Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Having a date for their debut made everything feel more real. Suddenly everything was happening at once. Jisung was trying his best to stick to his promise to sleep more than one or two hours a day, Minho knew, but it wasn’t getting any easier. More often than not, and always while apologizing profusely, he would tell Minho not to expect him back at night. 

It was hard to say anything when Minho knew how hard Jisung was trying to maintain some semblance of a normal relationship. And their time together was so rare, so precious — the last thing he wanted to do with the little time they did have was to argue. It felt like when Jisung was in school again, if school was much less predictable and ran twenty-four hours a day. They had a few hours at night, rarely any afternoons, and sometimes, randomly, a few hours in the morning if he had stayed the night elsewhere. 

Every day, Jisung would leave, and bit by bit, less of him returned. It was impossible not to think about what would happen to them, but Minho was determined to ignore those thoughts for as long as he could.

Some of the changes weren’t as unpleasant. One day Jisung came back a bit earlier, as Minho was cleaning up in the kitchen, and Minho stopped to stare.

Jisung stared back. “What?” He looked down self-consciously. “Is there something wrong?”

Minho reached out to smooth his fingers through his hair, which was now a smooth, medium brown. “You didn’t tell me you were dyeing your hair,” he said softly.

“Oh.” Jisung blinked. “I guess — yeah. I did.” He laughed. “When we walked in, someone was mixing this red hair dye. Thankfully it wasn’t for me.”

He paused. “Do you like it?”

Jisung didn’t look that different. Minho supposed that if red had been on the table, he had gotten off easy. But there was something different about him that Minho couldn’t pin down. Many of the changes had been gradual. Jisung was thinner now, something that still made Minho upset every time he thought of the reason why. He’d learned how to do some of his own makeup. Once he’d come back in the middle of the day with his makeup still on, like a proper celebrity, and Minho’s heart had quickened at the sight.

He didn’t need any of it, pretty with and pretty without, but Minho supposed that this was the version of Jisung that the world got to fall in love with. Some things, he knew, would be his alone.

Minho nodded. “You look good,” he said. “Did they have to bleach it?”

“Yeah.”

“Did it hurt?”

Jisung gave him a small smile. “Not too much,” he said. “I think it’s pretty cool. Could’ve been worse. They told me if I had any colors I wanted to try, I could let them know next time. But I really don’t know if I could pull off any crazy hairstyles.”

“You’d look good in any color,” Minho said honestly, and Jisung blushed lightly.

“You’re just saying that,” he said, but he looked pleased. “There are some I definitely couldn’t pull off.”

Minho let himself imagine Jisung with blonde hair. Red hair. Shorter hair. Longer hair. What were some more unique hairstyles? A ponytail. Ramen-style curled hair. Bald.

At the last one, he wrinkled his nose.

“Okay, maybe not all styles,” he allowed. “Like, if they ask you to shave your head, maybe try to talk them out of that one. But I do think you’d look good in most hairstyles.”

“If they asked me to shave my head, I’d quit,” Jisung said seriously, but his eyes were dancing. “I think you could pull off a no-hair look.”

Minho blanched. “No thank you,” he said. “I do need a haircut, but I think I’ll be keeping most of my hair with me. I would look terrible bald.” 

Both were true. He hadn’t gotten a haircut for half a year, and it was getting pretty long, long enough to curl around his ears. He was also convinced that he would look like an egg. Jisung would probably look like an egg too. Just a cuter one.

He stepped back and held his hand out. It was getting late — for him, anyway, and he had a vested interest in getting Jisung into his bed as soon as possible. “Sleep?”

Jisung took his hand and let him pull him upstairs. 

“I like your hair,” Jisung murmured, sometime later, after they’d brushed their teeth and gotten ready for bed. He was running his fingers through Minho’s hair. “Don’t cut it too much.”

“You like it?” Minho moved closer, shifted so he could see him. “I thought you said I would look good bald?”

“Can’t I like both?” He could hear Jisung’s smile in his voice. The corner of his mouth lifted in response.

“No.”

Their mouths were so close together he barely had to lean in to steal a kiss. Jisung’s hand slowed, then stilled. One kiss stretched into two, and then drifted into an indeterminate number more. It had been a while since they’d had the time to just lie next to each other without one of them getting in or getting out. Most of the time they shared was just spent sleeping. This moment was slow, sonorous, like Minho had managed to make away with some time for the two of them without being caught. 

Minho let Jisung go eventually, only for Jisung to pull him back in. The minutes ebbed and flowed. He rose and fell under the moon like the tide.

“Fine,” Jisung said, in between one breath and the next. “I guess I just like you.”

Minho smiled sleepily. “Who’s the biased one now?”

“Me,” Jisung agreed easily. He pecked him once more. “If you’re tired, you should sleep.”

“Mm,” Minho hummed. Sleeping did sound good. “Don’t wanna waste any time with you.”

It was too dark to make out every detail, but he knew Jisung well enough to catch a flicker of something in his eyes. It was only there for a second, before his expression smoothed out again.

“I’ll be there in your dreams too,” Jisung whispered, and brushed some of his hair out of his face. “Good night, hyung.”

If he had known that that would’ve been the last night, he would never have slept. He would have hugged him tighter, kissed him more. He hadn’t known. How could he have?

Jisung must have known. But he didn’t realize that until it was too late.

The next day, Jisung was gone by the time he woke up, which didn’t surprise him. It was like any other lunch rush when he first heard it on the radio.

“And now, for a change, this is ‘Close’ by J.One from 3RACHA! They haven’t debuted yet, but they will soon — please enjoy an exclusive look at their first pre-release single!”

He didn’t recognize any of the names, so the magnitude of what was happening didn’t register to him until the song started playing.

Will you tell me about yourself? You, who was seen from afar. I don't want to just watch without doing anything. Yeah, just tell me about you.

“Oh my god,” he said out loud. The intro was new, and there was a lot more going on in the studio version than a solo guitar performance, but the voice was undoubtedly Jisung’s. His legs felt weak. “Oh my god.”

It was like Jisung was everywhere overnight. Close was sandwiched between two out of every three songs on the radio. When Minho went to buy groceries, he saw Jisung’s face on the cover of a magazine at checkout. Hands shaking, he picked it up. It was their newest issue. Jisung’s face was smooth, flawless. He looked perfect. He looked like a stranger. Minho was filled with the sudden urge to cry. He didn’t.

He bought the magazine and spent the evening pouring over it. It was a brief article about Jisung — J.One now, Minho supposed — and 3RACHA. How “Close” had been inspired by a movie scene. Their names, ages, siblings, hometowns. It all seemed so plain. If Minho had to describe Jisung in one page, nothing in the magazine would’ve made the cut. Jisung was a force of nature. He was the storm and the sun after rain. He was stubborn and wonderful and kind.

The issue, he supposed, was that the person he knew was Han Jisung, not J.One. He’d always thought of them as the same person, but now, he wasn’t so sure. It was impossible to ignore the thoughts that he had tried not to think about for so long. Jisung belonged to Minho. But J.One would belong to the public. To everyone.

If they weren’t the same person, then what did that mean for them? 3RACHA hadn’t debuted yet, but they would. And then what?

Minho didn’t know. There was so much he didn’t know, he thought numbly. He hadn’t even known that Jisung had a brother.

Phone screens, TV, magazines. Jisung was everywhere, it seemed, except for home. A day passed. Then a week. It gave Minho time to think. He couldn’t run away from his thoughts anymore.

He should have known. Time and time again, he had let himself get too comfortable, only for everything to be taken away from him. Jisung had loved music first, and him second. Why, he thought, anguished, had he never learned?

Minho understood. He really did. Nobody had ever chosen him. He had just thought…

It didn’t matter anymore what he had thought. The days passed. He didn’t mind the extra time. He knew Jisung would be back. They had molded Jisung into the perfect idol, smoothing out his rough edges and polishing him until he shined. Minho was the last loose end. Sooner or later, he would have to be cut loose too.

Sure enough, two weeks later, Jisung returned.

It was late like always. Minho stared at him from where he had been scrubbing the stovetop. Jisung was wearing a cap, a mask, and ridiculously-sized sunglasses that he had taken off once he’d entered. He still would’ve recognized him anywhere, but something about the person standing in front of him felt strangely unfamiliar. Jisung was wearing jewelry. Earrings, bracelets, rings. Makeup. Shoes that he’d never seen before. He was carrying a bag with him that Minho knew was expensive. He didn’t look like he had come back to sleep. He looked like he was running midnight errands.

There was a brief moment between suffocation and death, Minho knew, after one stopped struggling. It was described as an almost peaceful feeling. He had had two weeks to prepare for this moment, to search for scraps of his dignity and put on some semblance of composure.

He felt unnaturally calm. He knew what had to happen.

Jisung shifted uncomfortably. Minho knew he had seen his magazine cover on the counter. It had been the first thing his gaze had fallen on.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Jisung said, quiet. Pleading.

“How am I looking at you?”

Even to his own ears, his voice sounded hollow.

Jisung winced. “Like you don’t know me.”

Minho stared at him. “Do I?”

“Hyung,” Jisung said. When he reached out for Minho, Minho looked down at the streaks of grime that had accumulated over his gloves.

“You probably shouldn’t,” he said, and Jisung flinched. “Your clothes will get dirty.”

“Please,” Jisung whispered. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

He didn’t know anything anymore, Minho thought desperately, not that it mattered. He had never been able to refuse anything Jisung had asked of him. He opened his arms for a hug and Jisung fell into them with a small whimper. It hurt, so much more than it had before.

The article had said Jisung lived by himself before joining the company. There had even been a picture of his apartment, with his toothbrush and hoodies. There was nothing about him or the restaurant, not that Minho was expecting there to be. Obviously, they couldn’t know the truth. The pictures, too, were probably staged. But was it a coincidence that everything Jisung had taken from his apartment had made its way into that photo?

If Minho thought about it — if he let himself really think about it — he knew the truth.

Day by day, he thought to himself. It almost felt mocking. Jisung had never promised him forever, only one day at a time. After everything they had been through, it seemed so anticlimactic. But if Jisung wanted to pretend for one more minute, Minho supposed he could too.

“You’re not staying, are you?”

Minho had beaten Jisung to it. See? He wasn’t stupid. He knew how to read between the lines.

“J.One, the idol,” Minho said, voice shaking, “is in the news every day now.” That was one. He counted the other relevant facts from the article off on his fingers. It was easier that way. The numbers couldn’t hurt him. “He’s famous. He lives alone. He’s single.”

“He wrote ‘Close’ based on a movie. He doesn’t know who I am. I can’t kiss him, I can’t hold his hand, I can’t text or call or even see him.” It was getting harder and harder to breathe, but he kept going. He had to. “You won’t be allowed to talk about me, and I have to pretend like I don’t know who you are at all when I see you in the news or hear your songs on the radio.”

A single tear rolled down his cheek, and he blinked, furious at the betrayal. He had been doing so well. “I did my research. Those are the rules they give idols, right? Did I miss anything?”

Jisung stared at him, eyes wide. He looked so much like the boy Minho had first met, and something cracked inside his chest.

Looking at him hurt too much, so he closed his eyes. “How long?”

“You knew this had to happen. You looked me in the eyes and lied to me.” There was no room for anger or bitterness in his voice. He had nothing left to give. “For how long? Days? Weeks? Months?”

That weekend they’d had, he thought. Maybe Jisung had wanted to give them both something to remember. Maybe he’d only been trying to soften the blow. Either way, he thought dully, it didn’t matter. He had known. He had always known.

The silence was damning.

Minho opened his eyes. “Are you going to say anything?” He asked softly. “You came here to break up with me, didn’t you? Don’t you think I deserve to know how long you knew you would have to?”

When Jisung still didn’t reply, he let out a quiet sob. He was so tired of pretending like it didn’t feel like there was a knife in his chest, cutting into him deeper and deeper with every passing second. Just because he’d grown used to the feeling didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt. “Please,” he begged. “Don’t you think this is hard enough for me already? If you loved me at all, if any of this ever meant anything to you, give me the closure you came here for.”

It was a low blow. He knew Jisung had cared for him deeply, maybe even loved him. He was young. It was easy to think you were in love with the first person that was there for you. He couldn’t fault Jisung for growing up and realizing he loved his dreams more.

But he needed to hear Jisung say it.

Jisung buried his face in his hands. Finally, he spoke.

“You’re right,” he said. He sounded resigned, tired in a way that he’d never let spill over to his conversations with Minho before. “I did know. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know if I was strong enough.”

“I’m sorry.” Jisung’s breaths were short, labored. “This is my fault.”

It was like Jisung had taken the knife in his hands and twisted it. People died from heartbreak, Minho knew. He understood why. “You’re allowed to change your mind,” he whispered. It felt like the words were being forced out of him. “People fall out of love sometimes. It’s not your fault.”

“Fall out of — what?” Jisung looked up at him. “What are you talking about?”

Why did he look so confused? It seemed obvious enough to Minho. Jisung searched his expression carefully. He must have seen something, Minho thought, because his face crumpled.

“Don’t tell me that’s what you think this is,” Jisung whispered, horrified.

Minho narrowed his eyes, feeling almost annoyed. What else could it be?

“Minho,” Jisung said, taking a shuddering breath, “The problem is that I love you too much. If I loved you any less I could keep you.”

Impossible, Minho thought. That was — that made no sense —

It was like Jisung could read his mind. “Tell that voice in your head to shut up,” he breathed. His eyes, which had always been so beautifully expressive, were wide and pained. “Listen to me.”

The protective layer he’d encased his heart in was splintering apart, and it hurt. Somehow, knowing that the problem wasn’t that Jisung didn’t love him enough was almost worse.

He let out a low cry. “Then why?”

“They thought I had a girlfriend,” Jisung admitted quietly. He looked away and fidgeted with the bracelets on his wrist. “I didn’t…I let them assume. I said the songs were about her. They told me they didn’t care as long as I wasn’t emotionally attached.” He grimaced. “So they let me sneak out every once in a while.”

Minho inhaled sharply. “Is that it?” His head spun. “This is all because — I’m not a girl?”

“No,” Jisung said vehemently, head jerking upwards. “I’m not ashamed of you. I don’t want to choose between you or this. You know I don’t. But if I can’t be there for you…”

He took a deep breath, voice steady even as his hands shook. “I love you, and I don’t want to hide that, but people see me. They follow me even when I’m not working. I don’t care what they say to me. What they can do to me. But some people have already found out where I went to school. They’ve been saying things about my classmates, my teachers, my friends.” He paused, clenching his hand into a fist. “My family. Every day for the last two weeks I’ve been terrified they’re going to find you, and —”

Jisung let out a sob, cutting off the rest of the sentence. He gripped Minho’s arm, eyes desperately searching his. “I don’t want to break up with you. But I can’t let that touch you. I’m setting you free. I would rather let you go than wait for the day you get hurt because of me. Because you will, hyung.”

Minho stared at him disbelievingly. “I don’t care. If it’s just that we’re two guys —”

“It’s everything,” Jisung grimaced. “People will hate you because of me. Everything about me. And I care. The thought of someone hurting you makes me sick. You haven’t seen how far people are willing to go. It’s not just insults, hyung, like that’s not bad enough already. The things people are willing to do…it’s too dangerous. Please —”

He covered Minho’s mouth when he tried to protest. “Please,” he pleaded, softer. Pained. “I know you love me enough to wait. But I love you too, okay? I don’t want you to wait for me. I don’t want you to be tied down to something you can’t be sure of. Do you understand? I love you enough to let you go.”

Minho squeezed his eyes shut, resting his head on Jisung’s shoulder. It felt like he was seventeen and helpless again. It wasn’t just because he was a boy, he knew, but that only made things so much worse. They couldn’t hide forever, especially not with the spotlight that followed 3RACHA around. Loving him could only ever be a liability.

Still, it stung, knowing they had to exchange one dream for another. 

“This is so unfair,” he whispered. “If I love you, and you love me, why can’t we just be together?”

It was a rhetorical question, and they both knew it. Something had shattered in his chest, and now every emotion he had managed to repress was coursing through him. Jisung’s arms came around his waist as he cried, quiet sobs that felt like they were tearing his body apart. It was pain like he’d never known before. Each moment felt like it could be his last. Time was moving too fast, and he was being forced forward, stumbling and falling with every breath.

The numbness had sheltered him, kept him sane. Now he felt everything too much, too intensely. He didn’t want it, but maybe this was the price of loving so much, so deeply. It was his penance.

