious, now that he’s thought about it. It’s so fucking obvious that Jisung clenches his teeth. He doesn’t deserve that look in Minho’s eyes. He doesn’t deserve the kindness and the smiles and the gentle touches, but here they are.

When he looks over at them, his heart stutters in his chest. Jiyu is tracing his cheekbones with her tiny fingers, “You’re the handsomest man except for Appa. Appa is the most handsome man in the world,” she explains, and Minho nods without thinking.

“Ah, an honor to take second place,” he says gravely, and Jisung is having a crisis right beside them.

“Food is on the way,” he says, voice soft and dazed. Minho meets his eyes and smiles.

Jisung wants to wrap them up in blankets and keep them here forever. He wants to feed them and press kisses to their cheeks, and oh god , he’s spiraling.

“Seonsaengnim?” Jiyu asks, and Minho’s face scrunches up.

“What happened to oppa, huh?” he asks, and she shrugs, looking down at her lap, “You had a question, Jiyu-yah?”

His voice is soft again, and Jiyu peers up at him nervously.

“How come you don’t dance for us like Felix-seonsaengnim?” she asks, and Jisung goes tense on the couch beside them.

“Jiyu, don’t-”

“It’s fine, Jisung,” he assures, thinking for a moment before he speaks again, “You know how you have to be really warmed up and prepared to dance? Well, sometimes, you can do everything right and still make a mistake. Sometimes, all the preparedness in the world won’t save you from getting hurt.”

Jisung’s chest aches and Jiyu nods slowly, mulling over his words.

“You got hurt?” she asks, and Minho nods, swallowing before he answers.

“I did. I got really hurt, and I’m still getting better. But I can’t dance very much right now. I have to learn again just like you, okay? Because I know how to do everything in my head, but my body doesn’t know how to do everything again. And if I’m not very careful, I’ll get hurt again.”

Jiyu frowns and plops off his lap, “Where are you hurt?” she asks, and Minho blinks once.

“Well, I’m hurt in a few places,” he says, “My right leg is the worst though. My knee, and back here there is a tendon that I hurt. I’m not very stable anymore. I see doctors and I train every day, so maybe someday, I’ll be able to dance well again.”

Jiyu reaches out with her small hands to touch his knee and his calf. Without thinking, she leans forward and presses a kiss to his kneecap, “Appa always kisses my ouchies. He says love helps.”

Minho nods, and his eyes are glassy, “Ah, well love certainly never hurts,” he says wryly, shaking his head as soon as he’s said it. Jisung smiles nervously, scooting closer.

“Everyone needs a little love,” he says, and Jiyu nods.

“Ah, well… if your Appa has youtube on the TV, I can show you a video of me dancing,” Minho says, and Jisung frowns at the change of topic. Surely, Minho knows how loved he is.

Jiyu grins though and turns to Jisung with sparkling eyes. He fetches the remote and hands it off, watching Minho pull up a video for them to watch.

It’s a performance clip from a ballet three years before. It’s a duet, him and another dancer in stunning costumes with beautiful movements.

Jisung’s eyes widen, and he leans forward, captivated by the way Minho moves.

He’s seen Minho dance so many times, he couldn’t begin to count. But he’s never less amazed. He’s so powerful, precise. He’s so graceful and beautiful, and his expressions are perfect. He was born to be on a stage with thousands of eyes on him. He was born to perform like this.

Jiyu asks to watch the video four times before the doorbell rings because their dinner is here.

Their dinner is delicious, a boisterous affair full of laughter and teasing. Jisung missed this. He missed having someone close to share the happiest times with. He still misses it deep in his soul where his ideas about forever were carved away.

Jiyu gets kimchi all over her chin, and Minho reaches over with his own napkin to wipe it off. He’s looking at her like she holds the answer. Jisung wonders what the question is. He wonders why Minho is even here, sitting at their table and talking about stories and frogs and ballet and whatever else Jiyu wants to talk about.

Jisung tunes back in from his musings when Jiyu squeals, “You have kitties? Not fair! Appa says we can’t have a pet,” she whines, glaring at her father with her lower lip jutting out.

“Ah, well, I’m sure he has a good reason.” Minho grabs his phone, showing her a picture of his cats. She asks their names and commits them to memory, reaching out to pet one with her pointer finger.

“Minho-oppa, can I come meet Dori?” she asks with wide eyes, and Jisung is about to remind her that it’s weird to ask that when Minho agrees.

“Of course, I'm sure Dori would love you. They can be shy, but I’ll show you how to play with them. And you can give them a treat, and then they’ll want to come live with you.” She hugs Minho burying her face in his arm, and Jisung sighs.

“Baby bear, Minho is busy. You can’t just invite yourself over to his house,” Jisung says gently, and Minho rolls his eyes dramatically.

“I literally just said yes. Live a little, Han Jisung. Pet a cat, eat a dinner I cooked, let your daughter have some fun.”

Jisung huffs, grumbling under his breath. It’s not that he doesn’t want her to meet Minho’s cats, it’s just that he doesn’t even really know where he stands with Minho. They’re okay now, he thinks. They aren’t as precarious, but they’re still complicated.

If he watches Jiyu play with Minho’s cats, he might never recover.

“I’m just saying. You don’t have to give in to her every whim or anything. Boundaries are good,” Jisung argues, and Minho chuckles.

“You’re unbelievable. I would love to introduce her to the cats. If you’re uncomfortable with it, that’s-”

“I’m not uncomfortable with it. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to just because-”

“You’re doing that thing where you assume you know what’s best for me. I wouldn't have offered it if I wasn’t okay with it. You should know that by now,” Minho says, words sharper than they have been all day. Jiyu looks between them curiously.

“Can we have cake now?” she asks quietly, and Jisung deflates, making a quick getaway to the kitchen to fetch her birthday cake.

He takes in a sharp breath, shaking his head to clear all of the ugly thoughts threatening to take over. He doesn’t want to ruin anything. He’s tired of ruining things.

He picks up the cake, a pretty purple two-layer cake from a fancy bakery down the street. There are strawberries inside, and Jiyu will be delighted. He stares at it for a second, traces her name in sugared icing with his eyes.

With another deep breath, he makes his way back over to them.

“No, your Appa was absolutely a troublemaker. If he ever tries to make you feel bad, just remind him of the time-”

“Okay! Enough of that,” he says, setting the cake down in front of his daughter. He leans down to press a kiss to the crown of her head, “You’re a bad influence.”

“Mmm, maybe. You turned out alright though, so I can’t be too bad.”

Jisung rolls his eyes, settling down beside Jiyu and smiling, “Okay, we’re gonna sing to you, okay?”

When she nods, Minho starts singing, his voice honey smooth and just as stunning as Jisung remembers. Jisung harmonizes, singing up the third, which makes Jiyu clap and dance along. By the time they finish, she’s wriggling happily where she sits.

As soon as they finish, she reaches out to swipe through the icing, bringing her finger to her lips to eat the sugar.

“Han Jiyu! What are you doing?” Jisung demands, but she just cackles, shrugging her shoulders. She’s the best kind of handful, “Ew. Now you contaminated the cake.”

“Oh, shut up and give me the knife,” Minho says with a fond smile, slicing them each a piece and handing them out.

They eat their desserts quietly while Jiyu makes up a song about birthday treats, improvising with silly little rhymes. Minho sways to her song, smiling down at her while he eats his own piece.

Maybe this is what happiness feels like.

When her song is finished, she hops up, running to retrieve the gift from Minho. She had opened her gifts from Jisung, Changbin and Hyunjin in the morning. Jisung hadn’t been expecting Minho to bring something, but now, that seems obvious too. Of course Minho brought her a gift. He’s thoughtful and kind and so full of love. He would never spend Jiyu’s birthday with them and not bring her a present.

“You said I could open after cake. Can I open it now?” she asks, and Jisung nods. Leaning back and smiling lazily while she peels open the wrapping paper.

She gasps, looking up at Minho with wide eyes, “Wow, they’re so pretty,” she says before pulling out a pair of ballet slippers in a soft nude pink color. She pets over the box before hugging them to her chest. Jisung hums, smiling indulgently while she pulls out the other three things to inspect them.