“You’re all I have,” he gasped. It was the subject of his worst nightmares. He had never admitted it to himself, much less to Jisung, but what else was he supposed to say? He had the restaurant and Jisung, and now he was losing by far the more important of the two. “What am I supposed to do without you?”

Jisung hugged him tightly. “You’re kind and strong and so much more than who you are to me,” he whispered. “I’m not special, hyung. You are.”

That was just objectively untrue. Minho whimpered. “You’re special to me.”

Jisung could say nothing in response. It was true.

“You have to remember me,” Minho said, in between sobs. He pulled back slightly. “Promise me.”

Jisung let out a tortured sound. “Every song I write will be for you,” he swore, holding onto Minho. His eyes were red-rimmed, too. “You will always be the love of my life. You just won’t be mine anymore.”

“I’ll always be yours.” Minho tried to smile, but holding it was hard. “Everyone else just gets to love you too.”

He took a step back, then another one. Jisung watched him, eyes roaming over him like he was trying to commit everything about Minho to memory. “You should go. You’ve already been here so long.”

“Promise me,” Jisung said, “that you won’t wait. That you’ll take care of yourself.”

A fresh set of tears was welling up in Minho’s eyes. He hadn’t known he had any left, but they spilled over easily anyway.

“I promise,” Minho said. “I don’t know how, but I’ll try.”

Jisung looked so sad. Minho was sure he looked the same. Still, Jisung nodded, backing up until he was in front of the side entrance. “I love you,” he murmured. “Never forget that.”

He didn’t wait to hear Minho’s response. I love you too. It floated on his tongue, suspended in the air Jisung left behind.

Minho slid onto the ground, his entire body shaking as he landed roughly on the floor. There was a gaping hole in his chest where his heart should’ve been. It had followed Jisung out the door, wherever he had gone, and left a bloody, tangled mess behind. The heartbreak felt so visceral, so literal, like he had been scrubbed raw and shattered into a million pieces. Every breath felt like a betrayal.

There was no room for distinct thought in his mind. Minho curled into himself and let waves of anguish sweep over him, each one more painful than the last. Someone was sobbing loudly, violently, and it wasn’t until much later that he realized the sounds had come from his own mouth.

Life went on. Of course it did. As much as Minho wanted to wither away to nothing but dust and bone, there were customers to serve and bills to pay. It was odd, grieving someone who was still very much alive. He was angry at the world for pulling them apart, and at himself, for ever thinking that nothing would have to change. On the worst nights, he was angry at Jisung too, for giving up so easily. Then he would remember something so small, so insignificant — the way Jisung’s cheeks looked when he was eating well, or the sounds he would make when they would see a stray dog on the street — and his anger would dissolve into a pool of his own tears.

As much as it hurt, he knew Jisung hadn’t given up easily. He had held on as long as he could have, and probably longer still even after that. It would be easier to hate him, but he couldn’t. Mostly, he was just overwhelmingly sad.

Even on good days, the ghost of a memory would be enough to devastate him, and on bad nights, he would have trouble remembering why it was so important he had to wake up the next day, anyway. Or ever again. These thoughts frightened him. To avoid thinking so much about Jisung, he decided, rather abruptly, that he would have to avoid thinking at all. So he extended the restaurant’s hours and threw himself into recipe development, forcing his thoughts away from everything but work. He added the breakfast sandwich to their menu but stopped eating it himself. Within the area, his restaurant became the earliest one to open and the last one to close, making it one of the most popular places for students and working adults alike to frequent after school and on late nights. And while business slowly improved, Minho couldn’t find it in himself to feel particularly happy about it — happiness seemed like a foreign concept, something he could only be taunted with in his dreams. Soon, though, he was so exhausted that any sleep he got was — thankfully — dreamless.

A month later, he heard “Close” on the radio for the first time since Jisung had left and froze right where he was, which unfortunately happened to be at a table of high-school girls while he was serving them.

“Do you recognize this song?” One of them leapt on the opportunity, pulling out a rectangular card and displaying it to him like an online salesperson. “It’s from 3RACHA, a group I really like! This is ‘Close’ by one of the members.”

Minho stared at the card, unblinking. It was a photo in a plastic sleeve, of another — admittedly very handsome — guy blowing a kiss to the camera.

“Oh, this?” The student giggled. “That’s my bias, SpearB.”

Unbidden, a memory rose to the front of his mind.

“This is Changbin-hyung,” Jisung said, pointing to the photo. “He looks intimidating, but he’s super talented, and actually really nice. I respect him a lot.”

Minho hummed. “Looks like I have competition for your favorite hyung, hm?”

Jisung laughed. “You’re his hyung too!” Then, quieter — “there’s no competition.” His eyes were soft, genuine. “You’ll always be my favorite.”

“Ah,” Minho said. “I’ll check them out.” How he forced a smile out was beyond him, when he felt like he was going to pass out. “Enjoy your meal!”

The walk back to the kitchen was a blur, and he exhaled sharply as soon as the curtains to the back swung shut, leaning both hands onto the counter. “Close” was still playing in the background, and as hard as he tried to ignore it, he couldn’t. Jisung sounded good — of course he did. It was a good song. It wasn’t his first or second or even twentieth time hearing the song, but he had tried so carefully to avoid any reminders of Jisung that hearing his voice, out of the blue, singing about how much of a crush he had had on him, still managed to make his eyes water a little bit. 

He’d known that they must have been doing well, with fans and general public recognition, but it was another thing to see it in person. They deserved the success, no doubt, but it was jarring to realize that every person would have the opportunity to own pieces of the boy he once knew. It was only a matter of time, Minho supposed, until he started seeing little cards of Jisung. Maybe the students out there had one of him already.

It hurt, but not necessarily in a bad way. He’d always known, from the very beginning, how talented Jisung was. Who he could be.

Minho allowed himself another half minute, until the song ended, to yearn. When the next song started, he sighed and pushed himself back up to plate the next dish. Work wasn’t going to wait for anyone, and certainly not for him.

As much as Minho tried to convince himself that that incident was nothing more than a blip on his radar, a week later, at four in the morning, staring at the thumbnails of both official interviews 3RACHA had done, he had to admit, finally, that he was more affected than he wanted to be.

At first, it had been fueled by a morbid sense of curiosity. Just how good could they — the other two members — be? He had woken up an hour early and stared at his ceiling before rolling over to grab his phone to look them up. He’d started by searching up both SpearB and CB97, then relistening to their songs in order to distinguish their parts from each other, and then the interviews had been recommended to him, and now…now he was still in bed, ten minutes before he had to start prepping for the day, head spinning and heart pounding in his chest.

All of the members of 3RACHA were incredibly talented. They also clearly cared about each other, genuine and articulate in a way that was evident in the way they spoke and acted. Keeping up with them was a dangerous path to go down, Minho knew, but it was almost comforting to know that Jisung would be so well taken care of by his members. In another universe, another life, it could’ve been him next to Jisung, walking the same path as him. They could’ve hidden behind promotions and fanservice. They wouldn’t have had to leave each other behind.

But then he would’ve never known what it was like to love Jisung without the world watching. How special he had already been before he’d been forced into society’s unattainable standards.

Minho missed him so much the thought of Jisung was still enough to bring him to his knees. But the pain was worth it. He could never regret meeting and loving him the way he did.

Three months later, 3RACHA announced their first mini album release, which would include two new tracks, along with the single they’d debuted with and the three pre-debut tracks they had already released.

On the day it was released, Minho went and bought a physical copy for himself. He had, against his better judgment, become something of a…casual listener to their songs. It wasn’t just a coping mechanism, he reassured himself, if he actually, genuinely liked the songs and the other members. And he did. There were already a few songs — excluding “Close,” of course — he could hum along to while cooking. In fact, if Jisung hadn’t been in the group at all, he probably would’ve still considered buying the mini album.

He only had one rule — no keeping up with news about Jisung outside of the group itself. Any individual interviews or events that Jisung participated in were off limits. It would’ve been too easy to get lost in hours of edited content and footage of Jisung, so he didn’t. 

Things had gotten a little better, but not by much. He had dialed back on the crazy hours the restaurant used to have, if only to get a reasonable amount of sleep. But sleep didn’t always come easy. He still cried himself to sleep on bad days. Sometimes, he would pretend that Jisung had just gone away on a long trip. He wasn’t gone forever, just for a little bit. If Minho was patient enough, he’d wake up one day to a familiar weight by his side, and it’d feel like no time had passed at all. They could pick up right where they left off.

Then the illusion would shatter, and it would feel like losing him all over again. Over and over it went, a cycle of love and loss like all great, tragic romances. The resistance, the surrender. The beautiful heartbreak.

It was another one of those nights. Minho opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, feeling terrible. There was one thing the stories got wrong, he thought. There was nothing beautiful about heartbreak. It was ugly and rotten. At that very moment, there was nothing he wanted more than to rot through the bed and into the ground.

When he first received the notification, his first thought was — no way.

3RACHA was holding their first fansigns starting from the beginning of the next week. The tickets couldn’t be purchased or exchanged. Instead, they were assigned randomly to domestic mini album purchases. And Minho was invited to the fifth and final one.

Hadn’t they sold tens of thousands of copies? He thought, stunned. He’d seen all the articles about how they had broken some kind of record in terms of physical sales. He had just bought one. What were the chances?

They had until 48 hours before the event to register. Minho didn’t need that long to decide. Though the idea was tempting, he understood himself well enough to know that seeing Jisung in person would be a terrible idea. He would have — what, sixty seconds? — to greet them before he would be told to move on. And before then, he would have to watch dozens of other fans fawn over Jisung, holding his hands and blushing as they asked him to make a cute face or call them pretty.

Minho thought of the practiced, perfect expressions that Jisung would give him. The rehearsed answers, the beautiful but vacant smile. The last thing he wanted, Minho thought, was to have Jisung treat him exactly the same as every other fan.

He deleted the email. He wasn’t going.

By the start of the next week, he had managed to forget all about the fansigns. Then the pictures started coming out. Jisung was blond. Minho bit his tongue to stop himself from making a noise. What the hell, he thought faintly. He looked so good.

There were pictures of Jisung in glasses. With flowers in his hair. With teddy bears. Some of them had writing on them, and when Minho zoomed into the photos, he could make out the words: happy birthday.

That was right, Minho thought faintly. It was the thirteenth of September. Jisung’s birthday was tomorrow. He had been trying so hard not to think about him. He supposed the fact that he hadn’t been counting down the days to his birthday meant he had, to some extent, succeeded.

Jisung had always joked that all he wanted for his nineteenth birthday was a glass of wine with Minho, since he’d finally be old enough to drink.

“Just wine?” Minho had asked, back when they’d both thought that they would’ve been celebrating together. “Are you sure you don’t want another kind of alcohol?”

Jisung had shaken his head. Leaned in. His voice had been soft, warm against Minho’s ear. “I won’t just be old enough to drink, you know.”

The memory made Minho feel sad but warm at the same time. He hoped someone else was preparing Jisung’s first legal drink. He hoped the moment was everything Jisung had been looking forward to. And he prayed that no one was helping Jisung out with the second activity. Everything still felt too raw, too new. If Jisung had managed to move on in six months, Minho honestly thought he might die.

It didn’t help that he was working with literal models. Minho was sure that there were people that were interested — idols, stylists, dancers, producers, and god knows who else. He could conjure up a perfect image of Jisung, just a little too tipsy from his birthday celebrations, pink and giggling as he tried to balance himself against some faceless, hot person. Would they hold his hair back and wash his face for him? Would they stay to tuck him in afterwards? Would they know that he liked sleeping on his left side?

He shook his head. He was spiraling again, he reminded himself. Jisung could fuck a million models if he wanted to. The thought made him feel sick to his stomach, but he tried to ignore it. What they had was over, and he needed to remember that.

He sighed and switched over from the photos of Jisung to a fan recounting her experience meeting SpearB. Apparently he had been showing off the results of his workout routine, and Minho ooh’d at the picture of him flexing. Changbin had gained quite a bit of muscle mass. It was impressive.

This kind of content he could appreciate without his regular dose of guilt. Minho scrolled for another half hour before deciding that it was time to get some sleep. If he wasn’t asleep by midnight, he knew he would spend the rest of the night wondering what Jisung was up to in the first few hours after officially becoming an adult.

The next morning, the restaurant’s phone went off while Minho was seating his first customers.

He rushed back to take it, mind scanning through what the call could be about. The only people that called were bulk food delivery orders or the city utilities, and they had already gotten their meat for the week and paid their utilities bill in full.

“Hello?”

“Hi!” The voice was unfamiliar. “Do you do cheesecakes for delivery? If so, could I order one for this afternoon?”

The request was so odd that Minho paused, flustered. He had never added cheesecake to the menu. Their menu didn’t include any desserts at all. In fact, the only cheesecake he had was a smaller, port wine cheesecake that he’d made last night after experimenting with different types of wine. It was part of his grand plan to get extremely wine-drunk tonight, all by himself.

It was Jisung’s birthday today. He was allowed to be a little more sensitive than usual.

He should’ve said no. Usually, they didn’t receive many spam calls, and the few calls they had gotten that requested delivery were usually to the wrong number. But the fact that it was Jisung’s birthday and someone was requesting cheesecake seemed like too large a coincidence to just ignore. He had learned a while ago that there was no such thing as coincidence when it came to Jisung.

Minho blinked. “May I ask what the occasion is?”

The line crackled. “It’s for a birthday.”

His heart skipped a beat.

“We don’t usually take orders the day of,” he said slowly. “But I might be able to make it work. Any specific flavor requests?”

“It says here, uh.” The other person sounded unsure. “Anything but red pepper?” There was some shuffling on the other end. “Sorry, might have picked up the wrong thing by accident. A regular cheesecake would be fine.”

Minho let out a choked laugh. If he hadn’t been sure before, he definitely was now. “The only cheesecake I’ll have ready by then is a smaller one,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. “Is that alright?”

“That’s fine.”

“Can I have the delivery address? And since it’s a birthday, are there any custom lettering requests?”

“You can just write ‘happy birthday’ on it,” the other person said. “And the delivery address is…”

It was the address of Jisung’s company’s entertainment building. Minho copied it down mindlessly, body going into autopilot mode as his mind raced. It was so obvious where, or who, the request had to have come from. How else would they have known to call him? There was no way his restaurant would come up if someone looked up “cheesecake”, or even “cake” or “dessert”. The restaurant was popular for lunch and dinner, but he doubted that anyone that liked their tofu soup or beef short ribs would decide, by extension, that they would be perfect for a custom dessert order.

There was only one other person alive who even knew about that god-awful spicy cheesecake. Minho didn’t want to read too much into the request, but he couldn’t stop himself from picking it apart. It was almost like Jisung wanted to celebrate his birthday with a part of him, he thought dazedly.

Against all odds, it looked like he would be gifting Jisung with some wine for his birthday. It would be baked into the cheesecake instead of poured into a glass, but Minho wasn’t about to be picky now. It also meant that he would be able to keep up the birthday tradition of baking Jisung his new cheesecake flavor every year.

Hope was cruel. The more he hoped for something, the more he could be hurt by it. For all he knew, the light at the end of the tunnel was coming from the headlights of a train.

He leaned against the counter, overwhelmed. He had his work cut out for him.

There wasn’t enough time left to meet the afternoon deadline, so he quickly decided that the cheesecake that he’d made the day prior would be going to Jisung. Decorating it was easy, and soon enough, it was ready. In between customers, he mixed, poured, and baked a second cheesecake — he still wanted one for himself, after all.

He dropped off Jisung’s cheesecake during the lull between lunch and dinner. He had gotten very specific instructions, which made delivering it fairly simple — he left it with the receptionist and was in and out of the building within five minutes.

Changbin’s birthday had been just over a month ago, and he’d held a special birthday live. Jisung, Minho knew, would probably do the same, so he would allow himself to break his no-Jisung-only-events rule for once. He told himself that he just wanted to confirm that his cheesecake had actually been for Jisung, but he knew better. It wasn’t really about the cheesecake at all.

Even knowing what to expect, he was still nervous when the live started. He couldn’t really stop to watch it in its entirety — it was a weekend night, and there were still plenty of customers in the restaurant — but he popped in one earbud and started the live on his phone so he could listen while working.

“Hi, everyone,” Jisung said. “This will be a really quick live today, since we’re still preparing for our fansigns, but I wanted to take a break, come on, and show you my birthday cake!”

Minho looked over at his phone. On the screen, the camera panned over to the cake, and there it was — the cheesecake he had dropped off earlier.