They’re proshots of ballets, all performed by the Australian ballet company. Jisung shakes his head slowly, scooting closer to study the covers. Jiyu flips through them.

“Appa, can we watch one?” she asks, and he glances toward the clock.

“Mmm, I think it’s a little late. Ballets are really long, and my baby bear needs to get ready for bed soon,” he says, and she huffs, crossing her arms.

“No! I can stay up really, really late. I’m a big girl now,” she explains, and he hums, pulling her into his lap and cuddling her close.

“Of course you are. I know that, but I also know it’s almost your bedtime. But I’ll make you a deal, okay? We still have a few mini nature documentaries to watch, so how about you pick one for tonight, and we can watch ballet tomorrow,” he suggests, and she sighs dramatically.

“I want to watch the octopus episode,” she grumbles, and he grins, nuzzling at her temple.

“My best girl. Octopuses coming right up,” he muses, turning on the television and cradling her gently in his arms. There’s a quiet shifting beside him until Minho is close enough that Jisung could press their thighs together.

He’s hyper-aware of the heat radiating from his left, and he wants more. Maybe they were destined to be here, watching octopus documentaries with Jisung’s baby girl after years of grit teeth and tears. It’s been hard. It’s been gnarled and painful.

Jiyu shifts her weight forward to get closer to the screen, her little eyes darting around as she studies their tentacles. It must be beautiful to still see everything with that much awe.

Jisung jumps when he feels a pressure against the middle of his thigh. He glances down to where Minho’s leg is brushing against his own, just the ghost of a touch. He shifts closer, pressing their bodies more firmly into each other.

The documentary is interesting, and Jisung always learns something new.

“Sweet that she loves documentaries as much as you do,” Minho whispers, and Jisung’s cheeks heat. He nods, glancing over to his hyung.

“We like the animals,” he answers, and Minho just nods, keeping his eyes glued to the screen.

When the documentary episode finishes, Jiyu’s eyes are drooping, and Jisung smiles softly, “Hey, baby bear, I think it’s bedtime,” he says, and she whines, shaking her head.

“No! I’m having fun,” she says, and Minho smiles softly.

“Well, how do you know tomorrow won’t be fun, hm? I bet your Appa will make your favorite breakfast if you ask nicely enough,” Minho suggests conspiratorially.

She thinks about that and glances at Jisung who immediately nods. Jiyu relents then, letting Jisung pull her to the bathroom. She washes up quickly and brushes her teeth. Jisung blow dries her hair and then braids it.

Minho is in the kitchen when they come out, and Jisung’s chest feels tight. Jiyu runs over to give him a hug, squeezing as tight as she can and thanking him for the gift and his time. Minho looks at her so softly with so much kindness and sweetness that it makes him ache.

Jisung takes her to bed and tucks her in, sings her a verse and chorus of some song she enjoys. She doesn’t even make it through the chorus before her chest is rising and falling steadily, body lax in her bed. Jisung presses a gentle kiss to her forehead before he makes his way back to the kitchen.

He’s washing their takeout containers, preparing them to be recycled, and Jisung smiles. It’s such a Minho thing to do, helping without acknowledging it, taking care of the people in his life in little ways that make everything a touch easier to bear.

Jisung wants to lean into him. He wants to hold. He wants to have . Instead, he leans against the counter and studies the slope of his shoulders.

“She adores you,” he says, and Minho smiles softly to himself.

“She’s a sweet kid,” he says, and Jisung nods, “You’re doing well, Hannie.”

Jisung shrugs, “I’m doing my best.”

“You’re doing well. She’s lovely and intelligent, and it’s clear you’re giving her all the support you can. I’m sorry you have to do it all alone.”

It’s so earnest, Jisung’s stomach swoops like he’s falling. He nods, whispering his thanks. He fiddles with the hem of his shirt almost afraid to blink. Maybe Minho won’t be here when he opens his eyes again. Maybe he’s dreamed it all up, a reprieve from the unending loneliness.

“It’s late,” he says slowly, and Minho huffs, an amused smile on his face.

“Ah, glad to see you’re still capable of reading a clock. You’re not completely hopeless after all,” it contrasts with his kind words before, a familiar brand of whiplash that Minho has known since he was a child. Jisung rolls his eyes, hopping up on the counter and studying Minho’s perfect profile, “I should get home after this.”

Jisung worries at his bottom lip, chewing the skin until it’s at risk of splitting.

“You could stay.” It’s so quiet he’s afraid Minho hasn’t heard him. But Minho turns then, studying him over his shoulder. He raises his eyebrows.

“And sleep where, your couch?”

Jisun sighs, curling in on himself and pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. He presses until he can see lights dancing behind his eyelids. It was a stupid thing to say, but he can’t take it back now. Besides, he meant it.

“No, you could-”

“Jisung,” Minho warns, and Jisung deflates, trying to make himself small where he sits only a foot away from his hyung, “Jisung, look at me.”

He shakes his head, not ready to meet Minho’s knowing gaze. Minho has always been able to see straight through him. He’s been made invisible, or maybe stripped bare. Each prospect is equally horrifying here in the kitchen light.

“That wasn’t a rejection,” Minho says quietly, and Jisung startles when he feels Minho’s hand splayed on his thigh, “But we aren’t there. I’m not there. I need time, Sung-ah.”

“No, right. Obviously. It was stupid. I shouldn’t have-”

“Jisungie,” Minho chastises, pulling his hands away from his eyes and ducking until they’re looking at each other.

“It’s not a no, it’s a not tonight. I had a great time today. I had so much fun, and I hope you and Jiyu both did, too. There will be more days, hm?” Jisung shrugs, letting out a shaky breath.

“I’m scared,” he admits, and Minho rolls his eyes.

“You wouldn’t be Han Jisung if you weren’t scared,” he teases, laughing when Jisung kicks his hip gently.

“You’re so mean to me. I invite you into my house, and I feed you, and I-”

“Hannie-yah, thank you for today,” he says seriously, flipping back to earnest so seamlessly Jisung feels like he’s been knocked off balance, “It’s the best day I’ve had in a really long time. I was starting to think good days wouldn’t come again.”

“But here we are,” Jisung says, and Minho smiles indulgently.

“Yet here we are,” he parrots, standing back up and taking a step back, “Goodnight. I’ll see you soon. You have my phone number you can… use it,” he says awkwardly, staring for another moment before he turns on his heels and makes his way out of the apartment.

The silence that follows is suffocating, but Jisung’s heart feels light. Maybe everything will be difficult, hard-won. But maybe it will all be worth it.

He stands, turns off the kitchen light and goes toward the bedroom. He lingers in the hallway for a moment, eyes trailing toward the front door. His heart jumps when he notices that his shoes are put up.

He walks closer, studies the empty floor of the shoe room. He opens the closet, stares at his shoes where they now sit on the shelf too high for Jiyu to reach.

Maybe it’ll all be worth it.

Jisung slinks into the studio with red-rimmed eyes, and as soon as Minho sees him, he’s there. He grabs Jisung’s hand, squeezing tight once while he squats to greet Jiyu at eye level. She immediately jumps on him, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

It’s been over a week since Jiyu’s birthday, and they still talk every day. Their simple good mornings and goodnight texts have grown into nightly phone calls, jokes whispered through receivers and smiles shared on video chat. It feels like an eternity ago that they were crying together on the floor of the studio. It feels like an eternity ago that Jisung let Minho slip through his fingers. 

Today has been awful. It’s the kind of day where nothing could possibly go right. He woke up late, forgot his lunch, lost all of the progress on his current project, and nearly got here to the studio late. 

He’s not too proud to cry again, but he’d rather not do it out here in front of everyone. 

He blinks rapidly while his vision blurs, sucking in a wavering gulp of air. Minho squeezes again while he tells Jiyu to go and get her stretching done. As soon as she’s scurried away, Minho is in his sightline, studying his face. 

“How can I help?” he asks, and Jisung shrugs miserably. Minho glances in the direction of the studio before he turns to Ryujin, “Can you go through stretches with my class. It’ll only be a minute,” he says, and Ryujin nods slowly, gaze flitting between them while she stands. 