“Before, my family always knew how much I liked cheesecakes, and they always tried to give me a special one.” Jisung sounded wistful, and Minho bit his lip so hard that he almost bled. “I was worried we wouldn’t be able to get one today on such short notice. But luckily, we managed to find one!”

His family hadn’t known shit about the cheesecakes. Jisung was talking about him, Minho thought, hope and dread rising simultaneously in his stomach. Why?

“You’re wondering what the sauce is? So am I, haha. Let’s try it together!”

Minho held his breath as Jisung took a small bite. It was silent for a long while, and he looked over at the screen again.

“Oh,” Jisung said softly. His eyes were wide with genuine surprise. “It has a bit of alcohol in it.” He gathered a bit more of the sauce and tried it again, lips pursed against the spoon like he was giving it a tiny kiss.

“It’s really good,” Jisung said finally. “Ah. I’ve missed this. I’m going to eat a bit more.”

Minho pressed his lips together and tried not to cry.

Jisung took a few more bites, savoring each one slowly. Every once in a while, he would let out a mmh and nod. He finished half the cheesecake within the next few minutes. It was meant to be small enough for a single person, but when Minho checked the screen again, his plate was pushed to the side.

“Okay, guys, I do have to go now. I hope you enjoyed the very, very short live,” Jisung said cheekily. His smile faded a bit and he looked directly at the camera. “Thank you to the staff who worked hard to get me this cake today. I loved it, and I’m glad I was able to keep this tradition up. And don’t worry! I’ll be back soon! Thank you all for the birthday wishes.”

The live ended. It had only been seven minutes long.

I loved it.

Jisung hadn’t even known if he would be watching. And he still…

It might have been Jisung’s birthday, but Minho felt like he was the one that had been given a gift. His eyes were wet. Seven minutes and three words had been enough to completely undo all those months of progress he’d made in getting over him.

I love you too, he thought, looking up and sniffling. It was so typical of Jisung, he thought helplessly, to try to one up him in everything.

Before he went to bed that night, he pulled out his phone and searched through his deleted folder for the fansign notification email to register for it. Sixty seconds was enough. He didn’t think Jisung wouldn’t be able to say much back, but it didn’t matter. He had sent a clear enough message already. This was a chance for Minho to tell Jisung, one more time, how much he loved him. That opportunity alone was worth everything.

When his confirmation email arrived in the morning, Minho realized that he had gotten his registration in just a few hours shy of the deadline. Yet another convenient coincidence.

Jisung had cast the net, he thought, and he had been caught.

Their entire relationship had been a gamble. What was another one?

The fansign started late in the morning. He had already updated the restaurant’s hours to dinner only for the day, so after agonizing over what to bring, he set off. He had decided on just the album and a pen, so he could write a short message on the train before he got there. If he had tried writing it beforehand, it would’ve taken him hours. This way, he was forced to get his thoughts down and move on.

He was dressed as plainly as possible. He already knew that he would be attracting attention attending the fansign by himself, and the last thing he wanted was to be remembered. Getting there and checking in wasn’t too bad. The worst part was waiting for 3RACHA to come out. He was, just like he had predicted, one of the only guys there, and the only one that was there alone. Combined with the fact that he was dressed casually and hadn’t brought anything extra, he stuck out like a sore thumb. He could feel the weight of other people’s eyes on him, curious, and it was nerve-wracking.

When 3RACHA came out, it simultaneously got so much better and worse. On one hand, most of the other fans immediately redirected their attention away to the platform in the front. On the other hand, it was a pretty small room, which meant that Minho had almost no time to prepare himself. Jisung’s eyes found him instantly, and he all but stopped in his tracks, mouth parting open.

When Changbin elbowed him, he slid his glance away and played it off with a laugh. A titter traveled through the rest of the room, and Minho relaxed when it seemed that nobody else had noticed anything. Still, for the next hour he was waiting in line, Jisung kept glancing over in his general direction. Every time he did it, the sound of shutters clicking grew louder. Minho hunched over a little more each time and tried to make himself as unnoticeable as possible, but he wasn’t too sure if it was working, with the way that Jisung kept looking over.

Eventually, when he got close enough, Changbin and Chan caught on too.

Chan was first in line. His eyes glimmered with amusement as he signed Minho’s album. “It seems like you’re more popular than us.”

Minho had prepared something generic to say to each of them, but he was so nervous he had forgotten it all. He tucked his fingers in his pockets to hide the fact that they were shaking.

“I — no,” he said, shaking his head quickly. “I didn’t — I’m just here by myself.”

Chan’s smile widened. “Really? A male fan then? Dude, that’s so cool. Thank you for being here.”

“Do you have a favorite song?” He prompted gently, when Minho just nodded. “I’m curious what you like about us.”

“All the songs are good,” Minho said honestly. “They’re different, but I like that there’s a range of different styles. I think it’s cool how you’re playing with different sounds. It’s obvious you’re really passionate about what you do, music production-wise, and it’s pretty inspirational.”

“Wow.” Chan laughed a bit awkwardly. He gave Minho a self-conscious smile. “That — wow. Thanks. It means a lot.”

Seeing the CB97 nervous in front of him made Minho relax a little. It was a reminder that behind everything, these were real people, following their dreams and making music. Minho smiled back. “Don’t thank me,” he said, and waved back at him when it was time to move on.

His interaction with Changbin went a little differently.

“So,” Changbin said conspiratorially, as soon as he moved down the table. He clasped his hands together. “Do you have a bias? We have a bet going on between the three of us.”

Minho blinked at him, surprised. From the corner of his eye, he saw Jisung’s head turn, slightly, in their direction.

Changbin winked at him. “It’s okay. Don’t be afraid to hurt their feelings. You can tell them it’s me.”

Minho laughed, startled. “It actually is you.”

“No way,” Changbin said, mouth dropping open. He held the hand that wasn’t signing Minho’s album up, suspicious. “You’re not just saying that because you’re in front of me right now, are you?”

Minho shook his head, smiling. “No, you really are. You bring so much power to your performances.” He paused, a little embarrassed by what he was about to say. “Also, I’m jealous of your body. I think it’s cool how you’ve been working out.”

Changbin laughed. “Oh, wow. Thank you, Minho…?”

“Hyung is fine.”

Changbin nodded. “Thank you, Minho-hyung,” he said, a wide grin on his face. “You know, you’re not half bad yourself.”

Minho snorted. “Please. Look at you and look at me. Everyone is here for you guys.”

“Oh, they’ve definitely been looking at you too,” Changbin said, nodding in the direction of the other girls.

“That’s — that’s because I’m a guy —,” Minho stammered, looking back behind him. Most of the other girls were looking at him, but surely that was because he was in the same line of sight as 3RACHA…right?

“Oh, you have no idea, do you?” Changbin sounded amused. “Trust me. It’s definitely not just because of that.”

With a wave and a smile, he slid his album down to Jisung. “Thanks for coming! Have a good rest of your day.”

Going from Changbin to Jisung was like plunging into a freezing lake. The other two guys were objectively attractive, but Jisung was something else entirely. He looked good as a blond, Minho thought faintly. It was even better in person.

Minho could tell he was tired, but he wouldn’t have known if he wasn’t intimately familiar with the way Jisung carried himself. He didn’t look tired at all. Makeup, Minho thought, could work wonders.

“Your bias is SpearB?” When Minho moved down the table, Jisung looked at him, eyes swirling with an unreadable emotion. Still, his tone was lighthearted. “What does he have that I don’t?”

“I don’t know, muscles?” Minho muttered, and blushed when the other two burst into laughter at Jisung’s pinched expression.

A smile was toying at Jisung’s lips, but Minho couldn’t tell if it was genuine or not. Minho twisted his fingers together. “Happy belated birthday. I hope you got to celebrate it even though you were busy.”

He heard Jisung’s quiet intake of breath. “I got to spend it almost exactly how I always imagined it,” he said. “I didn’t think I would get to, but we got the cake last minute, and it was just a really nice surprise.” He laughed, a soft breath. “That was it, pretty much. It was a boring day. The cheesecake was the highlight.”

“That’s good,” Minho whispered. “That’s nice to hear.”

Jisung looked down to sign the album. Seeing him uncap his pen reminded Minho of what he’d written, and he sucked in a breath.

“Wait — um, do you mind signing it on the opposite side instead?”

“Of course.” Jisung flipped it around. His hand stilled, and Minho knew immediately that he had seen his message.

Is Jisungie happy today? The only correct answer should be yes! Listening to your songs helped me a lot when I was going through a hard time. Because you can express feelings in a unique way, I somehow felt less alone. I’m very grateful to know you this way. Please stay happy and healthy for a long time.

From: Minho whose actual bias is of course J.One ♡

Jisung cleared his throat and signed the album, but he didn’t stop there, eyebrows furrowed intensely as he kept writing. The seconds ticked by. At the fifteen second reminder, Minho cleared his throat, and Jisung blinked, pushing the album back towards him.

“Read it after, okay?” Jisung asked, and took one of his hands. Minho suppressed a shiver. “Really, thank you again for coming. It’s been so long since…”

Since I’ve seen you.

Whatever Minho had been feeling before was nothing compared to what he was feeling now. It was all one big jumbled mess, his emotions tripping over themselves. He would not, he reminded himself sternly, cry in public. He had worked so hard over the past few months to keep everything together.

They stared at each other for a good five seconds, more words passing between them in silence than they could ever voice, before the guard behind Jisung tapped him on the shoulder.

“Since we’ve seen a male fan.” Jisung finished softly. He let go of Minho’s hand. “Have a safe trip home.”

Minho blinked once, twice, and then let go. It was impossible to distill months worth of love and heartbreak into a measly minute, but he had tried his best. If only a fraction of it had made its way to Jisung, then it would have been worth it.

He didn’t let himself think about it, all the way to the subway, all the way back home, and all the way through the dinner rush. It wasn’t until much later at night that he opened the album to read Jisung’s response:

To: lovely Minho,

I’m happy my songs have helped you. I will work hard to write as many as I can. Recently I felt a little stuck, but I think I’ve found my inspiration again, like a dream I thought I lost has returned to stand in front of me. I wish I could thank you enough for your gift-like presence and words, but that might be impossible. I will gather these memories one by one and cherish them in my heart forever.

A tear landed next to the album, and Minho laughed wetly, closing it and putting it to the side to protect it. Jisung better not have been writing poetry to all of his fans. He didn’t know how anyone could read something like that and not fall at least a little bit in love with the person who had written it.

Relief. Sorrow. Joy. Heartache. Minho had felt them all and seen them in Jisung’s eyes too. It wasn’t over, he knew, for either of them. It had been easy to see Jisung in the news and convince himself that he was doing fine. He’d only needed to see him for a few seconds in person to know that that wasn’t true at all. Jisung, he thought wondrously, thought about him still. He missed Minho just as much as he missed him. Of course he did. Minho had grown so used to the dark that he’d forgotten that the spotlight came with shadows of its own, too.

 A dream I thought I lost. It was bold of him to write that in front of his members, staff, and other fans, but then again, that type of thoughtful recklessness was so stereotypically Jisung. He had never shied away from what he wanted.

It was enough, Minho thought to himself. It would have to be.

Promotions for 3RACHA’s first mini album ended a few weeks later, and that was when Minho started receiving the weird delivery requests. All delivery orders were processed through third-party platforms, meaning that Minho prepared them like he would prepare in-store ones, and someone picked it up and delivered it to the intended address. The delivery addresses weren’t accessible to him, which was probably the reason why it had taken him so long to realize what was going on.

The weird requests would come in once or twice a week or so, always right around when they opened or when they closed. Every one of them followed the same pattern — the same dish would be ordered twice, with specific instructions in the added details section to only deliver one. The first few times, Minho had tried to refund them for the extra order, wondering if whatever app they were using had some sort of bug. Eventually, though, the orders started coming with an additional line at the beginning of the added details section:

Please don’t refund the extra dish. Thanks!

It didn’t make any sense, Minho thought frustratedly, digging in on the extra bowl of noodles himself to avoid having to throw it out. He would’ve thought that it was some kind of practical joke if not for the ridiculous amount of money whoever was doing this spent, week after week. Why would someone consistently order two portions if they only wanted one?

The issue was that they were paying for two portions. He couldn’t ignore the order and only make one portion, because that would throw everything off balance. If he had sold a certain number of dishes in the system, he needed to also be using a proportional amount of raw ingredients. Otherwise, it would be a nightmare for their inventory management and accounting.

At least they had good taste, he thought begrudgingly, as he finished the noodles. But that didn’t excuse how wasteful it was. They were lucky he hadn’t reported them.

It took him a month and a half to solve the case of the double meals. He had tried asking some of the delivery drivers where they were going, only to be told that they couldn’t give away confidential customer information. It got to the point where he had given up on cooking himself breakfast and dinner occasionally, knowing that he might have to finish the extra portion of whatever was ordered that day.

Truthfully, if it weren’t for his birthday, he probably would have never figured it out. It was 5 a.m. when the order came through, the first of the day. 1 breakfast sandwich.

Please don’t refund the extra dish. Don’t deliver it either! Happy birthday. Also, you have a delivery in the afternoon. Sorry in advance. I’m a little rusty.

A delivery? He thought incredulously. Who was I? Why had they changed to ordering one instead of two? And how did they know it was his birthday?

He reread the message. Realization dawned on him. Oh my god, he thought. He had a stalker.

He made the breakfast sandwich and ate it because he had to, but it was hard not to feel apprehensive about what would be arriving. Maybe there would be a way to carefully dispose of it, Minho thought worriedly. It could be gross. It could be anything. He shuddered at the possibilities.

The box was dropped off in the late afternoon, with no name or return address written on it. It was larger than he had been expecting, a little wider than both of his hands pressed together side by side. Minho brought it around to the back and stared at it for a while before grabbing his scissors and sliding the blades underneath the tape carefully. One could never be too careful.

The top of the box was layered with bags of dry ice. Okay, Minho thought. At least it looked sanitary. But it didn’t take long to unearth what was underneath those packets. When he realized what he was looking like, his legs almost gave out underneath him. He barely managed to make it to one of the stools before collapsing into it.

It was a cheesecake. And from the looks of it, homemade.

All those meals, he thought faintly. All these weeks, they had been eating together.

Han Jisung, he thought, furious and amazed. How many more tricks do you have up your sleeve?

A new post was uploaded to 3RACHA’s official Instagram later that day. It was a black-and-white photo of Jisung and Changbin. Changbin was flexing to the camera, and Jisung was facing away. He was also shirtless. The caption was simple.

My body is better, right? 🐿️👀

Minho screamed a little internally. When had Jisung become so bold?

Jisung had clearly been working out. Minho had to hold the phone with one hand, fanning his face with the other. Jisung’s shoulder were broader. His muscles were definitely…apparent. He had the upside-down triangle body shape that underwear or swimsuit models would have been jealous of.

It was too much for Minho’s brain to handle. He opened the comments for a temporary reprieve. The top one said:

Wow, Changbin’s body is crazy…

And right underneath that, Jisung’s reply:

Don’t look at him T-T look at me… I can be what you like too…

He could picture it perfectly. Back when they watched their silly shows together, Minho had asked Jisung who his celebrity crush was, laughing when Jisung had stared at him blankly.

It was normal to have one, he had explained, laughing, and Jisung had pouted and said, “I wouldn’t know. You’re my first everything.”

Jisung didn’t get jealous, per se. He just sulked by himself until inevitably, Minho would have to coax him back, which usually involved some combination of food and praise. Jisung loved hearing about just how much Minho liked him. It was just like when Minho had told him that Changbin was his bias. Clearly, Jisung had taken it personally.

As if being a celebrity wasn’t enough. Jisung just had to claim the title of Minho’s celebrity crush, too.

Minho felt dizzy. He pressed his hands to his cheeks, and they were warm to the touch. This was the same person, he reminded himself, who had not only baked him a cheesecake, but found time to package it and get it delivered. Who had sneakily tried to time their meals together. It reminded him of how everything had begun, all the way back to when they first met and Jisung had bothered him in the kitchen until he had started making extra for dinner and saving some for him. He couldn’t decide if that reminded him more of how far they had come or how much they had lost.

There had only ever been room for one person in his eyes, Minho thought. On stage, in person, or in pictures, Jisung was the one that always drew his attention. It had been true years ago, and it was still true now. Ever since he had seen Jisung, he hadn’t been able to look away.

That was three for three on birthday cakes, he realized belatedly. They were even again.

When Minho woke up the next morning, the first thing that he saw was that 3RACHA had dropped a new track at — he squinted at the time — 11:59 p.m. the night before. He had already been asleep by then. He queued it up while he was getting ready for the day.

You were my story. Your word comes to mind endlessly. Just by being able to look at it, like a photo that will be engraved deeply in my heart, I'll gather my memories one by one and cherish them in my heart. Your scent became the wind and flew far away. I'll remember it forever.

Minho had to pause the song after the first twenty seconds. The words were painfully familiar.

He’d read Jisung’s fansign message so often that the album paper was worn thin. He could have recited it in his sleep. He unlocked his phone, almost frantically, and reread the title of the track. It was another individual song. Of course it was, Minho thought, his throat tightening. It had been released on his birthday, after all.

Listening to “Close” after they had broken up had almost destroyed him. It took Minho an eternity to work up the courage to listen to the rest of this song.

Because you're on my mind more today, my vision is slowly getting blurry. After a long time passes, I wonder if you'll gradually fade away from my mind. I still remembеr your warm touch. Put your small hands together and look back. In the days whеn every moment was beautiful and splendid, you were the main character in the movie called me.

I don’t know if anything will come back just by missing it. I sit in a room all day long and turn off the light. Watering a withered flower won't make it bloom again. Even the pinky finger that made the promise not to be defeated all disappeared and crumbled after your goodbye.

But I'll wish you back. I just want you to stay with me all day.

So baby, love me again if it's okay.

It's okay.

Perhaps I already know that you won't come. As I look at the faded picture of you and me, I can't help but be filled with regret. I want to end the endless darkness and see your bright smile again. I'll wish you back. I’ll wait on you. I'm still waiting on you.

Every song I write will be for you, Jisung had promised. He had really meant it, Minho thought, wrapping his arms around himself. He thought back to the message Jisung had written at the fansign. When he’d said his inspiration had come back, Minho hadn’t realized that Jisung had literally meant at that very moment. He must have seen Minho, and…

Minho paused, feeling faint. He knew how Jisung’s songwriting process worked. He must have thought of the words right then and there, and written it down into his message to remember them.

Minho blinked, hard, but it was no use. A single tear had already slipped out, and he rubbed at his eyes roughly. My superstar, he thought, and tried to smile even as it felt like his heart was breaking all over again. Mine, and everyone else’s.

He didn’t want to cry. He was tired of crying. But the tears came anyway.

Han Jisung was one romantic bastard. Minho loved him still and knew at that moment that he always would — in silence, in loneliness, through phone and TV screens.

Love me again? Stupid Jisung, he thought. Minho had never stopped loving him, not even for a single second.

Minho had a fairly consistent Sunday evening routine, which usually consisted of religiously consuming 3RACHA content and looping “Close”. Maybe a good cry, depending on how the week had gone. With a sigh, he added “Wish You Back” to the rotation. He wished he could tell Jisung just how much he liked it, but it was okay. The way it sat on top of the charts for a week straight was enough of an indication of how well-received it was.

This Sunday evening, though, there was someone at the door.

Minho paused the music and padded downstairs. There were two people at the door, but he didn’t recognize either of them.

“Hi,” the taller one said, giving him a smile. “Are you the owner of this restaurant?”

Minho blinked. “Yes…?”

A flyer was thrust into his hands. Minho looked down at it, bewildered, as the other person chimed in.

“Sorry to interrupt your evening, but we represent the restaurant week committee, and wanted to make sure we got to you this year! We actually reached out last year, but I don’t think we got a response, so we wanted to reach out directly this year to indicate our interest. Your restaurant is one of the top ranked for delivery, so we would love to bring you on board!”

That’s right, Minho thought, and the memory of the previous flyer came back to him. That was around the time Jisung was auditioning for everything.

“…I see.”

“We would waive the fees for your restaurant, of course,” the taller one said. “If you’re interested, we could go ahead and push that through for you today.”

Why not? Minho thought, and shrugged. He would be fulfilling orders anyway. “Alright.”

“Incredible!” Both of them held out their hands, and Minho shook them one by one, feeling a bit dazed. “We’ll handle everything, so don’t worry about registration or setting up anything.”

He raised his eyebrows slightly. That was…unexpectedly generous.

“Great,” he said. “Thanks.”

“We’ll get out of your way now. Thank you for joining us, and have a wonderful evening!”

Restaurant week was refreshingly easy to plan for. It was, essentially, as Minho understood it, a week of serving appetizers. He took their five most popular appetizers, put together a discounted tasting menu, and went about business as usual.

A week before restaurant week started, he received a call from the organizers. He set his spatula down and picked the phone up.

“Hello?”

“Hi! So sorry for the late call, and feel free to say no, but another place just pulled out, and we thought you might be able to accommodate a last minute request.”

There was a lot going on in the background of wherever they were. Minho pursed his lips. That didn’t sound too good.

“Which would be…?”

“We’ve partnered with one of our sponsors to produce promotional content,” they said, “so we have two ambassadors booked for a quick video where they try the food. Unfortunately, the restaurant they were supposed to work with had a conflict, but we’re unable to reschedule since their schedules are all so packed. Would you be comfortable allowing us to shoot privately inside your restaurant? You’d just have to introduce the dishes, maybe stay for a thank you shot at the end. It’s a small crew and we’d be in and out within two hours. We’d pay for the dishes, of course, and compensate you for your time as well.”

Minho blinked, processing the request. He didn’t mind stepping in, he supposed.

“What time would this be?”

“Ah.” There was an awkward chuckle. “It would be tomorrow. And the time, uh…it would be at 1 a.m.”

“One in the morning?” Minho yelped. No wonder they had asked him, he thought grimly. Just a few months ago, he had been open until two.

He sighed. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before. “Send them my way,” he said, and dismissed the extensive gratitude that followed his agreement. “No, no, it’s fine. Let’s just…aim for an hour and a half.”

The video crew arrived around midnight. Minho let them in, settling at one of the tables as they set up their cameras and lights. The samplers had been prepared, the cold dishes in the refrigerator, and the warm dishes kept warm in the oven.

Half an hour later, the producer came back in with another person in tow, looking frazzled. Their eyes fell on Minho and lit up.

“Our guests will be arriving any minute now,” they said. “Thank you again for agreeing to this on such short notice. We should be on track to wrap up around two if everything works out.”

Excellent, Minho thought. The earlier the better.

He stood. He was ready to get this over with.

He was cursed, Minho thought. Cursed. 

He had offered to get everything together when they received notice that the ambassadors’ car was parking. They had walked in while he had been pulling the last dish out of the oven, and he had poked his head out of the kitchen, only to immediately duck back inside. What the hell were Chan and Changbin doing here?

He really should have gone over the promotional materials better, he bemoaned. How had he missed the fact that 3RACHA were the ambassadors?

Now, he was hiding in the kitchen, staring at the platter that he knew he had to bring out if they wanted to start filming on time. Minho peeked over again. It seemed like it would just be the two of them, and he let out a sigh, a complicated mix of emotions swirling in his stomach. Of course he wanted to see Jisung again. But he was a horrible liar, and he hadn’t even had time to prepare himself. It was probably for the better.

Holy shit, he thought. He was going to be in a video with 3RACHA. He really had not thought this through. 

With a start, he realized that it had gone quiet outside. He checked the time. Five minutes to one.

Minho sighed. He had to get back out there.

It was just until two, he thought to himself. He just had to make it through the next hour.

The next hour passed by in a blur. When the cameras started, the customer service side of his brain had taken over, and he’d just rolled with it. He vaguely remembered staying a bit longer than he had expected to, cracking some sort of joke that had made everyone laugh and responding to some of the questions. What had the joke been about? He had no idea.

He remembered that Chan and Changbin had been nice, nicer than he had expected. They had complimented the food profusely, even when he’d tried to brush it off. After the shoot wrapped up, they approached him again.

“Sorry to bother you,” Chan said modestly, and Minho looked up from he had been wiping the table down.

He blinked. “No, not at all.” He looked from Chan to Changbin, then back again. “What is it?”

“When we started, you reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t remember who,” Chan said, giving him a unsure smile. “And I don’t want this to come off as self-absorbed or anything, so please feel free to tell me if this isn’t the case, but I think I remember meeting you at a fansign…?”

Minho’s eyes widened slightly. He hadn’t even thought about them recognizing him. How was that even possible? They had only spoken for a handful of seconds. It had been months. They’d probably met thousands of other fans since then.

He coughed to clear his throat. “Uh, yeah, actually. I did go once.”

“So you really are a fan!” Chan sounded pleasantly surprised. “I knew I remembered you.”

When Minho nodded reluctantly, he broke out into a sunny smile. “Thank you for the support! Do you want a picture or an autograph? It would be our pleasure.”

“Ah,” Minho said, crossing his hands behind his back to avoid fidgeting with them. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. I’m just glad you enjoyed the food.”

“We should get a picture,” Changbin insisted. “Please. Our manager told us how last minute everything was, and I want you to know how grateful we are that you were so flexible with our schedules. And the food was really, really good.” He smiled, embarrassed. “We can’t really do much to thank you, but I thought it’d be nice to promote the restaurant.”

Paid advertisements, Minho knew, could cost a pretty penny. And here they were, offering to do it for free. There was no reason to say no.

“Alright,” he conceded. “But you really don’t have to.” He smiled, a bit awkward. “I honestly didn’t even know you were coming today.”

They exchanged a glance, before Chan broke out in a wider grin.

“That just means it was fate,” he said, sounding more relaxed than he did before. “Now we have to document it.”

They took a few pictures, both Chan and Changbin insisting that he stand in the center, and then thanked him again before leaving. Just as promised, the restaurant was empty by the time 2 a.m. rolled around. Minho sat in the kitchen for a few minutes to contemplate what had just happened, still reeling over how he had been recognized.

They really were responsible idols, he thought, amazed. Respectful, polite, and genuinely good people too. Jisung was lucky to have them. In another life, maybe they could’ve all been friends.

Their promotional video was released on Sunday morning, the day before restaurant week began. Minho had opened it, cringed at his voice, and then closed it again. When he started receiving an influx of customers later that day, though — specifically younger ones, and mostly girls — he frowned and checked the video again.

A hundred thousand views. His eyes widened. It had only been released for a few hours.

A short line had formed by the door. Minho blinked, taken aback. On his way back to the kitchen after serving one of the tables, one of the girls that was waiting tapped him on the shoulder.

“Um, excuse me?” She asked, then pulled out her phone to show him the very same video. “Is this your restaurant?”

It was up to two hundred thousand views now. Minho stared at the number in shock. He knew how popular 3RACHA was, but two hundred thousand views and climbing for a commercial within the first day was insane. The video wasn’t even long enough to be considered a vlog. It hadn’t even been posted on 3RACHA’s channel.

“Yeah,” he managed to say, and the girl bowed and thanked him before rushing off. Mindlessly, he continued cooking.

Two hundred thousand. He would need to prepare more of the appetizers.

What followed was easily the busiest week of his life. When they opened Monday morning, there had already been a line out the door and down the street. Thank god he’d thought ahead and closed all delivery orders, Minho thought. At this rate, they would be selling out every day from foot traffic alone.

He barely had enough time to use the restroom, much less eat. The lines died down a little as the days went by, but that only meant it went from wrapping around the corner of the street to extending just a little bit outside the door. There was always an endless stream of customers. When he sat down Thursday night and did the math, his mouth fell open. Even with the discounted prices, he thought, dumbfounded, that was a lot of money. And there was still one day left.

When they finally closed on Friday, he sat down and allowed himself some time to just…breathe. It felt like he had been on his feet, nonstop, for over eighteen hours a day. He’d barely gotten any sleep. And he was ravenous.

Too tired to cook much, but sick of the appetizers — which was pretty much the only food he’d eaten all week — he made one of the simplest dishes he knew: the tried and true breakfast sandwich. As he ate it, he thought about the future of the restaurant. Even though restaurant week was over, there was no guarantee that he would return back to what had previously been the regular number of customers. There would probably be a lot more demand. He’d only barely managed to fulfill every order because they were much smaller serving sizes, and designed to be taken out, not eaten in the restaurant. There was no way he would be able to handle everything if the restaurant was going to be at or near full capacity, every hour of every day.

After years of running the restaurant by himself, he finally admitted to himself that he needed…more. Not just more cooks or employees, either. If people were going to be lined up all the way outside, he would need more than half a dozen tables and twenty or so chairs.

He would need a bigger space.

The solution to his problems came, surprisingly, in the form of a call he received the next day. It was from an unknown phone number, and he was so busy he almost didn’t answer. He managed to snatch up the phone right after seating yet another table.

The head chef at Avia was retiring, he was told. They wanted to invite him to interview for the position.

Minho had heard of Avia. Everyone had heard of Avia. It was only one of the best restaurants in the city. When he was younger, he had always dreamed of working there after graduating from culinary school. He had modeled many of his dishes after theirs when he first started cooking. Then he entered high school, and his grandmother had…

He exhaled silently. Then his plans had changed.

He couldn’t believe they had heard of him.

“Me?” He asked in disbelief.

“Yes, you,” the woman on the other end said amusedly. “Should I put you down as a yes for next week?”

Things moved quickly after that. When they called him a month after his interview and asked him to come by in person, he’d had an inkling. Sat across from the same woman that had initially called him, he was offered the position.

It was like a scene from his childhood dreams. He was already familiar with the cuisine. He would get to design the menus. The pay was eye-watering. And even as head chef, he wouldn’t have to work as many hours as he had been. It should have been an easy decision.

He blew out a breath of air. “I don’t know.”

The woman looked at him. Her grey hair was pinned in a flawless bun. She leaned forward onto the table and crossed her fingers.

“Tell me,” she began conversationally, “why did you start cooking?”

Minho blinked, surprised. He had gone through many, many interviews, but she hadn’t been a part of any of them.

“I had to,” he said honestly.

“Then why did you continue?”

Why? Minho thought of his grandmother’s hands, firm and callused from years of being in the kitchen. Of how she had managed to lift and carry pots half her size. He thought of Jisung and all the meals they’d shared. His lopsided rice cakes. His breakfast sandwiches.

He met her gaze. “I fell in love,” he said quietly.

She seemed satisfied with his answer.

“I’m sure you wondered why we called you. Believe it or not, your restaurant has been on my radar for a while,” she said. She leaned back in her seat. “There are many good chefs out there. We’d known we would have to start searching for a new head chef since last year, and we had no shortage of candidates with very impressive resumes. One received very good feedback from the rest of the staff. But I didn’t like them very much, so we let them go.”

Minho startled. He hadn’t known…

“Head chef,” he said.

“That’s me,” she confirmed, with a wry smile. “Something was missing. So I dug a little harder by myself. And I found you.”

“Last question,” she said. “I promise this isn’t an interview. You already have the job. Do you know what Avia means?”

Minho shook his head. She tilted her head consideringly.

“Avia,” she said softly, finally, “means grandmother in Latin.”

It didn’t take him very long to get settled in his new job. Much of the work — menu development, stocking and ordering inventory  — remained the same. The hardest part was moving. It took a while to accept that it was time to leave the restaurant behind for good, but he’d found a nice, small, one-bedroom apartment close to Avia in an older building that had reminded him of the other apartment. He’d been able to keep all the furniture, too, and that had made things a little easier.

It was also a little weird to realize that he had friends now. The transition from doing everything by himself to working with a full house had been much easier than he had expected, though he supposed he had his interviews to thank for that. As part of the interviewing process, he had already met and worked with most of them. He was younger than a lot of the other chefs, and they jokingly called him “boss”, but he trusted them and in turn, they respected him. He also got along well with the front of house staff, who were closer to his age. By the end of his first week, he had established good relationships with everyone in the restaurant.

Except the sommelier, Hyerin, who had been out on vacation for all of his first week. The first day after she had gotten back, she had been friendly with everyone but him, and he had been determined to work things out.

“I hope you enjoyed your vacation,” he said at the end of the night, holding a hand out. “I look forward to working with you.”

He knew the rest of the staff were gossipping about their conversation in the back. The whispers had started up as soon as he left for the front.

She stared at him.

“It was beautiful,” she said firmly. “My girlfriend and I had a wonderful time.”

Minho inhaled sharply. “Oh,” he said faintly. His hand shook a little.

“That’s never been a problem before,” she said defiantly. “I trust that won’t be a problem for you?”

“Not at all,” he said slowly. “You’ll have to introduce me sometime.”

She relaxed. “Then I look forward to working with you too.”

They shook on it, and Minho tried to pretend like she hadn’t upturned his entire worldview with a few short sentences.

That night, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Everyone in the restaurant knew, he realized, and it didn’t matter to them. It was like peering into an alternate universe.