As soon as they're alone, Jisung’s squeezing his eyes shut, cheeks wet with tears. 

Minho tugs him in for a hug, rubbing his back and rocking him gently. He smells like aftershave and lotus shampoo. Jisung curls into him, lets himself be held while he tries to choke down sobs. 

“Shhh, I have you. I know,” he whispers into Jisung. They stand like that for a few minutes before Minho pulls back enough to wipe Jisung’s cheeks, “Sungie, go home,” he says. Jisung shakes his head. 

“I can't, Jiyu has class and-”

“You live close. You can come back and pick her up. Or better yet, you can get a little rest, and I can drop her off after class,” Minho offers, and Jisung frowns. 

“No, you’re busy. You’re busy and-”

“We both know my only plan tonight was a phone call. Go settle down. Take a bath. Drink something warm. Curl up in bed. I’ll bring Jiyu home, and then we can watch a movie or something. You need a break. You need to breathe,” Minho says firmly. 

It’s difficult to find the time to take care of himself. There’s always something to be done. If it isn’t taking care of Jiyu, it’s work. If it isn’t work, he has to clean. If he doesn’t have to clean, there’s another emergency somewhere. His exhaustion is bone-deep. 

He’s nodding then, sniffling, “Okay, but can you call me if anything happens? And let me know when you two are leaving? And tell her I’m sorry?” His voice breaks and Minho nods, pressing their foreheads together. 

“She’ll understand. Please text me when you get home. Take care of yourself, alright? Let me help,” Minho says, and Jisung nods again, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before he pulls away. 

Anxiety eats away at him while he walks home. It took forever for him to be comfortable leaving Jiyu with Changbin and Hyunjin. He used to have panic attacks, terrified that something would happen to her without him there. His therapist said it was a panic response in the aftermath of the accident. It’s mellowed now, but he still gets flashes of panic when he thinks about Jiyu being without him. 

He knows that she’s safe at the ballet studio, but he feels like he’s failing. It’s too hard to do it all alone. It’s too hard. 

He goes through the motions, settling into the bath to rest for a while, getting out and changing into pajamas, settling on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate. He sips idly, staring at his phone until he gets a notification from Minho. 

It’s a selfie. Minho is crouched with Jiyu, both of them grinning wide. It settles something in his chest, letting some of the tension slip from his shoulders. He curls up in the corner of the couch, waiting until he hears the familiar beep of the door code. 

Jiyu’s excited babbling is the first thing he hears, and he lets out a happy sigh, smiling when Jiyu bounds into the room and jumps onto him, “Appa! You didn’t tell me Minho-oppa was coming over! He said it was a surprise. Best surprise ever,” she muses, and he nods, mouthing thank you to Minho when he meets his hyung’s gaze. 

He’s leaning against the doorframe, smiling fondly at them, “Have you two eaten? I’ll make dinner,” he says seriously, nodding once and turning to the kitchen. 

“You don’t have to,” he says, and Minho stills, glancing over his shoulder and rolling his eyes. 

“Obviously. I want to. Let me cook for you,” he says, and when Jisung nods, his expression softens even more, slipping into something syrupy-sweet. 

“I’m not sure what we have,” he warns, and Minho rolls his eyes. 

“I’m sure I’ve done more with less. Don’t worry about it. Turn on a documentary while you wait,” he says, but Jisung shakes his head. 

“No, I’ll get Jiyu washed up,” he says, and Minho nods, “Help yourself to anything, and yell if you need anything. It shouldn’t take too long, and-”

“Sung,” Minho’s exasperated, but he’s smiling, “I’ve got everything under control. Go get Jiyu cleaned up.” 

He draws another bath and asks Jiyu about class. She tells him about their rehearsal and how she auditioned for a special part in their dance for the Christmas performance. His expression softens while she talks. 

“Seonsaengnim said he’ll tell us next week,” she says, and Jisung nods. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to see it, little bug,” he says, and she shakes her head, sliding into the tub. 

“It’s okay You don’t feel good,” she says, and Jisung smiles softly, nodding, “Seonsaengnim said you’re trying to be selfless again,” she says. 

“I’m still annoyed with Changbin for teaching you that word,” he says, and she giggles, letting Jisung wash her hair. 

“Will Minho-oppa come home with us more often now?” she asks, and Jisung shrugs. 

“I hope so,” he admits, and she nods, tipping her hair back for Jisung to rinse while he hums to her. If he listens, he can hear Minho puttering around in the kitchen. It’s domestic, he supposes. He’s in here giving Jiyu a bath while Minho is making them dinner in the kitchen. 

“I like Minho-oppa… at least as much as Changbinnie-oppa,” she says idly, and Jisung laughs.

“I’m telling Changbin you said that, little traitor. He’ll be heartbroken.”

“You smile special for Minho-oppa,” Jiyu says, and Jisung’s hands still, “You smile with Changbinnie-oppa, but it isn’t the same.” 

Jisung hums, acknowledging that he’s heard her. He doesn’t say anything while they finish her bath, and when they’ve settled in so he can blow dry her hair, he’s relieved that the roar of the dryer makes it impossible for them to speak. 

He didn’t realize that Jiyu would notice. How could she not? She’s so observant, keen in a way most children aren’t. She sits still while Jisung gets her all dried off and changed into her pajamas. 

When they get back outside, Minho is setting the table. It smells incredible. 

“I raided your banchan,” he says mildly, and Jisung nods, “You’re right though. It’s definitely time for a grocery order,” he muses, smiling and Jisung settles beside Jiyu. It’s bokkeumbap, simple and hearty. His mouth is watering. 

“Smells great, hyung. Thank you,” he says earnestly, and Minho shrugs. 

“It’s nothing. I like to cook,” he says, setting a spoon in Jisung’s hand. He offers a smaller spoon to Jiyu, smiling at her with a wink. She giggles. 

“You cooked her egg all the way through,” Jisung says, and Minho hums through a mouthful. 

“She doesn’t like runny yolks, you mentioned it on the phone the other night,” Minho says, and Jisung’s cheeks warm. He nods, shoving a bite of rice into his mouth. 

Dinner is a quiet affair for Jisung. He sits there quietly, watching Jiyu and Minho joke around with each other. Minho makes funny faces and laughs at her jokes. He tells her little facts about Australia, and she stares at him with wide eyes. 

When they’re done eating, Jisung yawns, “Bedtime, bud,” he says, and Jiyu pouts. 

“No. I want to see Minho-oppa more,” she says, and Jisung sighs. 

“You’ll see him again on Thursday. It’s time for bed,” he tries again, and Jiyu shakes her head, crossing her arms. 

“You can’t make me,” she argues, and Jisung raises his eyebrows. 

“Jiyu-yah. I was not asking. Go brush your teeth and then go to your room, and I’ll be there in a minute,” he says firmly, and she just tilts her head defiantly. Jisung clenches and unclenches his jaw. 

This doesn’t happen very often. Jiyu is sweet. She’s easy. She listens well and smiles and generally makes everything as easy as she can. Except for when she’s feeling stubborn. Jisung can’t handle an argument today. 

“Han Jiyu. If you are not in your bathroom in the next thirty seconds, I’m going to be upset,” he says slowly, “I’m not feeling well, and it’d been a very long day. I don’t want to fight with you.” 

She looks between Jisung and Minho with narrowed eyes. 

“Jiyu,” Minho says tentatively, “Don’t be mean to your Appa.” His words are soft, and she puffs out her cheeks, dropping her spoon to the table with a clatter and storming off toward her bedroom. 

Jisung squeezes his eyes shut, fighting off the impending anxiety. Minho’s hand finds his and squeezes again, “She loves you a lot, you know. She talked about you the entire way home. 

Jisung shrugs, sniffling, “I keep fucking up,” he says, and Minho shakes his head. 

“No, you’re doing your best. Come on, go get her tucked in while I clean up, and then we can watch a movie if you’re up for it. I know you won’t be able to sleep anytime soon,” Minho says, and Jisung sighs. 

“If you don’t come say goodnight, I’ll never hear the end of it…” he mumbles, and Minho nods, standing and offering a hand. He pulls Jisung up and leaves their hands linked. 