If Jisung had stayed with him, if they’d moved together, if he’d just been a little more selfish —

They would be together, still. He could’ve introduced Jisung as his boyfriend. That sentence alone made him feel lightheaded. He could’ve asked them for relationship advice without carefully obscuring every pronoun. Kissed Jisung in the kitchen without caring about who could see them. Jisung shone so brightly it had always hurt, knowing that no one else would ever get to see how much Minho lit up beside him.

If only Jisung had just been a little less perfect, Minho thought desperately, a little worse for him. He had never believed in meeting the right person at the wrong time. How could they be the right person if it was the wrong time? If it was the right person, then it would be the right time.

It hadn’t been the right time before. He had loved Jisung in a way that consumed him, because he had nothing else. It had been unhealthy. Unstable. Jisung had known it, and had always tried to give him the reassurance that he hadn’t been ready to accept. Minho had tried to love Jisung enough to make up for the fact that he couldn’t, wouldn’t love himself.

But that was changing. Everything had changed, Minho thought, except for the fact that they still couldn’t have each other.

Love, Minho thought miserably, made no sense.

The end of year award ceremonies was a clean sweep. 3RACHA had won practically every category they were nominated in.

Minho wasn’t the only one watching. Someone had adjusted one of the TVs in the back so they could watch the awards happening, and a small group of them had gathered in front of it. Every time the winners were announced, an assortment of cheers and boos erupted.

Artist of the year, album of the year, best male group, best rap performance — 3RACHA won them all, along with best new male artist. It was unheard of. But they were undeniably the most popular group there, whether the criteria was awards, numbers, or just plain audience enthusiasm. When they opened up the ceremony with their performances, the entire stadium had been awash with the light coming from their lightsticks. Still, every time their name was called, all three of them looked comically shocked. By the fifth award, they had clearly run out of things to say, passing the mic back and forth between the three of them before Chan had stammered out the same thank you speech he had given previously.

Hyerin and Yoonjae, one of their waitresses, had begun playing a game called is 3RACHA going to win the next award? The answer, at least for the last three awards, had been yes. Now they were betting on song of the year.

“I say yes,” Yoonjae said confidently. “No way they win artist of the year and album of the year but not song of the year.”

“Someone else has gotta win,” Hyerin moaned. “3RACHA is great and all, but we gotta get some representation up there. The fuckboy energy is so bad.”

Minho snorted, but only because Hyerin was right. Their stylists must have decided that an award ceremony was the perfect time to show off their muscles, because Minho had lost track of how many flashes of skin — their arms, their back, their abs — they had gotten. They had debuted a new song when the second half had started, and it had been…intense. When Minho registered the sound of a bed creaking in the background, he had almost passed out. Usually, Jisung’s tone was bright and bold. This time, he had been confident in an entirely different way, eyes half lidded as he’d rapped soft and deliberate. It would’ve been so cringeworthy if he wasn’t so fucking hot. The way his tongue curled around his words should have been illegal.

The worst part, Minho thought, was that it was working. Yoonjae had shrieked, Hyerin had rolled her eyes, and he’d been fighting down a blush the entire performance.

“And the song of the year is…”

“Close by J.One!”

The camera zoomed to 3RACHA’s table. Chan was shaking his head, Changbin was openly laughing, and Jisung looked like he was spacing out before he saw himself on the big screen and jerked upwards, pointing at himself and looking frantically around the stadium.

Me? He mouthed on camera, standing cautiously, and the other two gave him a friendly shove.

“I’m counting this as a win, by the way,” Yoonjae whispered, and Hyerin groaned.

Minho watched, holding his breath, as Jisung made his way back to the stage and accepted the award. When the presenter stepped back, Jisung cleared his throat, fingers drumming nervously by his side.

“Um,” he started. “I — to tell you the truth, I can’t believe this is happening right now.”

He paused, shaking his head. “As you may or may not know, I wrote this song over a year ago.” He laughed a little. “Things have changed a lot since then. If you told me then I’d be here now, I probably would’ve…I don’t know. I definitely wouldn’t have believed you.”

“This song means a lot to me,” Jisung continued softly. “It’s a gift to the people who believed in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself. I want to thank my company, my members, my family, my fans — to everyone that has supported me, and to the ones that have been there since the very beginning. I’m still lacking a lot, but —”

He stopped and took a deep breath.

“Is he crying?”

“Shh,” Yoonjae whispered.

Jisung wasn’t crying, but his eyes were suspiciously bright. “This song changed my life. I’ll do my best to repay all the love I’ve received,” he finished. He laughed shakily and gave the award a little wiggle. “We’re not done just yet. Don’t go anywhere.”

The cheers were deafening. This was where Jisung belonged, Minho thought. Above the crowd, under a million adoring gazes, Jisung was larger than life.

Minho was one of those million. Jisung, though, was one in a million.

“Boss,” Yoonjae said, scooting over. “If you had to choose between ‘Close’ or ‘Wish You Back’, which one would you pick?”

Ever since Minho’s video with Chan and Changbin had made its way into their work group chat — “You’re famous!” They had crowed victoriously — the staff had enjoyed teasing him about anything and everything 3RACHA-related. Minho hadn’t even tried to pretend like he minded. The video spoke for itself, and the number of 3RACHA songs he had added to their work playlist was a pretty obvious sign that he did, in fact, listen to their music. Secretly, or maybe not so secretly, he enjoyed it. Getting to talk about 3RACHA with others was actually pretty nice.

The question was a no brainer, and he said so to Yoonjae.

“Really?” Yoonjae said. “I always thought you’d like the whole love at first sight storyline. ‘Wish You Back’ is so sad!”

Minho shrugged. “Maybe they’re the same storyline.”

Yoonjae’s fell face. “That makes it worse.”

Oh, Yoonjae, Minho thought. If only you knew.

Outwardly, he gave Yoonjae a convincing smile. “Well, he did say that he wasn’t done yet,” he said. “Maybe there’ll be a happy ending.”

“I hope so,” Yoonjae said, frowning. “I’m invested now. They deserve it.”

Did he deserve it? Minho wondered. Jisung deserved someone that loved him, for sure. If one day, Jisung started writing happy songs, songs about being in love, could he be happy for him? He could admit that he had been his first love, now, but people could have more than one great love in their lives.

He honestly wasn’t sure. The thought of Jisung dating someone else didn’t fill him with the same kind of despair as it once did. It was more of a dull ache, one that he’d learned to live with.

But that didn’t mean he had to like it.

“Okay, enough slacking off,” Minho said, shooing them away from the TV. “Let’s get back to work.”

“What about you?” Yoonjae asked him, as they were walking back. “Any — er, bosses-in-law?”

Minho laughed at the ridiculous title. “How many prospects do you think I have lined up?”

“You like love songs a little too much to have never dated.” Yoonjae’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, pointing two fingers at Minho’s eyes while walking away. “I’m watching you.”

They split at the door, Minho headed back to the kitchen and Yoonjae back to the front.

“Please,” Minho said, turning around with a grin. “Look all you want. Find my happy ending for me.”

“Behind you!”

Minho scooted forwards a bit so one of the line cooks could jog behind him, carrying a pot of leftover soup across the room. That was the last one, Minho thought, and leaned against the counter, mentally calculating how long it would take him to get home. He had already run his rounds, so it wouldn’t take long to check up on everyone that had stayed late to help. He could be out of there at 10 p.m. Maybe 10:15 p.m.

“Thank you, everyone,” he said, turning and smiling tiredly. “Busy day today. Thanks for pulling through and helping each other out. Please, feel free to start packing it up.”

A light wave of cheers went around the room, and he slumped back against the counter with a sigh. It had been an usually long day, but things tended to be busier around the year-end. He swallowed a yawn and pushed himself upwards, peeling his gloves off and trashing them.

“Boss?”

Minho turned. “Yeah, Yoonjae. What’s up? Everything good with that table you got at the end?”

“Perfect.” Yoonjae sounded excited. “They tipped really well. And they told me to give their compliments to the chef!”

“Consider the compliment received.” Minho managed a smile, working his jacket off. Most of the staff at Avia would make an effort to relay what they’d heard from the customers. It didn’t happen often, but was always nice to hear.

“Actually…,” Yoonjae wheedled. “They might have insisted on delivering the compliment in person. You’re not too busy right now, are you?”

Minho blinked, thrown. “They’re still here?” They had processed the last payments half an hour ago.

“Yep,” Yoonjae said, and gave him a sheepish smile. “I told them you were really busy, but they insisted. Said they didn’t mind waiting.”

Minho sighed. “This is my job,” he mumbled, grabbing his jacket from where he’d just put it up. “I love my job.” And he did. He was just…tired. He didn’t bother buttoning the jacket, slinging it over his arms and shaking his hair out of his eyes. “Let’s go,” he said. “Remind me what they ordered again?”

“The short ribs,” Yoonjae said, hustling after him. “The soup special, the snapper, the seafood pancakes…”

Seeing Jisung was like a splash of cold water to the face. Minho was suddenly, painfully awake.

“They’ve been waiting for half an hour?” He hissed to Yoonjae. “Why didn’t you say anything? I would have come out earlier.”

“They insisted I shouldn’t bother you,” Yoonjae whispered back furiously. “Boss, with all due respect, shut up. Be normal.”

They stopped in front of one of their more private booths near the back. Yoonjae gave them a brilliant smile. “Sorry for the delay! This is Chef Lee. He made his way out as soon as he knew.”

Changbin waved at him. Chan was smiling. Jisung — Jisung was —

That was his hoodie, Minho thought faintly. Jisung was wearing his hoodie.

He'd never ended up getting some of his clothes back. It made sense that Jisung had them. For some reason, he hadn’t thought about the fact that Jisung could still be wearing them. It was a little big on him. It had always been, Minho thought hysterically. That was why he’d always told Jisung to buy his own, but he hadn’t listened. He’d never offered anything in return, either. Minho had nothing of Jisung’s. Anger sparked inside of him, bright and hot. Of course Jisung was here now, wearing that fucking hoodie, looking like — like —

He didn’t know why, after everything that had happened, this was what he couldn’t get over.

Minho wasn’t a runner. He didn’t flee in fight or flight situations. If Jisung could talk about him on national TV, he thought, then he could act normally in front of Jisung and three other people.

He squared his shoulders and went into a bow, a movement he had done so often there was hardly any thought behind it. “Hello,” he said politely. He nodded at Chan, Changbin. “It’s good to see you two again.”

Minho looked over at Jisung again and tried not to notice the hoodie’s frayed strings, its faded letters. It was obvious just how much it had been worn, and he deflated, anger leaving him just as quickly as it had come. Jisung looked so soft. His hair was tucked underneath a baseball cap. He needed to shave, just a little. Minho let himself indulge, just for half a second. Imagined sitting down in Jisung’s lap. Running his fingers through Jisung’s hair. Tilting his head up and feeling the light stubble against own face.

Minho’s heart throbbed pathetically in his chest. The half-second passed. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said to Jisung, and bowed again. He turned to Yoonjae.

“You can go,” he murmured, and Yoonjae winked at him, bowed, then left.

“I’m sorry for bringing you out from your duties,” Chan said, always so thoughtful. “Our car is just turning the block too, so we won’t keep you long. We just wanted you to know how much we enjoyed the food. When we heard you’d taken this position, we knew we’d have to come by.”

“We always meant to bring Jisung by, too,” Changbin grinned. “Did you know he used to order delivery from your restaurant? He was so jealous when he found out he had missed out last time.”

Was he? Minho hadn’t known.

“I told them to give my love to the chef,” Jisung said. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “It was amazing. Tasted like home.”

Home. Love. Minho’s laugh felt strangled, and he hoped it didn’t sound as desperate as he felt. Didn’t people normally give their compliments? He lowered his gaze. “Thank you, J.One.”

“Please,” Jisung said quietly, earnestly. “Just call me Jisung.”

Minho felt a flash of fear run through him, like saying his name would unravel everything. How could Jisung come here, he thought, wearing his hoodie and asking him to call him by his name? Didn’t he know? Couldn’t he tell? The separation between Jisung’s idol and real-life identity was the only thing that made things bearable. Jisung was his secret, the skeletons in his closet. He lived on in his memories only. He was the boy that Minho had mourned and buried in the old restaurant.

Han Jisung. Minho hadn’t said his name out loud in years. He bowed again, unable to meet Jisung’s eyes. 

“In that case, thank you…Jisung.”

A shiver ran down his spine, one that he tried to conceal. Greeting him felt reverent, like a prayer. Minho straightened slightly, and knew that he couldn’t avoid his eyes forever. 

When their eyes met, he knew that Jisung would be able to read everything from his eyes like an open book. Jisung had bookmarked the page a year ago, and Minho was still right where he had left him.

I’m glad you’re doing well, even though I miss you. Please stay happy and healthy. I still love you. I still love you. I still love you.

“Do you take suggestions?” Jisung asked. Chan shot him a look, appalled, but Jisung continued, undeterred. “I used to have one of your breakfast sandwiches every day. Now, since Avia doesn’t deliver…”

“Oh god, not the sandwiches,” Changbin groaned. “This is like the cheesecake thing all over again.” He turned to Minho, looking apologetically. “I’m sorry about him, truly. He’s just serious about his food. Ignore him.”

“Or don’t,” Jisung pouted. “There aren’t any other good cheesecake restaurants around.”

Minho’s heart skipped a beat. It would be so easy, he thought, to fall into their familiar banter.

“I’ll note that down,” he said. A glimmer of amusement winked at him from the swirling emotions in his chest. “Any other requests?”

“None that you should pay attention to,” Chan said, rolling his eyes. “Come on, kids. We should go —”

Something flickered in Jisung’s eyes. Minho recognized the look and shook a little. Jisung was about to do something, probably something really, really stupid —

“Do you think I could get your number?” Jisung blurted out. Changbin’s mouth dropped open, and he smacked him in the chest.

“Jisung!”

“Not like that! Not like that! It’s just that…Avia doesn’t deliver and I want to make sure for New Year’s…my cheesecake,” Jisung finished meekly. He was blushing for real, now.

Minho wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. He’d been right — it was an absurd request. 

“Okay.”

He should have said no, but his mouth had apparently developed a mind of its own. He fished his phone out of his pocket and showed his number to Jisung, who hurriedly copied it down on his phone.

Chan sighed. “We really have to go now,” he said, and nudged Jisung. “Sorry about him, again.”

Jisung sputtered, and both Chan and Changbin gave him a “can you believe this guy?” look.

“I guess the food was just that good,” Changbin said, hooking an arm around Jisung’s shoulder. “We do have to go, but we’ll definitely be back. Thank you!”

Jisung’s mouth was open, like he still had something he wanted to say, but when Changbin pulled him along, he went. As easily as he had come, he left, and took with him another piece of Minho when he hadn’t known he had anything left in himself to give.

But Jisung had his number now.

Minho went home and screamed into his pillow.

The next few days were torturous. Jisung hadn’t texted or called. It wasn’t like Minho had been expecting much. He knew the cheesecake excuse had been just that — an excuse. But that didn’t help him much in trying to figure out Jisung’s actual intentions. Work kept him busy, but even then, the chance of running into Jisung again at Avia kept him on his toes.

Then, a few weeks into the new year, three things happened in quick succession, each more shocking than the last.

One: a middle-school photo surfaced of Chan and another girl holding hands. Although it was swiftly debunked — apparently it was taken during rehearsal — the topic of whether it was acceptable for idols to have dated before debuting quickly dominated social media. The internet seemed divided.

Who cares about what happened in middle school? One person wrote. We don’t expect other kids to know what they want to do in the future. Why would we expect it of idols?

You wouldn’t spend half as much money if you found them horrifyingly unattractive, others argued. They line their pockets by marketing these parasocial relationships. Why can’t we ask that companies vet their trainees better?

Then there were the posts that speculated about 3RACHA’s dating histories. Some were genuinely scary — Minho hadn’t even known that it was possible to purchase other people’s information in an attempt to hack some of their older accounts. It was a good thing, he thought wryly, that he and Jisung had only ever communicated in person. Ironically, everything that the internet dug up about Jisung’s past only seemed to convince them that there was no way he had ever dated.

But really, isn’t this interaction so funny? One of the most popular posts read, with a screenshot of someone’s fansign experience. A friend of a friend heard that he really was the kind of guy that you might secretly like but never confess to…

The interaction in question was when someone had asked Jisung if he only wrote sad love songs because he’d never been in a relationship before. “If I answer this, I think my pride will really be hurt,” Jisung had laughed, covering his face with his hands. “I can write good love songs too!”