They make their way to her bedroom, and she’s laying down with her arms crossed. Minho stifles a giggle, leaning in to whisper, “She looks just like you, and she has your stubborn streak.” 

Jisung elbows him in the side and glares at him before dragging him into the room. He sits down beside her and leans in to press a kiss to her forehead, “Say goodnight to Minho, Jiyu-yah,” he prompts, and she glares at him, “C’mon bug, work with me here.” 

Jiyu sighs dramatically before she finally turns to look at them, “Bye, oppa,” she mumbles, and Minho grins. 

“Sweet dreams, Jiyu. I hope you sleep well, hm?” she nods, reaching up to poke Jisung’s cheek. Minho chuckles, copying her. When Minho pokes him, Jiyu giggles, curling around her Appa and looking up at him. 

“I love you, little bear,” he whispers, and Jiyu nods. 

“Love you too, Appa. See you in the morning.” 

Jisung peppers her face with kisses and smiles, “My sweet girl. I’ll see you bright and early.” 

She looks up at Minho and reaches her hand up. He smiles, letting her grab his own hand in hers. She smacks a kiss to the back of his palm and closes her eyes, “Night, Oppa,” she mutters, and Minho’s gaze softens. 

“Goodnight, Jiyu,” he says, squeezing again before they pull away. Jisung watches her for a minute before he kisses her temple and stands up, leading Minho back out to the couch. 

They clean the dishes and the kitchen quietly, settling into an easy silence. They don’t really speak until they’re on the couch, legs tangled together. 

Jisung puts on Howl’s Moving Castle, and Minho smiles. 

“I love this one,” he muses, and Jisung nods. 

“I remember,” he says, blushing when Minho laces their fingers together. 

They watch quietly, Jisung’s eyelids heavy by the climax. Minho is watching with rapt attention, studying each frame like he’s afraid he’ll forget it. By the end, Jisung is spending more time watching Minho than he does watching the screen.

“He looked for Sophie his entire life,” Minho says softly, “It’s so beautiful. They love each other so much.” 

Jisung hums, smiling with his eyes closed, “Waited my whole life too,” he mutters, and Minho frowns, studying Jisung’s half-asleep face. He looks peaceful like this, the furrow in his brow finally melted away. 

“If anyone waited their whole life, it was most definitely me, you asshole,” he grumbles, and Jisung giggles. 

“‘S that make me Sophie, then? She waited her whole life too, y’know. She just didn’t realize it. They’re entwined,” he muses, and Minho squeezes his hand three times. 

“Feeling a little better?” he asks, and Jisung nods, eyes fluttering open to look over at Minho. The room is dark, only lit by the glow of the TV screen. It casts a shade of blue across Minho’s honeyed skin. 

“Thank you. You didn’t have to take care of me,” he says, and Minho shrugs. 

“Don’t be an idiot. Of course, I don’t have to take care of you. I like to,” he admits, and Jisung swears he can see Minho’s cheeks go red. He smiles, a private thing. 

“Hm, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you like me,” he teases, and Minho rolls his eyes, huffing. 

“Alright, pabo. Time for bed,” he says, standing and pulling Jisung up with him, “Have sweet dreams, okay? And if you still feel like shit tomorrow, call out of work, and I’ll bring you a waffle after PT.” 

Jisung smiles, pulling Minho in for a brief hug, “Okay, Hyungie,” he whispers against the soft skin of Minho’s throat. Minho shivers in his hold, arms tightening around Jisung’s waist. 

“Night, Sung-ah.” He whispers. Jisung can feel the words as much as he hears them, Minho’s lips brushing against his hair. 

“Night, Hyung,” he answers, pulling back to smile at him before they separate. Jisung walks Minho to the door and watches him pull on his tennis shoes and slip out the door. He loiters for a minute, staring at the door. 

When he heads back to his bedroom, he stops to peek into Jiyu’s room. She’s hugging her favorite bear, face smashed against its head. He feels settled, full of love and well taken care of. It’s refreshing. 

He’s not entirely sure how they got here, but he certainly isn’t complaining. There’s flour streaked across Minho’s cheek, and Jisung is greasing the pan. He looks over and smiles fondly. Minho is letting Jiyu dip her fingers in the sugar cream mixture, laughing while she eats it. 

It’s Minho’s birthday, and he’s here making fish bread with them. Jisung had offered to take him to a fancy dinner or a show. Hyunjin had offered to take Jiyu for the night so Jisung could finally make an actual move, what are you, fifteen? Stop being an idiot.

But Minho had shrugged and asked if they could do something all together. Jiyu had mentioned a couple weeks earlier that Jisung had promised to make bread with her but that he wouldn’t. Jisung had flushed pink and stuttered out an excuse. 

When Jisung had asked Minho what he wanted to do, his hyung had tentatively suggested making bungeoppang together. Jisung had ordered everything they needed without a second thought. 

And so here they are, laughing in the kitchen. It’s a mess, and Jisung isn’t convinced they’re doing any of this right. None of them cares though. They’re having fun. 

“Alright, Sungie. I think we’re ready when you are,” Minho says, nudging Jiyu who giggles brightly. 

“Yeah, let’s do it,” he agrees, and then they’re pouring batter into the molds and plopping their red bean paste and sugar cream into the center. Jisung follows the recipe exactly, praying to whatever god above that the fish bread tastes as good as the ones they buy from the carts. He wants Jiyu to light up. He wants them to eat bungeoppang until they’re sated and sleepy and curled up on the couch in a tangle of limbs with Jiyu’s head on his chest. 

Three minutes. Flip the molds. Three minutes. Flip again. 30 seconds. Serve hot. 

He listens to Minho and Jiyu singing some silly song that they’ve made about a school of soggy fish bread below the sea. The king of the fish is sugar cream. Jisung feels so full of love he might burst. 

When Jisung hesitates, Minho reaches out to pop open the molds and pull out their bread. Their mold holds nine at a time, so they each get three. 

“My my, Jiyu-yah, if these taste as good as they smell, maybe we’ll have to abandon our dreams of the stage to sell them,” he jokes, and Jiyu nods. 

“Okay. Can Appa come too?” she asks, and Minho’s eyes soften. He nods. 

“Obviously. We’ll make him do all the hard work,” he whispers, and Jiyu agrees easily, reaching out to poke her bread. She hisses, and Jisung leans down to press a kiss to the pad of her finger. 

“It’s hot. You have to give it a minute,” he chastises, and she pouts, impatient and excited. 

They had tteokbokki for lunch, and Jisung hopes Minho will stay long enough to order dinner too. He kind of wants him to never leave, but he knows they aren’t there yet. They’re going slow. They haven’t even really talked about what they are. 

They’re taking it day by day, creating new routines and inside jokes and making each other smile. They’re on the same page though, Jisung thinks. They’re both in this with the intent to make it work. They’re both trying. 

It’s going well, all things considered. After another minute of staring at the steaming bread, Minho picks a piece up. 

“I’m going in,” he says solemnly before he bites off the tail. He chews slowly, nodding his head while he does. After he smiles, he turns to Jiyu solemnly, “It's the best bungeoppang in the entire world. No other bread shall ever compare.” 

Jiyu giggles and goes to take a bite before Jisung makes a panicked noise. They both look at him, and his ears warm, “Is it cool enough? Will it burn her tongue?” he asks, and Minho smiles, reaching over to ruffle Jisung’s hair. 

“I think she’ll be okay,” Minho promises, and then Jiyu is digging in, stuffing half of the fish in her mouth and eating it. She looks like a chipmunk, bread stuffed in her tiny cheeks. Jisung coos before eating his own piece. 

And Minho’s right. They’re delicious . They probably don’t technically taste as good as the neighborhood ajumma’s, but they made it here at home together, and that makes it the best thing he’s ever had. 

The rest of the day goes exactly how Jisung had planned it. They eat fish bread until they’re so full it’s almost uncomfortable. They lay on the couch and watch Spirited Away and Kiki’s Delivery Service. They order jjimdak and laugh over chicken. They tuck Jiyu into bed and wash dishes side by side in the kitchen. 

“Thank you,” Minho says suddenly, and Jisung’s eyes widen. 

“For what?” 