Another post read: When my inspiration comes from my imagination, I would use “you” instead of “her” too…

The point of the post was to prove that Jisung had no real experience because he didn’t even try to use third-person pronouns. That one had made Minho sigh a bit. It wasn’t like Jisung could wax lyrical about him.

In an eerily well-timed coincidence, Jisung turned around and released a gut-wrenchingly sad love song just a week later. That brought them to two: Jisung releasing “HaPpY”.

Are you happy out there? Even if I'm not by your side, I hope you live happily. I'm so glad to see you in my dream. Please be happy out there forever. Please always shine with that pretty smile.

You were beautiful until the end. The only one left here like a fool is me.

I should have treated you bеtter back then. After saying these obvious words I give out a long sigh. I want to rewind time and start all over already. I want to rebuild this dizzying, destroyed situation, and go back to the time when I was happy.

But it's too far away.

Still, in these pictures, you’re so bright. Still, a fool, I draw you in the air. In the pitch-black room, the star called you is shining. I’m blinded by that light. I still miss it.

What if I hold onto you again? Could we go back to those times?

Couldn’t he write happier songs? Minho thought, bawling his eyes out in his bedroom as he looped “HaPpY” over and over again. It was literally in the song title. The release of the song came with a short explanation — Jisung had felt inspired recently to try and write a happier song, like “Close”, as a continuation of “Wish You Back”, but could only think of sad things.

The lyrics hurt to listen to, but what hurt more was knowing that Jisung blamed himself for everything that had happened. They were both grown, changed. They were doing well in their careers. Shouldn’t they be happy?

Minho couldn’t even convince himself that Jisung felt any differently. It was beyond obvious how Jisung was doing. You were beautiful until the end? The only one left here like a fool is me? It had been almost a year. Those weren’t the words of someone who had even begun to heal.

He wanted to believe that they could reconcile, amicably, one day in the future. But deep down, Minho knew that they could never be just friends. Jisung had nestled his way into heart and rewritten the way he knew how to love. He could never share parts of himself without sharing a bit of Jisung, too. If love was meant to be shared, Minho thought miserably, then why did they have to suffer alone?

Three: Minho received a phone call from an unknown phone number. His heart had quickened, as it often did these days when his phone rang, and he had tried not to seem too eager as he picked up the phone.

It hadn’t been Jisung. But it had been his company. Politely, they had asked if he would be interested in joining 3RACHA in filming an episode on their cooking variety show. It had something to do with the concept of their next comeback. Their previous video had racked up very good numbers, and since there was already an existing chemistry between him and the members, they had reason to believe that an official collaboration would be well-received.

“Me,” Minho repeated in disbelief. It was almost too much to take in at once. They would pay him…to hang out…with 3RACHA?

He would come by to discuss the terms of the contract, they offered. They were interested in bringing him on in a semi-permanent collaborative role, if the first episode did well.

This was dangerous, Minho thought. Very, very dangerous. Him. Jisung. Cameras. His mind spun at the possibilities.

Of course he said yes. He had never genuinely entertained the thought of saying no.

Some kitchen set that the company had rented out was chosen as their filming location. It was convenient, but more importantly, it was private. They let him set it up beforehand as he preferred in terms of equipment and layout. Standing in the space made everything seem more real. Minho had prepared for it the only way he knew how — he hadn’t. The thought of maintaining any kind of relationship with Jisung, even a professional one, filled him with excitement and dread. 

He hadn’t known what to expect, but it hadn’t been…this.

The reactions to his presence could not have been more different. Changbin, the first to see him, had greeted him enthusiastically. Next to him, Chan had pulled him into a hug. Jisung had taken one look at him and paled.

A few seconds later, his lips had twisted with displeasure. “I thought we talked about this,” Jisung said lowly. He glared at their manager. “Out of everyone we could’ve had, and you chose him?”

Minho blinked, eyes wide. That…had hurt. As much as he tried, he was sure that some of his emotions bled into his expression, and he could only hope that it read more like discomfort than anguish. Was that what Jisung really thought?

He wasn’t the only one that froze. Many of the staff members had paused, surprise evident in their faces. The hustle and bustle on set fell into an abrupt silence. When Jisung offered no other comment, neither explanation or apology, the tension sharpened to a knife’s point.

Blessedly, the director spoke. “We’ll take ten.”

“I’m going to go to the bathroom,” Jisung said stiffly. No one offered a response. “To — freshen up.”

They watched him go. The staff were quiet until he was out of earshot, and then they began whispering furiously to each other.

When Changbin looked at Chan, and Chan looked at Minho, Minho looked down at his hands. “I should apologize,” Minho said, at the same time Chan said, “I’m so sorry.”

“You?” Chan shook his head immediately. “No, that was completely uncalled for. He’s probably tired, but that’s no excuse — he shouldn’t have said that.”

Out of everyone we could’ve had — and you chose him?

Minho’s stomach rioted. He felt sick. “It’s my fault,” he said. “I’m going to apologize.”

Before anyone could talk him out of it — and he was sure they would have tried, had he stayed a second longer — he twisted around the counter, throwing off his apron, and took off towards the bathroom.

When he entered the bathroom, Jisung stared at him guardedly. “Did they tell you to follow me?”

Minho didn’t know how to read his expression. At least, he thought, there was no trace of his earlier animosity.

“No,” Minho whispered. His hands itched to reach out, to touch Jisung, but he stayed where he was. “They told me to leave you alone.”

Jisung pressed his lips together and looked away. “Why are you here?”

“I thought you knew,” Minho whispered. “They told me you all knew.” He fidgeted with the mic pack in his hands. It was off, of course. “I wouldn’t have come if I knew you would be uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” Jisung stressed. He turned his head slightly to look at Minho. “That’s not what I meant. It’s not you. It’s…did they tell you why they invited you?”

Minho shook his head.

Jisung sighed. “We argued about this. There’s been some…rumors going around. They said that we needed to refocus the public’s attention. They want to —,” he grimaced, “market some kind of bromance to distract people from some of the other news. They asked us to get a little extra-friendly with the guests, you know, play things up a little…”

He trailed off, giving Minho a weak smile. “You’re already well-liked, since you did that other video. They’re just — using your popularity.”

Of course there had been an ulterior motive, Minho thought. Nothing could ever be that easy. It should’ve bothered him more, but he couldn’t find it in himself to really mind, not when he was finally having a real conversation with Jisung, where neither of them had to hide behind false pretenses.

“I said anyone but you,” Jisung whispered, pained.

Minho sucked in a breath. “Jisung…”

Jisung groaned. “I can’t believe they went with you anyway. I’m so mad.”

“I didn’t know,” Minho said faintly. “If I did — I wouldn’t have —”

“It’s my fault too.” Jisung rubbed at his face. “I should’ve pushed harder — these last few weeks have been a little hazy. Still, that’s no excuse for not confirming who the guest was going to be.”

There was no changing what had already happened. He was already here. Minho looked at the door. “I can go out there and tell them you’re not feeling well. We can postpone this until we figure out…”

How to act with each other? Minho paused, unsure. What exactly was the best way forward?

“No, let’s not —”

Jisung was reaching out, faster than Minho could react. “Come here,” he said, and pulled him into a haphazard hug. Minho froze, hands cautiously coming around his back with another look at the door.

His heart was beating at a hundred kilometers per hour. Jisung was warm. He smelled good. They still fit together perfectly. It had been so long.

“Jisung, anyone could walk in,” he said weakly.

“They won’t,” Jisung said. “They’re gonna think I’m apologizing for being a dick and leave us alone until the break ends. Which I am sorry for, by the way. And this is me apologizing, to be clear, about the way I treated you. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. It’s just a million times harder to not grab your hand or something if I have to act like we’re friends instead of strangers.”

How pathetic was he, Minho thought miserably, that hearing Jisung say he didn’t hate him made him feel better? He knew Jisung hadn’t meant it, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t stung, as much as he had pretended otherwise.

“You know I love you,” Jisung mumbled, and Minho’s heart clenched. When Minho didn’t respond, Jisung looked up curiously. “Hyung?”

“Yeah,” Minho said haltingly. “I do. I…me too.”

Jisung, as always, saw right through him. “Don’t be silly and say we should cancel the partnership,” he said. “This isn’t your fault. We’re gonna figure things out together, okay?”

Minho nodded and closed his eyes. He tried to let himself bask in the hug. Just one, tiny fragment, he thought. Surely he was allowed a few seconds of reprieve.

“Should we think of this like a company-sanctioned date then?” He joked, and Jisung made a small noise of complaint against his sweater.

“If I have to watch them flirt with you, I’m actually going to die,” Jisung whined. “Have you seen yourself? Being here…it does weird things to my brain. I can’t stop thinking about how things used to be.”

Minho blinked. He hadn’t thought too much about the setup — day in and day out, he had layered months worth of new memories atop of the kitchen. The counter was just another counter, one that he had spilled soup on last week and stayed late to clean. And it might have looked like the one Jisung used to hoist himself on and distract him from, sure, legs swinging obnoxiously in his way until Minho took things into his own hands and…well. Minho had scrubbed over too many counters for him to bat an eye. But for Jisung, who hadn’t ever visited again, and to see everything as it had been…

They would never be able to go back to how things were back then. The fact that they only had this, now, because it was a marketing ploy made everything feel doubly bittersweet.

He tried to smile. “You still think I look good in this ridiculous apron?”

“Always.” Jisung’s voice was tinged with sadness, but quiet and so, so warm. “Three idols on set, and you’re by far the prettiest person in the room.”

“I’ve thought about a moment like this every day for the last year,” Jisung whispered. “I dreamed about holding you in my arms. I woke up one day and realized I couldn’t remember what you felt like. It was like I was losing you all over again.”

A pause. Minho heard him swallow next to his ear. “There’s one other thing I’ve been thinking about too.”

Every muscle in his body felt like it was straining towards the surface of his skin, waiting and wanting. Jisung’s voice was so quiet it was barely audible.

“Just once,” he breathed. “Last chance to move away.”

Minho couldn’t have moved if he wanted to. He didn’t have to wait very long. Jisung kissed him so slowly and carefully, like he was trying to stretch out one minute to last one year. Maybe he was. Minho held his breath and tried to remember enough about this moment to last him a lifetime.

Jisung’s hold tightened around him. “Stop thinking so much,” he murmured, and Minho obliged with a tilt of his head and a shudder, letting the rest of his thoughts retreat into a dense fog. There was nothing hesitant about the kiss. Careful, yes, but Jisung kissed him with surety, like it hadn’t been two years since they’d last kissed, like they weren’t closer to being two strangers instead of lovers. Together, they traversed the sinewy paths between memories, and in places that had faded away or distorted from reality, they drew the path anew.

Minho’s heart throbbed painfully in his chest even as a sliver of fear made its way down his back. Forgetting where they were and who they were was impossible. But it was a brief, impossible moment that they shared in the men’s restroom on the reworked set, with minutes or seconds to go until the break was over. It was lovely and painful. It was the easiest and hardest thing in the world.

Jisung watched as he washed his face afterwards, handing him a paper towel so he could wipe the makeup off of his face.

“They’re going to think you made me cry,” Minho joked, but Jisung frowned.

“I almost did.”

Minho sighed. “It wasn’t just what you said —”

Jisung shook his head. “I mean it, hyung. What I said was horrible. And that’s not even considering the past few years…”

“It’s not your fault that I’m here,” Minho protested. “And I’ve already forgiven you for that.”

Jisung was already opening his mouth, eyes bright. “You shouldn’t have. This whole thing has been so much worse for you than for me. I just keep putting you in awkward situations.”

They were both quiet for a second, before Jisung sighed. “I can’t tell you to go away. I don’t even want you to. But I can do better. I will.”

Minho pursed his lips. It was hard to look at Jisung and not see — not a kid, but the boy who had smoothed his edges on him. Who he had accepted repeatedly and endlessly, who wasn’t perfect but could never ask for more than Minho was already willing to give.

But Jisung had changed. He was older, better. They both could be. Jisung was holding his hand out — physically, metaphorically — and Minho took it.

A smile was playing on Jisung's lips. Tentatively, Minho returned it.

“After you.”

Despite the rough start, the first episode was declared a success. Over the next few months, they recorded seven more. Toeing the line between not enough and too much was hard, but it was nothing compared to getting to have Jisung again, even if they were technically only coworkers. They had both agreed that it would be best to limit their on-screen interactions, letting Chan and Changbin take the lead, but it was delightfully easy to tell when Jisung was jealous. On one glorious occasion, Minho had been teaching Chan how to julienne carrots when Jisung had tripped over nothing and accidentally smacked them apart.

“Oh no!” Jisung had said, comically exaggerated as he worked to pick up the carrot slices that had fallen onto the ground. He kept bumping into their legs, pushing them farther and farther apart until he eventually stood back up in between the two of them. “So sorry about that.”

Everyone had laughed it off as part of his natural clumsiness, but Jisung had winked at him afterwards, out of the camera’s way, and Minho had struggled to hold back a smile.

Some episodes were harder to film than others. The dessert episode where they baked cheesecakes had left a complex tangle of emotions in his chest. But the worst was the episode based on traditional New Year’s cuisine. He had kept it together throughout the entire cooking process until they had finally sat down to eat in front of their bowls of rice cake soup. Seated across from Jisung, their eyes had met, and Minho had known that they were thinking of the same moment, two years ago, when they had stolen kisses over the rice cakes, tipsy off of a little bit of alcohol and a lot of love.

Minho hadn’t been able to stop the tears from gathering in his eyes. Brushing them away, he had explained, a bit awkwardly, that the dish reminded him of his only family, and that he’d lost his grandmother shortly before New Year’s a while back. 

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. Nobody had questioned it, though. Chan and Changbin had nodded solemnly. Jisung had looked away, but Minho had seen the shine in his eyes and knew that it had hurt him to remember, too.

Between one episode and the next, they became…friends. Minho didn’t realize it until it had already happened. One day he was invited to celebrate the release of the first episode, where they all exchanged numbers. The next thing he knew, he was being invited to private company events and dropping off leftovers at 3RACHA’s dorm. The process of getting to where they lived was a hassle. First, a car had to be called for him, one that could be recognized and allowed in by their apartment complex. They would drive into the underground parking lot, and he would then take two separate elevators, both access-controlled, onto the right floor. All the doors were plain and unmarked.

The first time he had been by, he had gotten lost twice on his way up, and once more on his way down. When he’d finally made his way to their apartment, running a few minutes late, he had apologized for the delay.

“Don’t,” Jisung murmured softly, the first to see and greet him. He was in the kitchen, cleaning out the dishwasher, and took the food from Minho’s hands. Their fingers brushed against each other. Without makeup on, without his hair styled, dressed only in his own clothes — Jisung looked so achingly familiar that Minho swayed, caught in a vision of an alternate life, so dizzyingly domestic that it almost took his breath away.

Jisung turned away with a cough when Changbin entered. “It’s confusing on purpose. Sorry you had to go through all that.”

“We moved a while back,” Changbin chimed in, putting an arm on his shoulder and steering him towards the living room. “It’s a lot, but…”

He sighed. “It works.”

They didn’t need to say anything more. Minho had seen the stories. People had scaled their hotels when they had traveled to perform at different award ceremonies. Others had bought out entire airplanes just to ensure that they would get to sit next to them. He knew that they flew in private airplanes now.

So they were friends now. Changbin would call and ask him about certain foods, Chan would invite him out to coffee in the early mornings once in a while, knowing that they would both be awake, and Jisung…

Minho sighed. If he was going to be honest, he had a better working relationship with both Chan and Changbin. Being friends with Jisung was bizarre. On camera, it was easy to draw the line between what they could and couldn’t do. Off camera, sometimes, it was much harder to remember. Once, all four of them had agreed to watch a horror movie together, but when Minho arrived, Jisung was the only one in their living room.

“They got caught up working on — on — one of Changbin-hyung’s songs,” Jisung stammered. “I thought it would look bad if we canceled.”

Minho’s stomach had performed a complex maneuver.

“We’re by ourselves?” He whispered, a rhetorical question.

Jisung nodded slowly. “Until they get back.”

That was fine, Minho thought. He could do this.

They started the movie eventually, sitting on opposite ends of the couch. Every time there was a jump scare — and there were a lot — Jisung would jump, yelp, and hide his eyes behind his hands. Eventually, Minho had to admit that he absolutely could not do this. He hadn’t even been focusing on the movie at all.

He took the remote and paused it, and Jisung looked at him in surprise.

“Why did you agree to watching this?” Minho whispered.

“Everyone else wanted to,” Jisung said, still shivering. “I wasn’t — I didn’t want to be the reason why we switched movies.”

Huddled in his hoodie, he looked so small. The urge to hug Jisung was unbearable. Minho fought the urge back with every ounce of strength in his body.

“It’s just the two of us here, though,” he said, and winced at the way that sounded. It was, which made it even harder to remember why he had to hold himself back. “We could’ve watched something else while we waited. You don’t have to pretend in front of me.”

Jisung was looking at him sorrowfully. “I feel like I have to,” he whispered. “Otherwise…”

He trailed off, but they both knew what he meant.

Minho’s heart hurt. He sighed, and knew the fight was lost. 

“Come here,” he pleaded, and Jisung all but clambered over into his hold. It felt so natural, so right, to have Jisung in his arms again. He stroked his hair and exhaled shakily.

“Sometimes,” Jisung said, sounding weary, “I get so jealous of Chan-hyung and Changbin-hyung. They like you a lot, you know? And it’s so easy for them. They get to have you.”

“You have me too,” Minho reminded him quietly.

Jisung turned to give him a sad smile. “Not the way I want.”

There wasn’t anything that Minho could say to that. He squeezed Jisung, just a little harder, in lieu of everything that he couldn’t say.

“Tell you what,” he murmured. “I’m going to put on a Studio Ghibli movie, and we’re going to watch it, okay?”

“Okay,” Jisung whispered.

It felt like a compromise. Minho wanted to say so much more. He wanted to tell him that he understood. He wanted to hold him forever.

Instead, he let him go to reach for the remote. They reoriented themselves on the couch, just far enough for it to be appropriate. Two lovers, two strangers.

“Can we pick a happy one?”

Minho looked at Jisung and ached.

“Of course,” he sighed. “Of course we can.”

If his staff had been annoying about 3RACHA before, they were insufferable now. 3RACHA’s next comeback was aptly titled “God’s Menu”, and most of the songs from the album quickly made their way onto the kitchen’s playlist. Minho had lost track of the number of times he’d heard the phrase, “du, du, du, du, du, du,” mumbled underneath everyone’s breath.

It was a very catchy song, he admitted begrudgingly. It would be better if they weren’t constantly trying to get him to dance along. As much as he complained, though, it didn’t really bother him. Everyone had been more than supportive of the adjustments to his schedule. In fact, the first Saturday after filming had wrapped, he’d showed up to the restaurant to a standing ovation.

“Our celebrity is back,” Yoonjae had said, faking a tear, and Minho had groaned and looked around. Everyone had gathered in the kitchen. He even saw some people whose shifts he knew didn’t start until later.

“You guys have seen me six out of seven days of the week,” he said, trying to fight his smile down. “You saw me yesterday!”

“It’s like I can still hear his voice,” one of his line chefs said, pressing a hand to their chest.

“We’ve missed you,” another said seriously.

Minho rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Yeah, yeah, in the twelve hours since I’ve seen most of you, I’ve missed you too. Get back to your stations, everyone.”

They dispersed easily, laughing and patting him on the back.

“Cooking like a chef,” someone whispered, “I’m a five-star Michelin…”

“One more word, Hyerin,” Minho said, gritting his teeth. “And I’ll pull all the wine suggestions off of the menu.”

“Good thing that’s my job then,” she sniffed, but left with a smile.

Filming might have ended, but that didn’t mean that Minho saw 3RACHA any less. If anything, he saw them more. His coffee runs with Chan had become something of a regular occurrence for the both of them. He started working out with Changbin every once in a while, too. Jisung even joined them, sometimes, and that was a unique kind of torture altogether. Thankfully, there were always professional trainers there to guide them. There was no way Minho would’ve been able to stay focused if he was just a few dozen centimeters apart from Jisung, never mind where his mind would have wandered if they were actually touching.

They were doing better, or at least however much better they could be doing. Minho liked to think that they had made progress. There were things that he had relearned about Jisung, like how he sounded when he was sleepy or the way his shampoo smelled. Then there were things that he was learning for the first time. How Jisung sounded in the recording studio. The way he would giggle after recording some of the filthiest lines Minho had ever heard in his life.

Beside me, above me, behind me, you are all around me / I'm not just caught, I’m twisted up in your spider web, dumb / Under the predator’s threat / My body trembles with fear / Crushed, forced / I’m losing my mind, you make me crazy

“You wrote this?” Minho squeaked.

“Yeah, it’s — ah, probably not making it to the next album,” Jisung laughed awkwardly, when Chan pulled the demo up on his phone. “Maybe the one after that. If we went with a bit of a darker concept.”

Minho inhaled. Exhaled. Breathe, he thought. He had to breathe.

The smaller the area of overlap of their lives, the more manageable it had been. Now that the intersection was growing, there was a lot to adjust to. Once, as a joke, Jisung had called him darling, and they’d both frozen before playing it off. Then there were the smaller things, like how Jisung always forgot to ask him what kind of coffee he wanted, but managed to get him the right kind anyway. After the first few times these kinds of things happened, though, Minho stopped worrying so much about them. The list of things that they weren’t supposed to know about each other shrunk day by day.

They were learning how to exist — not apart, not together — but side by side. Minho tried his best to be content with their odd, in-between relationship. It was more than he thought he’d get to have.

But he was so greedy. It was like receiving a few drops of rain when he’d been trapped in the desert for years. Was it his fault, he wondered, if he could never stop wishing for storms to come?

It wasn’t unusual for either Chan or Changbin to text or call him these days. Jisung, though, rarely did, so when Minho saw his name flash on his screen, he picked up the phone as soon as he could.

“Hyung?”

Minho held his breath. “Yeah,” he said, cautious of who else could be listening. “It’s me.”

He heard Jisung exhale. “It’s just me. I didn’t know who else to call. Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” he said steadily, even as his heart raced. It was hard not to overthink things, but he tried his best. “Is everything alright? Do you need anything?”

“Everything’s fine,” Jisung said immediately. “I’m okay.” He sighed. “My brother is getting married.”

“…ah.”

“I haven’t seen him in almost five years, and now he’s getting married,” Jisung’s voice was shaky. “I’ve never even met his girlfriend. I used to look up to him a lot when I was younger. He always joked —”

Jisung sniffed, and Minho’s fingers tightened around his phone.

“He always joked that his wedding could be a trial run for my girlfriend,” Jisung said quietly. “Said how she reacted would tell me if we were right for each other. God, I haven’t thought about that in so long. But hyung, the only person I would ever want to take to a wedding…”

“Forget it,” Jisung laughed, sad. “It’s stupid.”

Still, he paused, letting the silence turn hopeful. Minho’s heart sank.

It took a few seconds to compose his thoughts.

“There is nothing in the world I want more than to attend a wedding with you,” he said, flinching when that came out sounding too raw, too real. That wasn’t what he meant to say, as much as it was true. He forged on. “You know that. But we can’t.”

Jisug sighed. “You’re right.” He sounded tired, and Minho ached to hold him. Still, his voice had a note of forced levity when he next spoke. “Did you know how he proposed? Spur of the moment in the bathroom, apparently.”

Minho let him change the topic.

“Did he have a ring, at least?”

“No ring!” Jisung cried. “He didn’t even know her ring size! They’re getting it sized tomorrow. I’m glad she said yes, because that would’ve never worked with me. I would’ve said no. Have the ring, at least.”

Minho laughed despite himself, surprised and a little pleased. “I’ll be sure to pass the message along then, if it ever comes up.”

“If?” Jisung sounded incredulous. “You better have meant when.”

“Oh, please,” Minho scoffed, “you were ready to get married just because you thought the pet adoption process only allowed married couples. I think your judgment needs some work.”

“I was seventeen!” Jisung cried. “And I told you that in confidence! I wouldn’t have said yes to anyone, hyung, you just caught me off guard —”

The conversation devolved into pedantic nonsense after that. Minho had forgotten how effortlessly weird their conversations could be. There was nothing he said that Jisung couldn’t respond to, no comment left ignored. It was so easy. It was like picking a random place on the map and realizing he knew the way home by heart. He could’ve navigated their conversations with his eyes closed.

“You’re tired,” Jisung said abruptly, some number of hours later. Minho’s eyes fluttered open.

“Mm?”

The sound of Jisung’s laughter curled around his ears. “You should’ve said something earlier, hyung.”

Minho tried to protest. “I’m not,” he said, but the rest of the sentence slipped away from him.

“You can’t lie to me, baby,” Jisung murmured, low and beautiful. “Good night. I’ll let you go.”

Minho felt light, weightless. He was a butterfly, he thought, and in his dreams, he was so close to the sky…

He was asleep before Jisung spoke again.

I love you. Sweet dreams, hyung.

The call disconnected.

When the last episode of the cooking variety show aired, they went out to celebrate at Avia.

Well, to be specific, 3RACHA went out to celebrate at Avia. All Minho had known was that a larger party had booked one of their private rooms. He hadn’t even known who was coming until he’d been pushed out of the kitchen. Someone took the spoon out of his hands. Someone else threw him a button-up.

Yoonjae was waiting for him by the door with a maniacal grin.

“Don’t tell me everyone is in on this,” Minho groaned, as he was dragged forward.

“Okay,” Yoonjae said, grin widening. “Then I won’t.”

When he entered the room, Hyerin was just on her way out.

“Look who it is,” she purred, pausing to look him up and down. “You look nice, boss.”

Everyone had turned to look at them. Minho’s face was burning. “Hyerin,” he gritted out, “please shut up.”

“Fine,” she said, but winked at him surreptitiously as she was walking away. “I chose that shirt, by the way.”

Chan cleared his throat. Changbin was smirking at him. Jisung looked like he was trying to bore a hole through the plate in front of him with his gaze alone. Minho closed his eyes, caught between wanting to laugh and cry, and slid into the empty seat at the table.

“Kidnapping me from my own job, I see,” he said dryly, and the awkwardness in the room melted away.

“Only for your own good,” Chan said good-naturedly. “Anything we haven’t already tried that you’d recommend?”

Dinner went swimmingly. If only he had known that the most awkward moment of the night was still to come.

Nobody had let him go back to the kitchen when the meal was over, herding him out of the restaurant with the other three. “Please take him off our hands,” Yoonjae added, just for kicks. “He never takes a day off.”

Minho glared at Yoonjae, betrayed, but let himself be maneuvered away. After Changbin had put on an impressive display of persuasion to convince their manager to let them go home instead of going out  — “no, we’d really rather go back, we’re tired” — the four of them had ended up in 3RACHA’s dorm, cracking open a few bottles of soju to celebrate.

“Now that it’s just the four of us,” Changbin said, leaning forward with a sly smile. “It’s time to spill your deepest, darkest secrets.”

He wiggled his eyebrows.

Minho shuddered.

“Gross,” Jisung said succinctly.

Truth or dare went just about as well as Minho had expected. Jisung admitted to stealing — using, Jisung protested — Changbin’s body wash. Then he dared Chan to lick Changbin’s toothbrush.

“Hey!” Changbin roared, following Chan as he sprinted into the bathroom. “Why is it always my stuff!”

After a brief tussle, Chan dared Changbin to lick his own toes.

“Absolutely not,” Changbin reeled, horrified. He took a shot, grimacing as it went down. “Oh, it’s on.”

Changbin asked Minho if he liked his current job better than his previous one. Which, Minho thought, was actually a very thoughtful question. It was hard to compare the two.

“I’ll always miss the other restaurant,” Minho said, after thinking about it. “I practically grew up there. But I think I’m…happier now. This job has given me more than I expected.”

Saying it, he realized that he meant it. Feeling a bit self-conscious, he gave them each a shy smile. “I feel like that was more serious than your turns.”

“No such thing,” Changbin said dismissively. “I’ll drink to that.”

“Cheers,” Minho said, laughing, and downed a shot with the rest of them.

The dares got more outrageous from there. Jisung had to eat a spoonful of mayonnaise. Changbin, blindfolded, had to recognize each of them from the smell of their knees. Chan was asked to freestyle rap about falling in love with a chair. There had been real tears in Minho’s eyes when Chan had started waxing poetry about the chair’s long legs and warm embrace.

“Are you getting this?” Jisung whispered to Changbin, enraptured, and Changbin nodded as he recorded it all on his phone.

After they had all had a few drinks, they retired truth or dare and moved on to never have I ever. And that, in retrospect, Minho thought, was where things started to go downhill.

After a few milder rounds, where they covered all of the basics — never have I ever broken a bone, never have I ever driven a car, never have I ever had a pet dog —

“Hey,” Chan said, frowning at them. “I’m the only one that’s had a pet dog?”

“Yep,” Jisung said, reclining against the couch and looking pleased. “That was on purpose,” he added with a cheeky grin.

“Okay, fine,” Chan started, and looked at the rest of them with a satisfied smile. “Never have I ever gotten my seconds pierced. That’s all of you three. I’ve seen them.”

“Fuck you,” Changbin groaned. And then it got really personal.

“Never have I ever,” Changbin said deviously, leaning forward with a smirk, “written a love song about an ex-girlfriend.”

“This all feels very targeted.” Chan rolled his eyes and drank. “Drink up,” he added, nodding at Jisung.

Ouch. The thought of Jisung’s love songs being for someone else made him feel semi-nauseous. Minho wondered if Jisung really had dated any other girls in the last two years. He supposed it was none of his business if he had.

It didn’t mean he wanted to hear about it, though. “I’ve never written a song, period,” Minho sighed, and swirled the drink in his glass.

All three of their gazes landed on Jisung, who immediately crossed his arms defensively. “I don’t have to drink either! Why are you guys looking at me like that?”

“Rules are rules.” Changbin pushed Jisung’s cup closer to him.

“I’m not drinking because I haven’t,” Jisung stressed. “I’m literally following the rules!” When Minho snuck a glance at him, he saw that his cheeks were pink. He looked away, filled with fondness and stupid hope.

“Sorry, Han ‘As I look at the faded picture of you and me, I can't help but be filled with regret’ Jisung. Want to say that again?”

Chan snorted. “Let him go, Changbin,” he said. “He’s probably just embarrassed.”

Jisung stewed silently while Changbin sighed, a loud and dramatic huff. “If you can’t hold your liquor, just say so. But let’s move on. Minho-hyung?”

Minho hummed. All this talk of relationships was making him nervous. It was time to change the subject.

“Never have I ever wanted to quit my job.”

Everyone exchanged glances, with only Chan taking a sip from his drink.

“Damn,” Minho said. “Not now, though, right?”

Chan let out a huffed laugh. “No, not right now. This was back before I met these two kids.” He hooked a thumb towards his side.

Changbin gave Chan a broad grin, but Jisung was silent, eyeing the cups in the middle. Then he exhaled sharply, picking up a shot glass and pouring himself a drink before downing it.

“What the hell,” Changbin said, springing into action three seconds later and wrestling the glass away from him. “Are you good? What was that for?”

“I’ve thought about it a lot recently,” Jisung confessed. He was looking away from Minho, but it still felt, somehow, like he was speaking directly to him. “My brother just got married. I don’t know. He’s not that much older than me. It made me think about a lot of things I’d missed out on. Don’t get me wrong, this is my dream. But I had other dreams, you know? I’d always thought…”

Chan and Changbin looked like they were struck dumb. When it was clear that Jisung wasn’t going to finish his sentence, Minho coughed.

Jisung’s eyes snapped to him. “You don’t need to quit your job to get married,” Minho said, giving him a small smile. “You’re not going to hurt the people you love because you’re chasing your dream. They’ll understand, because they love you. Things will happen when they’re supposed to.”

“And for what it’s worth,” he added, feeling a little embarrassed, “I think you guys are doing great.”

Changbin, who looked like he had recovered from his initial shock, nodded. “What he said.” He frowned. “And Jisung, you know that we’re here for you…right? I want you to feel like you can confide in us about things like this.”

Jisung looked at the wall behind Minho, pursing his lips. “It’s not the future that scares me,” he said finally. “I think I’ve already hurt people. That’s what haunts me. Every day I wonder what would have happened if I had chosen another route.”

Chan looked up. His expression had cleared, like he had solved a mystery that had been plaguing him for a while. Slowly, he poured everyone another drink. When the bottle was empty, he looked at Changbin.

“Changbin, Minho, can you get another few from the kitchen?”

“Oh, we have some more in the —”

Chan cut Changbin off, expression pained. “I think,” he said quietly, “you two should get the ones in the kitchen.”

Changbin’s eyes flicked back and forth between Chan and Jisung. “Oh,” he said belatedly, standing up and patting at his pants. “Right. The kitchen. Minho-hyung, let’s go.”