“For today… It was perfect. It means a lot to me that you let me be here,” he explains, and Jisung is confused. Minho is smiling down at his hands where he washes the fish molds. 

“We love having you here. I don’t understand why you’re thanking me,” he admits, and Minho sighs. 

“I just know how much making bread means to Jiyu, is all. She said that her classmates do it with their parents, and I’m obviously not… I’m just grateful that you weren’t upset, I guess. When I suggested it. And I think she had a lot of fun! Now, she won’t feel so left out at school, and you know how to do it. So if she ever wants-”

“Minho,” Jisung says, cutting off his anxious rambling, “I would have kept pushing it off… I didn’t really want to,” he admits, “She told me a few months ago that Eunwoo cooks and makes bread with his Eomma, and I just… I’m not a cook. Or a baker. I’m barely a functional adult sometimes, and I just couldn’t handle messing up and upsetting her. She already misses out on so much, you know? Anyway, what I’m trying to say is thank you . I didn’t do this for her. You did,” he says, “And it wasn’t scary with you here.” 

Minho nods, his cheeks dusted a soft shade of red. Jisung wants to kiss him. Instead, he hooks his chin on Minho’s shoulder and hugs him around his waist, “I have a gift. It isn’t anything special, so don’t get too excited. But I just… thought you deserved something,” he says, and Minho hums. 

When they finish the dishes, Jisung retrieves the gift. The wrapping is shoddy, too much and crinkled awkwardly where it fits around the box, but Minho just smiles. He shakes it once before he rips it open. 

“I just wanted to add to your collection. The one you always wear to bed is a little tattered, and I thought-” Minho hugs him, the unfolded sweatshirt pressed between them.

“I love it. Thank you,” he assures, pulling back to study it. He pulls it on over his shirt, his head popping up from the collar. It’s a beautiful blue color, and Minho is glowing. 

“Happy birthday, Hyung,” he says, “I hope your thirties treat you more kindly than your twenties did,” he says, and Minho laughs, brushing his fringe away from his eyes with blue sweater paws. 

“I have a feeling they will.”

Jiyu is at Dana’s tonight. It’s Dana’s birthday, and all of her best friends were invited for a sleepover. She’s never had a sleepover before, and Jisung spends the entire day fretting over her until he’s dropped her off. 

        Jisung: They grow up so fast. 

        Jisung: Everyone told me it would be hard, but like… damn. 

He sends the texts to Minho while he cues up a movie. The house is too quiet, and he doesn’t really know what to do with himself. He’s used to having Jiyu there. Even if she’s in her room, he can always hear her moving around. He isn’t used to the silence anymore. 

When his phone buzzes, he jumps, fumbling with it. 

        Minho: Ah yes, I remember the first time Dori climbed to the top of the cat tower by himself. It was a proud day. But I miss lifting him up there.

Jisung chuckles, rolling his eyes. 

        Jisung: Ah yes, you get me. How will we ever move on?

        Minho: One day at a time. 

        Minho: What happened?

Jisung smiles, rereading the words a few times before he answers. Minho always manages to make Jisung feel like everything will be okay. 

        Jisung: First sleepover. I already miss her terribly.

Minho doesn’t answer for a while, and Jisung stops staring at his phone, playing the movie and curling tighter in the corner of the couch. 

        Minho: You’re alone tonight?

        Jisung: Yeah. It’s too quiet. 

When Minho doesn’t answer, Jisung sighs, tossing his phone aside and half-watching his movie. His mind wanders, thinking about Jiyu and what she’s doing. He hopes she’s having fun. He wonders what Minho is doing too. Maybe Soonie laid on his phone again. Maybe he fell asleep. Maybe he had to take a phone call with his mother. Maybe-

His doorbell rings. And then it rings again. By the time Jisung actually makes his way to the door, it rings a third time. 

Minho’s eyes are sharp, bright and vulnerable where he stands on Jisung’s doorstep, his hands linked in front of him. 

“Hi,” Jisung breathes out, and Minho blinks once. 

Jisung is wearing Minho’s old shirt, joggers slung low on his hips, and Minho looks editorial in his ratty old sweatshirt and sweatpants. Jisung is so fond of him that it aches in the hollow space of his chest. He smiles warmly. 

“What, you aren’t going to let me in? After I ran all this way?” Minho says. His words are plain, but Jisung can read him well. He’s nervous. He’s trying not to fidget, but he’s rocking back and forth where he stands. 

Jisung takes a step back, giving Minho enough room to push inside. The door clicks shut behind him, and all Jisung can think is there’s no going back from this .

What is this, exactly? Jisung isn’t sure, but it feels something akin to fate. Minho watches him like he’s prey, chin tilted down while he studies Jisung’s face. 

“Tell me not to,” he says evenly, and Jisung frowns. 

“Not to what?” he whispers, and Minho rolls his eyes, taking a step forward until he’s planted firmly in Jisung’s space. 

“If you don’t want me to kiss you, tell me now,” he says before his left hand is cradling Jisung’s jaw. He can feel Minho's breath fanning across his face, and he’s never wanted anything more. He shuffles forward, their feet slotting between each other, so close he can feel the warmth of Minho radiating between them. 

“In what world do I not want you to kiss me?” he demands, and Minho chuckles. When he shakes his head, their noses brush. 

“Mouthy, even now,” he teases. 

The first brush of their lips is just that, a tentative touch. When Minho is sure Jisung isn’t going anywhere, his free hand finds Jisung’s hip, thumb rubbing across the exposed skin of his hip bone. 

Jisung melts. Suddenly, he’s seventeen again, squished inside his twin-sized bed with Minho hovering above him. But no, they aren’t kids anymore, and this is so much better. 

It’s reverent. It’s perfect. It feels like Minho is settling every uneasy thought Jisung has ever had, quieting his brain of any thought that isn’t minho minho minho minho . 

And then he moves. He presses forward, pushing until Jisung’s back is against the shoe closet, holding him firmly and pressing gentle kisses to his lips. He pulls back just enough to smile, and Jisung laughs, his eyes still closed. 

“More?” he asks, and Minho grins. 

“Greedy,” he says before closing the space between them again. They find a rhythm quickly, gentle pecks giving way to something open-mouthed and needy. Jisung is gripping Minho’s biceps, holding on while Minho peels him apart. 

He’s flayed open again, nothing but a beating heart and raw nerves set out delicately for Minho to feast upon. It’s a pleasure to be devoured. 

When Minho’s tongue finds his, Jisung keens, digging his fingers into the muscle of Minho’s arms. It might hurt, but Jisung is already too gone to care. He wants more. He wants to bare himself, body and soul. He wants to be torn to bits and built back up. He wants and wants and wants until there’s nothing else. 

Minho pulls away, and Jisung chases, going with him until Minho takes an entire step back. 

It takes a minute for Jisung to be comfortable enough to open his eyes. Minho is watching him with a heaving chest, “Why’d you stop?” he demands, and Minho laughs, sharp but kind. He shakes his head and pulls away entirely, kneeling to untie his shoes before he goes to the living room, settling on the couch. 

The room is a mess. Jiyu’s toys are littering the room, a Pororo blanket is crumpled on the floor. Jisung might be embarrassed if he could think about anything other than the way Minho’s ears and lips are both flushed pink. 

“If we’re doing this, you have to be all in,” he says seriously, and Jisung nods, “No, Sungie. I need you to think about it. I need you to really, really think about it. I would wait a lifetime for you, but if you aren’t really interested in the rest of-”

“Hyung. I don’t need to think.” He nods once, sitting beside Minho and reaching out to grab his hand, squeezing gently, “I’m ready. I’ve been ready. You and me,” he promises. 

Minho is quiet for a moment, studying Jisung’s face in the unending silence. He must find what he’s looking for because he nods, “Okay.” 

“Okay?”

“We have a lot to figure out,” Minho warns, and Jisung nods again. 

“And we will. We’ll figure it all out, and it might not be perfect. But it’ll be ours, and that’s enough.” 

“That’s enough,” Minho echoes. 

Jisung doesn’t know what comes next, but Minho is here holding his hand. Minho is staring at him like he’s the only thing that has ever existed. Minho is drinking him in like he’s spent a decade in the desert, searching for some kind of water. 

Jisung doesn't have it in himself to be afraid. 

Instead, he tugs until Minho moves to straddle him, hovering above Jisung there on the couch, “Does that mean I get more kisses, now?” he whispers, and Minho rolls his eyes. 

“You can have anything you want,” he says, and Jisung’s eyes light up. 

“Anything? That’s too much power,” he muses, and Minho nuzzles their noses together, letting his eyes fall closed. 

“Mmm, and what is it that you want, Han Jisung?”

There’s only ever been one answer.

“You.” 

Minho’s breath hitches, and Jisung smiles and then they’re kissing again. Slower. Deeper. A lazy, heated press of tongues while Jisung grips at the meat of Minho’s hips, fingers digging in deep enough to mark. 

He wants to paint Minho’s throat purple. He wants to press love into every crevice and curve of his body. He wants to map out every scar and replace the hurt with blinding pleasure. He wants and wants and wants. 

And Minho gives so easily, lets Jisung taste and tug and hold, “Hyung… Can I touch,” he whispers, and Minho’s cheeks are flushed. He nods, caressing Jisung’s soft cheek while he does. 

“I told you. You can have anything.” 

So he stands, taking Minho with him and walking them to his bedroom. He sets Minho down on the edge of the mattress and stays right there between his spread legs. He kisses down the smooth column of his throat, nips at his exposed collarbone. 

Undressing Minho is like unwrapping a present. He goes slowly, spending time on every sliver of exposed skin. He laves his tongue and presses gentle kisses against his knuckles, his wrist, the crook of his elbow. 

Minho lets him work, lets Jisung whisper praise against his chest, the smooth curve of his pec, the soft line of his stomach. 

When he’s only in his boxers, Jisung looks up at him from beneath his eyelashes, “Is this okay?” he asks again, and Minho nods, lifting his hips for Jisung to pull away the final barrier. 

He’s just as stunning as Jisung remembers. He’s less gangly now, firmer and broader but also softer. He’s perfect. He’s the most stunning thing Jisung has witnessed in years. His fingertips dance across Minho’s thigh, tracing the muscle. He rubs his thumb across Minho’s kneecap as gently as he can manage. 

“God, hyung,” he says, teeth digging into the skin of his inner thigh, a few inches above his knee. Minho hisses, fingers carding through Jisung’s hair. 

“Are you just going to stare at me? I mean, that would be fine, but-”

“Lee Minho, I want to spend the rest of my life making you feel good,” he says, and Minho laughs a bit breathlessly. It’s a bold thing to say, but he appreciates the way Jisung studies him with a single-minded focus, mapping out the things he likes.

He hadn't expected this to happen when he came over, not that he’s complaining. He had expected an emotional conversation and probably some tears. Instead, Jisung moves to kiss him like he wants to climb inside Minho and stay there. 

Minho wouldn’t mind that. 

He tugs at Jisung’s shirt and mumbles off against his lips. They separate just long enough for Jisung to shed his clothes. When he returns, Minho is lying against the pillows, staring openly at Jisung’s ridiculous shoulder-to-waist ratio. 

“I know you said anything, but that isn’t actually very helpful, and I would like for this to be something we both enjoy. This is the beginning of a new chapter for us, and I really really want you to feel good. But I haven’t had sex in literal years, and I haven’t had sex with any men except um… you. So now that I’ve sufficiently embarrassed myself, maybe you could put me out of my misery and-”

“Sung,” Minho chastises, kicking his naked thigh, “It’s me. You can’t be a worse lay than you were when you were a teenager… and even if you are, it’s still you,” he says, and Jisung glares at him. 

“Way to inspire confidence, hyung. Now, I feel totally ready to-”

“Fuck me,” Minho says, reaching out to take Jisung’s hand, “Open me up for your cock and make me come. I want to feel you,” Minho says bluntly, and Jisung blushes, rummaging for his lube. 

“Not gonna fuck you. ‘M gonna make love to you,” he says while Minho lets his legs fall open, bent at the knees. 

“God, you’re such a sap,” he jokes, and Jisung sticks his tongue out while he warms some lube between his fingers. 

They settle back into silence while Jisung rubs the pad of his fingers against Minho’s skin in deliberate circles. He eases his middle finger inside Minho. He goes slowly, still a little unsure of himself. Minho lets out little sighs and watches him with a lazy smile. He slides his finger back out before pressing in again, relishing in the tight pull of his hyung’s body. 

He keeps going until Minho feels nice and relaxed. He pushes back in with two fingers, and Minho hisses. It sounds more pleased than pained, so Jisung barely slows down, watching Minho for any sign of discomfort. He’s flushed where he lays against Jisung’s pillows, his cheeks a ruddy shade of pink. 

Jisung doesn’t push in a third finger until Minho starts fucking himself down on Jisung’s fingers. He pets Minho's hip with his free hand, pressing a kiss to Minho’s knee where it’s bent. His hyung’s eyes are lidded, lips parted while he breathes. And Jisung wants to take a picture or maybe keep him like this forever. He wants to relive it again and again, the way Minho looks. 

“Sung,” he pleads, and Jisung crooks his fingers at that, pulling a whimper from Minho’s lips when he brushes against his prostate. He doesn’t do it again, focusing his energy on opening Minho up. 

“You look debauched,” Jisung muses, and Minho laughs, shaking his head and smiling. 

“You look like you should be fucking- sorry, making love , to me, hm? I’m ready, Sung. Will you please just-”

“Anything,” Jisung echoes Minho simply, crooking his fingers to massage pointedly at Minho’s prostate once more before he pulls his fingers out and fumbles to look for a condom that isn’t thoroughly expired. 

“Jisung, if you aren’t inside me in the next thirty seconds, I’m pushing you over and doing it myself. We can clean up after, I just-”

“Hey,” Jisung says gently, abandoning his search to cup Minho’s cheek. His chest is heaving, and Jisung frowns, studying him for any discomfort, “What’s wrong?” he asks, and Minho shakes his head. 

“I just want you. Can’t wait anymore, I need it. Need you, Sungie please just-”

“Shhh,” he soothes, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to both of his cheeks, “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. Can you breathe for me? If you don’t feel good, we can wait. I’d wait forever if you wanted me to. Don’t push yourself,” he says gently, and Minho lets out a shaky laugh. 

“No, Want you now. I promise. I’m okay, I’m good. It’s just overwhelming,” he explains, and Jisung nods. 

He gets it. It’s not a big deal, but it’s also massive. He kisses Minho again, more tongue than lips, but it seems to settle his hyung. He lubes himself up and gives into their desires, pressing in slowly. They’re breathing into each other, noses brushing while he moves. 

He stills when their hips are flush, pulling back enough to study Minho’s face. Jisung shifts his hips and Minho’s breath catches. A fond smile takes over Jisung’s face, “Okay?” 

“Be gentle with me. I don’t know if I can survive you twice,” he whispers, and Jisung shivers, his eyes falling shut. 

“I promise,” he says, and then Minho tells him to move. 

He takes another moment to be selfish, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips before he pulls almost all the way out and slides back in. 

“Fucking hell, Jisung,” Minho moans, throwing his head back, and Jisung dips down to suck a mark at the juncture of his neck and shoulder while he does it again. 

“Feels so good,” he whispers against the blooming bruise, and Minho clenches, moaning when Jisung starts to fuck him in earnest. It feels like there’s no space to think, every thought consumed by Minho, the way he looks, the way he feels, the sounds he makes while Jisung fucks him. Their punched-out, airy moans that sound like music. 

There’s no more speaking, just their moans and the sound of skin on skin. Minho hooks the heel of his good leg around Jisung’s waist, his heel digging into Jisung’s back while they move. Jisung shifts, and Minho keens, arching his back and grinding down into the thrust. 

Jisung hits his prostate with every thrust after that, pulling sinful moans from Minho’s beautiful lips as he loses himself in the heady sensations. It doesn’t take long for Jisung to be teetering on the edge of his orgasm, and one of his hands finds Minho’s cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. 

He wants Minho to come first. He wants to watch Minho fall apart. It's desperate now, less coordinated while he ruts into Minho, grinding into his prostate and rambling praise into the charged air between them. 

It’s enough to pull Minho’s release from him. He spills over Jisung’s fingers with a cry, squeezing his eyes shut and fisting at the sheets. Jisung follows him a moment later, pulling out and coming against Minho’s hip, groaning when Minho reaches down to help him ride out his orgasm with the easy flick of his wrist. 

He shudders, dropping down onto Minho and curling into him. 

They’re sticky, coated in sweat and their mixed releases, but Jisung’s heart is full. He presses lazy kisses to every bit of skin he can reach, nuzzling into Minho’s shoulder and humming, “I love you.” 

Minho laughs, “Yeah, I love you too… Bath?” he offers, and Jisung groans, pushing himself to get up and lacing their fingers together. 

“Only because I love you and plan to spend the rest of my life taking care of you. Have to start now,” he grumbles, and Minho laughs. 

“And here I thought you started thirty minutes ago,” he teases, and Jisung squawks. 

“Excuse you, that was more than thirty minutes! Foreplay counts,” he snaps, and Minho rolls his eyes, sitting up and ruffling Jisung’s hair. 

“We’ll work on it,” is all he says. And Jisung feels lucky while he carries Minho to the bathroom. He feels lucky while they make dinner and while they eat. He feels lucky when he’s opening a new toothbrush and setting it beside his own in the holder. He feels lucky when he falls asleep with Minho curled around his back. 

Maybe he’s the luckiest man in the world. Maybe they both are. Jisung doesn’t know, but he does know that waking up to Minho’s sweet smile is perfect. He wants to do it every day for the rest of his life. 

Jisung’s leg bounces while he watches Jisoo do Jiyu’s stage makeup. It’s mostly glitter and lipstick, but Jisung hadn’t trusted himself to not fuck it up. She sits still while Jisoo works, letting her swipe the icy silver across her cheekbones. 

He swallows thickly, listening to the chaos and chatter of other parents. Jisung reads over the program again. Jiyu’s class goes toward the beginning before the advanced dancers take the stage. Jisung and Minho are in the middle, the seventh song on the program, and Jisung hasn’t been this nervous in ages. 

Jiyu is in her costume, the pale blue starkly contrasting with her honeyed skin. She’s beautiful, grinning wide while Jisoo asks her about school. 

It’s her first performance. Jisung reads the program again, flipping to the page where the dancers' names are typed in a pretty serif. Han Jiyu. It’s the first time Han Jiyu’s name is printed in a program, and if he has anything to do with it, there will be a million more. 

His name is there too, sitting above Minho’s. It settles him a bit when he remembers that Minho will be right next to him. Maybe he’ll ruin all of their hard work, but Minho will kiss him afterwards either way. 

It’s Minho’s first time performing since his accident. Jisung is keenly aware of how stressed Minho has been about it. Every day for the past few weeks, Minho has called Jisung rambling about how much it hurt when his tendon ruptured, how his knee was still so precarious it could hardly keep him up in the first place. He had to crawl off stage. 

A night of firsts for all of them. They’re ordering pizza after. 

When Jiyu’s makeup is finished, she twirls for Jisung, laughs when he gives her a standing ovation. She’s brilliant, basking in the adoration. 

The clock reads 6:28. In thirty two minutes, the curtain will open, and the recital MCs will introduce the newest class of beginners. In thirty two minutes, he’ll watch Jiyu take the stage. He might vomit. 

Minho’s head pokes in the room then, “Alright, all of my dancers need to be warming up,” he says, “Come on, we don’t have time to waste.” 

No nonsense Minho is sexy. He’s commanding and in control. His eyes are sharp. Jisung smiles at him, patting Jiyu’s shoulder and pushing her in Minho’s direction. He doesn’t smile back, but his gaze lingers for a moment before he herds the kids away. 

The moms are chatting while they wait, cleaning up their kids’ makeup and gathering their things so they’re easier to grab after the show, but Jisung is marking choreography in his mind. He runs through the routine four times before Jihyo is tugging at his sleeve and telling him that they need to go find their seats. 

The introduction is a blur, and then Jiyu is twirling on stage in her costume. She takes to it like a fish to water, grinning and hitting every move with precision. It’s clear that being on stage feels like home to her, and Jisung’s heart soars. 

She and Yeji both have special parts where they get to go center and do a little set of twirls, and Jisung is beaming so wide his cheeks hurt. When it’s over, he’s clapping furiously, resisting the urge to scream her name. He’ll always be her biggest fan. 

After her performance though, his nerves really set in. He feels shaky and fidgety and like maybe he’s going to be sick. He sits through the next three songs before he has to slip out and meet Minho backstage. 

Minho is so collected, Jisung whines, tipping into him and hiding his face in the soft skin of his neck, “I can’t do this. I can’t. You do it alone. I’m going to escape to some remote country in South America and raise alpacas. They can be vicious, but I’m sure we’ll meet some kind of understanding. I’ll make you a sweater with their wool and-”

“Sung, breathe. You’re ready,” he promises, “And even if you aren’t, I’ll be right there. When I’m dancing, no one will be looking at you anyway,” he teases, and Jisung huffs, rolling his eyes. 

“Oh sure, very mature, hyung. That makes me feel so much better . I’m-”

“Jiyu was phenomenal,” he says, and Jisung’s mouth snaps shut, “She has real potential, and I'm not just saying that. She could really do it, I think. If she’s serious about it. She’s excited to see us dance. She thinks she’s the luckiest girl in class because we’re dancing for her. If you can’t do it for yourself, do it for her.” 

Jisung sighs, “Fine, but I want a kiss first.” 

“Oh, Jagi, you can have as many kisses as you want,” he says, and it’s hard to be nervous with Minho’s plush lips pressed against his own. 

Three Years Later

The sun beats down, hot and oppressive. Minho’s hand finds the small of his back, and he squeezes Jiyu’s hand. Australia is too warm this time of year, according to Minho. But as soon as they were off the plane, Minho took a deep breath, his eyes falling closed. 

Jisung spins Jiyu after the Sydney Opera House has come into view. It’s stunning, large and surrounded by the bay. He understands how Minho fell in love with it here. He could get used to the incessant sun if he got to see Minho and Jiyu smile this wide every day. 

Their seats are good, a gift from Chris and Felix. They’ve been staying in a fancy airbnb by the sea, and Jisung has been writing in the morning out on the terrace, breathing in the sea breeze and avoiding the thought of massive spiders. 

Minho kisses his cheek, and Jisung is pulled out of his thoughts, “How do you feel?” he asks, and Minho shrugs. 

“It’s weird. I miss it here. I love it here… but it’s…” he shrugs again, and Jisung nods. It must be awful to feel haunted by something you love so much. 

They settle in, and Jisung helps Jiyu read through the program. She’s getting better at sounding things out, filling in unfamiliar words and guessing them from context. Three years of dancing and attentive English studies have primed her for a summer course with the Australian ballet. 

Minho keeps leaving brochures out on their kitchen counter for full-time dance study, and Jisung keeps pointedly not bringing it up. She’s too young anyway, unable to start pointe for a few more years. Her body isn’t big enough yet, her skills are not developed enough. 

Her love of dance hasn’t waned though. If anything, her passion has exponentially grown. She takes class almost every day now, and she’s even started trying other genres. He’s so proud of her. 

He’s proud of Minho, too. He’s dancing again in smaller roles that won’t put too much strain on his knee. Jisung and Jiyu always go to see him, and they always pick out the prettiest bouquet they can find, scouring the florists in their area until they’ve settled on something perfect. 

When the lights dim, Jiyu sits up straight, her eyes trained on the stage. Jisung steals glances of her throughout the production. Her eyes are wide, shiny with unshed tears. He steals a glance of Minho, and he looks exactly the same, his eyes glassy in the dark of the expansive room. 

He doesn’t get it quite like they do, but he loves to see them adoring and on the edge of their seats. There’s tragedy and forest ghosts. Jisung had read the plot synopsis that morning so he could follow the storyline. Felix is incredible as is the rest of the company. It’s gut-wrenching. 

When the bows are finished, Minho lets out a shaky breath. 

“Come, come, Lix said we can go backstage. Won’t it be cool?” he offers, and Jiyu nods, following Minho like a moth to a flame. Jisung trails behind them, listening to them dissect the ballet, discussing the choreography and the staging. 

He’s pleasantly clueless, happy to enjoy the stunning architecture of the building and their eager chatter. 

As soon as they’re backstage, Minho is practically swarmed, flanked on each side and hugged by the dancers who had become his family. They press kisses to his cheeks and ramble excitedly about how glad they are to see him. He introduces everyone to Jiyu, tells them that she wants to dance in the company someday. 

They chat with her, ask questions, and tell her stories. 

When Jisung catches the shock of Felix’s blond hair, he grins, making sure Jiyu is still holding Minho’s hand before he’s going to hug him. They’ve gotten close over the last two years, bonding over shared interests and a vested enjoyment of teasing Chan. 

“Lix,” he says, picking the younger up and spinning him around, “God, it’s great to see you. You were incredible. I think Jiyu thinks you’re superman now,” he says, and Felix laughs, eyes scanning the room until he settles on Minho and Jiyu. 

“Thank you for coming. I love when family comes to see the show,” he says, “Has Christine found Minho yet? She’s been trying to track him down since you guys landed. I’ve basically been beating her off with a stick. You guys deserved a few days of actual vacation before the craziness starts. Intensives are… a lot,” Felix says, and Jisung shakes his head. 

“No? Who’s Christine?” he asks, and Felix nods to a woman with a mess of blonde curls wades through dancers and crushes Minho into a hug. 

He drags Jisung over to them and drops down to pull Jiyu into a bone-crushing hug. 

“No, it’s great to see you too. Ah, this is my partner, Jisung,” Minho says, and Christine shakes his hand, welcoming him to Sydney with a smile. 

It’s overwhelming, so Jisung just watches everyone interact, letting the noise wash over him. He doesn’t tend to like crowded places, but everyone he loves is smiling, so that’s enough. Jiyu is telling Felix all of her favorite things about the show. 

“Ah, I actually have a job for you. If you want it, that is,” he catches Christine say, and Jisung’s gaze snaps up. He studies Minho’s face. It’s probably unreadable to everyone else in the room, but Jisung catches the flicker of hope in his eyes. 

“A job?” he says slowly, and she nods. 

“Lillian is retiring. We need another instructor,” she says, “I have it on good authority that you’ve been teaching, choreographing, and even dancing again.” 

Minho nods slowly, glancing at Jisung, “Yeah, I am. But I’m pretty settled in Seoul now, and I wouldn’t-”

“Whatever they’re paying, we’ll double it,” she says cooly, “And we’ll pay moving costs.” 

Minho worries at his bottom lip, shrugging his shoulders, “It isn’t really about the money,” he admits, “You know how much I love Australia, but I’m not interested in going anywhere my family isn’t. If Jisung and Jiyu aren’t here, I don’t want to be either.” 

And Jisung’s chest aches. He shakes his head and takes a stuttering step forward, reaching out to take his hand, “I mean, it doesn’t hurt to hear her out.” 

He’s trying to be encouraging, but his head is kind of filled with static. He thinks about their lives together and what a big move like this would mean. Doing long distance at this point would be challenging, but Jisung wants Minho to chase every dream he has. 

“Your family can come too. We’ll figure something out with immigration,” she says seriously, “We don’t want to split you up, but we do want you back home. And you can take auditions, maybe start performing again. You’ve always been a valuable member of this team… we didn’t even want you to go back to Seoul after your procedure. We were fully ready to support you here. Minho, we-”

“No, I know. I know,” he promises, lacing his fingers with Jisung’s, “But that’s a big change. It’s easy to uproot your entire life when it’s just you, but I wouldn’t want to do anything that Jisung doesn’t want to do. And I would hate to move Jiyu unless we were 100% sure that it’s the right choice for her . I’m not a kid anymore. I can’t just-”

“I like Australia,” Jisung says quietly. Christine and Minho both turn to look at him, “What, I’m serious. I studied abroad here when I was in college, and I loved it. Jiyu’s grandparents live here in Sydney, and I’m sure they would love it if we were close by… besides, she’ll be ready for pointe in a few years, and I think there’s a full-time study program here that she’d be interested in. If she gets in, that is… A move to Sydney wouldn’t be the worst thing.” 

Minho laughs breathlessly, shaking his head, “Oh, my god, you’re serious. You’re actually thinking about this,” he says, and Jisung nods. 

“I just want you two to be happy and safe and taken care of. As long as you’re both okay, I’m exactly where I need to be. It doesn’t hurt to hear Christine’s offer,” Jisung points out, and Minho nods. 

“Okay. Sure, I'll take a look at the position. But I’m serious, if it doesn’t sound like the perfect fit, no amount of money will make me drag my family out here,” he says, and Christine agrees with a smile. 

“Ah, I’m sure you’ll like the offer just fine,” she says, and Jisung laughs, pulling Minho in for a chaste kiss on the cheek. Minho’s cheeks flush pink, and he’s about to say something else when they hear Jiyu’s bright laughter. 

“Dad! Dad, Uncle Felix says we can go on the stage! Will you come too?” she calls out, and Jisung blinks once. 

“We’re kind of busy talking with-”

“No, not you , Appa,” Jiyu says, rolling her eyes. Her gaze settles heavily on Minho before she repeats herself, “ Dad , come on!” 

A disbelieving laugh escapes Minho’s lips, and he glances at Jisung, “Did she just…?” he shakes his head, and Jisung grins, his heart full. 

“You heard her, hyung, best not to keep our baby girl waiting,” he says, and Minho laughs again, pressing a gentle kiss to Jisung’s lips and turning to Christine. 

“Yeah, yeah, I have to go on the stage. I’ll come find you, yeah? We’ll talk contracts,” Minho assures, and then he’s off, jogging over to tackle Felix in a side hug, squishing Jiyu between them. 

She whines dramatically, a long drawn out Dad, stop slipping from her lips like it’s always been there. And Jisung laughs, scrambles to follow them after he decides that he needs to hear more, wants to watch them twirl and leap and joke around on the stage that has occupied their dreams for years. 

And he stands there, waiting in the wings to hold them when they come back to him. Minho claps when she pirouettes, encouraging her while she spins. She falls out of it with a delighted laugh and looks over her shoulder, “Appa, look! Look, we’re dancing!” 

Jisung beams, eyes trailing from Jiyu to Minho and then back, “I know, sweetheart! You look like you were born to be up here,” he calls back. It must be the right thing to say because she melts at the words, letting Minho scoop her up and spin her around. 

A lot has changed. He still has nightmares sometimes, but Minho is always there to press kisses to his cheeks. He still gets anxious sometimes, but Jiyu tugs his hair and tells him she’s proud. A lot has changed, but it’s all good. 

He’s startled out of his thoughts by Minho’s laughter. They’re staring at each other under the stage lights, Jiyu wrapped around him like some kind of gangly koala. And Jisung can see the way that Minho’s eyes sparkle from here. 

“Appa, I think Dad needs a kiss,” Jiyu calls, and Jisung trips over himself in his haste to get over to them. He wraps them in his arms and sighs fondly, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek before he presses a gentle kiss to Minho’s. 

“Oh come on, you can do better than that, Appa,” she teases, and Jisung whines, his ears heating up. Minho raises his eyebrows in silent challenge, and then Jisung is kissing him, a too-warm spotlight warming his skin. “Ew, too much!”

They separate with a laugh, and Jisung tickles Jiyu with a grin, “You’re the one who told me to do better, you little menace. Just for that, I’m not getting you ice cream tonight.” 

“Ugh, this is why Dad is my favorite. He’ll always get me ice cream, and we’ll get mint choco so you can’t have any,” she says, raising her eyebrows in defiance. 

“You’re a bad influence,” Jisung deadpans, turning his glare to Minho. 

“Hey, don’t look at me like that! She’s your kid,” he counters, and Jiyu whines. 

“Not fair, I’m yours too,” she argues, and Jisung’s gaze softens. 

“Yeah,” Minho whispers, pressing a kiss to her temple, “Mine too.” 

And now, that flicker of hope doesn’t seem so ridiculous. They’re going to be just fine.