“...okay,” Minho said, following Changbin up. He paused at the doorway, worry tugging at his heart. You haven’t ruined anything, he wanted to say. But it wouldn’t make sense for him to be telling Jisung that. Caught between comforting him and maintaining the illusion that they were perfect friends and nothing more, he let Changbin lead him out of the room.

“We’ll be back in a bit,” Changbin called, as they stepped out into the hallway. “Take your time!”

They shut the door behind them.

“So…” Changbin said, giving Minho an awkward smile. “The kitchen?”

“Sorry again about all of this, by the way.” Changbin slid Minho a glass of water. “It’s hard on Chan-hyung, worrying about the both of us all the time. I think he just had some things he wanted to say to Jisung, but not in front of everyone, you know?”

“Of course,” Minho shrugged and drank some of the water. “That’s fair. Honestly, I feel kind of bad for bringing this all up in the first place. I didn’t mean to start anything.”

Changbin’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Wanting to quit your job,” Minho clarified with a wry smile. “I feel like I should just leave now, before things get worse.”

“Oh, that.” Changbin waved a hand — the one not holding his drink — in the air. “Don’t say that. That wasn’t your fault at all. It could’ve been any question, honestly. We all trust you. You wouldn’t be here if we didn’t.”

“Thanks,” Minho said. Still, his stomach clenched in anxiety.

“Uh, sorry — do you know where the bathroom is?” He set his glass down sheepishly. “I think I might need to use it.”

“Sure.” Changbin pointed towards the hallway. “Second door on the right.”

Minho shot him a relieved smile. “I’ll be right back.”

The bathroom was easy to find. Afterwards, exhaling as he washed his hands, Minho was about to unlock the bathroom door when —

“You know I’d…always…no matter what.”

There was a pregnant pause. Jisung’s voice saying something, too muffled to hear.

“Are all the songs for him?”

“Yeah…they’re all…”

Minho froze. Then he heard his name in Chan’s voice.

Fuck, Minho thought eloquently.

The pieces were practically presented to him on a silver platter. He would have been an idiot to not know what they were talking about. When, Minho thought hysterically, had Chan found out? Just now, during the game? Or much earlier?

It was getting harder to hear what they were saying. His vision was swimming. It wasn’t until he had to sit down, shivering on the tiles of the bathroom floor, that he realized he was probably having a panic attack. This, in turn, made him even more anxious. Eavesdropping in someone else’s bathroom was definitely not the time to start spiraling into his own thoughts. He managed to haul himself to the edge of the bathtub with a herculean effort that seemed beyond him the instant he sat down again. His legs felt like jello. The world was blurred around the edges and it made him feel like he was going to fall over, so he closed his eyes.

He pressed his hands to his forehead. It was like someone had a hammer and was repeatedly slugging a headache into his temples. Thud. Thud. Thud.

The thudding continued for the next fifteen seconds, before stopping abruptly. It restarted half a minute later, quieter but just as insistent.

“Minho-hyung? Can you hear me?”

Minho looked up sharply. That was Jisung’s voice. Was he hallucinating now, too? Jisung sounded worried.

“...please open the door. I’m — we’re worried about you.”

Christ. The hammer had been them knocking on the bathroom door. Minho stumbled to his feet and unlocked it. Jisung’s face swam into view, arms coming up to steady Minho almost immediately.

“Holy shit,” Jisung whispered, catching almost all of his weight. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

“Just need to sit down,” Minho forced out. Chan and Changbin were also there, but he turned his head away, too scared to look at their expressions.

“We can definitely do that,” Jisung said gently, though his voice was still tight with worry. He maneuvered one of Minho’s arms around his shoulders and walked him forward slowly. “I’m gonna take you to my room, okay? It's the closest.”

His room was a warm wash of neutrals. Jisung sat him down on his bed and whispered, “I’ll be right back,” before disappearing into the hallway.

Minho stared lifelessly at the wall and tried not to panic. Surely, if they were going to do anything drastic, like punch him or kick him out of the apartment, they would have done it by now. Maybe Jisung was going to be the one to break the news. Sorry, he would say, but you have to go. Before Changbin-hyung socks you in the face.

There was a very real, nonzero possibility that Changbin’s fists would be flying in the hallway before Minho could even open his mouth. And all those episodes that had been released — digital footprints were forever, Minho knew. Would they edit the show? Take the episodes down? It would be obvious that something had gone wrong between them.

And that was all if the news didn’t leak to the press. Regardless of what happened, it would definitely look weird. That was for sure.

“Hey.”

Jisung was back. Minho looked at him, eyes wide.

“You’re panicking,” Jisung said. It wasn’t a question. Now that he could actually see Jisung’s face, he looked worried, and a little…angry? “I convinced them you probably didn’t want to be crowded by us all. Did Changbin-hyung say something to you earlier? Do I need to tell him off?”

What?

“What?” Minho croaked. “No, nothing. Nothing yet, anyway.”

“Nothing yet?” Jisung’s eyebrows furrowed. “What did he do?”

“He didn’t do anything,” Minho said. He squeezed his eyes shut, preparing himself for the worst case scenario. “Are we not going to talk about…what just happened?”

It was quiet for a while, and Minho opened his eyes eventually, too anxious not to know what Jisung was thinking. Jisung looked contemplative, like he was searching for the right words to say.

“Hyung,” he said finally, “that’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

He paused, reaching a hand out cautiously. Minho let him lace their fingers together and stared down at where their hands were connected.

“Tell me what’s wrong?” Jisung’s tone was pleading.

Minho blinked rapidly.

“How long?” His voice was nothing but a whisper. “How long has Chan known?”

Jisung’s expression shuffled rapidly — clarity, caution, concern. “And what does Chan-hyung know?” 

Minho felt like he was going to be sick. “About us,” he stressed.

Jisung looked confused again. “Wait,” he said, looking at the door before lowering his voice. “Chan-hyung doesn’t know anything about what happened between us.”

Minho stared at him like he was speaking a different language.

“But in the bathroom — I heard him say…”

Jisung looked at him, waiting for him to finish.

“He asked you if all your songs were ‘for him’, and then I heard him say my name,” Minho finished weakly. “I thought…”

Jisung’s mouth fell open. “Hyung,” he said urgently, “that wasn’t about you. I mean, it was, but not like that. Chan-hyung basically asked if my songs were about my ex-boyfriend, not ex-girlfriend, and I admitted to it. I think he’s had an idea since the whole pronouns thing trended, but tonight really put it, uh, front and center. So he knows, now, that I’m…that I like guys.”

His face warmed. “Then he asked me if I had a crush on you,” he mumbled. “And told me to be careful.”

Minho’s head spun. So Chan knew, but he also didn’t know. But…

“You said you had a crush on me?”

Jisung broke into a small smile. “That’s what you got from all that?” He looked down and played with Minho’s fingers. “I mean…yeah. It’s technically true, isn’t it? I like you. I just didn’t tell him the part where I’ve liked you for, like, the past four years.”

Minho stared at Jisung. His heart was one, large tender bruise, and Jisung was pressing down on it with each word. It hurt, terribly so, but he also felt immeasurable fondness.

“I knew getting close to you guys would be a problem,” he croaked.

Jisung smiled. “Funny,” he said. “That’s almost exactly what Chan-hyung just warned me. To watch the distance before it becomes a problem.”

“You said he didn’t…,” Minho cleared his throat and tried again. “Do you think he can tell that I, um. You know…too?”

Jisung’s eyes were dancing. “You’re gonna have to be more specific than that, hyung.”

Minho couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. Brat.

“Do I think Chan-hyung is worried about you liking me back and us dating? No.” Jisung’s voice was still mirthful, but a little sad. “I think Chan-hyung is worried you’re gonna break my heart when you reject me in the nicest possible way.”

Minho blinked. “Jisung,” he said, unsure. That sounded oddly…genuine. He took a deep breath. “I’m not — I don’t want to break your heart. Hypothetically, I mean.”

Jisung’s eyes softened. “I know,” he said, “But hypothetically or not, it’s yours anyway.”

Minho’s mouth was dry. How could someone, he wondered, look at Jisung, earnest and beautiful, and not want more? Here they were, toeing the line, friendly but not too friendly, close but not too close. There was no equilibrium, nowhere to meet in the middle. There was only a cage, his heart firmly locked in it, and the key dangled in front of him, until one day, one thing would lead to another, and — and…

“What are we doing?” He whispered. “What do you want?”

He paused. “Did you mean what you said earlier?”

“What I said about regretting everything?” Jisung sighed. “Not entirely, no. But…yeah. I meant it. I thought I’d be okay with getting to have you like this, but I — I can’t.”

Minho stared at him, heart in his throat. “What do you mean, you can’t?”

Jisung winced. “Earlier tonight, when someone flirted with you…I realized I can’t sit here and wait for you to find someone else.” His expression twisted painfully. “I wish I was unselfish enough to let you be happy, but I’m not. I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Someone…who?” Minho’s thoughts felt like static. “Who are you talking about?”

Jisung grimaced. “The wine lady?”

“The sommelier?” Minho laughed, but it sounded more like a sob. “Hyerin? Jisung, we’re just friends. She’s happily dating her girlfriend.”

They stared at each other, and Minho knew that Jisung was thinking through the same things he had when he’d realized.

“And the rest of your coworkers…”

“Know, yes, and don’t care either,” Minho said. He was just beginning to process what Jisung had said. It seemed impossible that he had heard him correctly. “Did you say…you want…with me?”

Jisung lifted one of his hands up to brush his tears away. “You can say no,” he said softly. “I just wanted you to know how I feel. I haven’t really been drinking. I know what I’m saying. I thought that if I saw you were doing alright, I could — let you go. But hyung, the only thing these past few months have taught me is that I can only love you more.”

Jisung had written him half a dozen love songs. Minho still cried when he listened to each and every one. It felt like deja vu, like when Jisung had told him he loved him for the first time. Except this time, Minho was all out of metaphors. There was no garden, no ocean, no vessel that could bear the weight of his honesty.

There was only love, so deep and vast that it dwarfed everything else. It was devastating. It was incomprehensible.

Minho looked at him, distraught. Took a deep, shuddering breath. “You’re an idiot,” he said. He only knew he was crying again by the way Jisung’s face contorted with worry, bringing his other hand up to thumb at both of his cheeks. “Why would I ever say no?”

He fought to take a breath. “What does this mean?” He closed his eyes. “How is this even going to work?”

“All I know,” Jisung said, so soft and tender that Minho let out another sob, “is that I’ve hurt you enough. I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”

“So you tell me,” Jisung whispered back to him. “What do you want to do?”

First was Chan and Changbin.

When they finally emerged from Jisung’s room, one after the other, Chan and Changbin had stood immediately from where they’d been sitting on the couch.

“Are you okay?”

“Should we call someone?”

Minho shook his head, so nervous it was making him nauseous. He took a deep breath and covered his mouth.

“I’m fine,” he choked out. “But we have something to tell you.”

They were such good friends, Minho thought miserably. Jisung had reassured him that they wouldn’t mind, but it was hard not to prepare for the worst.

He couldn’t bring himself to continue. He pressed his lips together and jerked his head towards Jisung.

“So,” Jisung said, voice shaking just a bit. “We do have something to tell you guys. And I know how this sounds, given what we just talked about — you know.”

Minho saw Jisung exchange a look with Chan, and turned away with a barely-repressed whimper. He couldn’t look. Couldn’t watch the way that they looked at him change.

“But it’s not just that,” Jisung said, with a nervous laugh. “The truth is, um. That I knew Minho-hyung before I even debuted. We actually…dated for almost two years.”

It was so quiet. Minho could only hear the sound of his own breathing. Was no one else breathing? He thought hysterically. Why was it quiet?

“I broke up with him before our debut,” Jisung said, voice shaking, “and it’s haunted me ever since. He’s always been so understanding and self-sacrificing and perfect and I’ve hurt him so much, even though all I wanted was to love him.”

Minho couldn’t stop the whimper from escaping, that time. Jisung hadn’t told him he was planning on giving a whole speech.

“We’re together now,” Jisung finished. “Um, again. That’s — that was it. That was what we wanted to tell you guys.”

There was the sound of a punch, then Jisung’s yelp and Chan’s quiet, comforting voice. Minho kept his head down and held his breath as a fourth pair of socks came into view.

“Hyung.”

It was Changbin’s voice. Minho fought the urge to cry.

“If you’re comfortable,” Changbin said shakily, “I’d like to hug you.”

Minho threw his arms around him with a sob.

“If you ever need me to beat Jisung up,” Changbin said, voice tight with anger, “just let me know. I can’t even imagine…I’m so sorry you had to go through all that.”

Minho couldn’t help but laugh wetly. He had been right, he thought dazedly. Changbin had threatened to beat someone up. He had just gotten the person wrong.

“I might have to take you up on that in the future,” he sniffled, and smiled helplessly. “Right now I don’t know what to feel, to be honest.”

“Whenever you need,” Changbin said seriously, squeezing him tight. “Say the word and it’s done. We’re on your side, hyung. Always.”

Chan was waiting behind Changbin. Minho didn’t usually love physical touch, but hugging him was every bit as relieving and comforting as hugging Changbin had been.

“Please don’t feel guilty about any of this,” Chan whispered to him, voice breaking, and Minho had shaken his head furiously. “None of this is your fault. We love you just the same.”

“Anything you need,” Chan repeated, an echo of Changbin’s words. “I’m — we’re all ready to fight for what’s right.”

Their casual, easy acceptance was hard to accept. It was hard to shake the idea that it should hurt, like anything that he hadn’t suffered for was meaningless. Minho tried to ignore those thoughts for now, though he knew he would have to face them later.

At least, he thought disbelievingly, he wouldn’t have to face them alone.

After Chan let him go, there was still one other person in the room waiting for him. Jisung was just a few meters away, but it was a few meters too many. Minho never wanted to be apart from him again.

“Do you think I could have a glass of water?” Minho asked meekly, and Changbin hurried to the kitchen, dragging Chan with him.

Then Minho looked at Jisung and felt an ache in his soul like he had never before.

“Come here, baby,” Minho said shakily, and sank to his knees when Jisung hugged him, bringing the both of them down with him. If he could have, he would have gladly lived a hundred years in his embrace.

“Do you remember what I told you?” He breathed into Jisung’s ear, and smiled faintly when Jisung shivered and shook his head. “Love and hurt are two sides of the same coin. It only hurts this much —”

“When you love enough,” Jisung finished, his sigh a breath of air against Minho’s neck. “I love you so, so much. I’ll make sure you never doubt that again.”

“You could never push me away,” Minho vowed, and let his eyes fall shut. “I love you too.”

After the waterworks had abated — slightly — and he had been brought a glass of water, they sat in the living room, discussing their next steps together. Minho rested his head on Jisung’s shoulder, arms wrapped around his waist, and let the other three hash out the logistics.

“I’ll handle the company,” Chan said firmly, leaving no room for debate. “When we get in there, let me talk about it.”

As for the rest of the world…the three of them seemed split. Changbin wanted them to post publicly, immediately. Chan wanted them to wait until after they had spoken with their manager.

Jisung was stroking Minho’s hand with his own.

“What if we went with the original release schedule?”

Changbin frowned. “The original release schedule?” His expression cleared. “Oh. You mean, for…?”

“That could work,” Chan said, nodding slowly. “That’s actually a good idea.”

Minho blinked at them. He hadn’t known 3RACHA was planning on releasing anything. “What release?” He asked.

Jisung cleared his throat. Turning to him with an awkward smile, he said, “well, you see…”

Light it up for me, brighter, more, please. Light it up for me more brightly. Even the dark night doesn't scare me if I'm with you. Even if I've seen it a hundred times, I still lack so much. The scars of the wounds that covered my heart, as if only you could notice them…you were so warm when you hugged me tight. I guess I teared up for a moment, because it was the first time.

I'm the drought, you're rain, I'm paper, you're a poem. Your attention changes the brightness of my empty heart, you're light. Your arms, my home, my breath, my God. You grabbed me when I was falling, now we’re flying again. My falling days were sorrowful, but after you appeared, the corners of my mouth lifted and won’t come down.

Why? Why? Why? Don't wanna go back, back, back. To you, who shines the brightest among others, I'll give you everything. Every day, every day, every day I can feel you. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. I can't wait. How bright will your smile be? How happily will it make me laugh?

I'll protect you, it's okay to hurt. I'll embrace the wounds you shed. To me, you're already a sin. I can't refuse because you're sweeter than evil.

You can burst into flames, you can wound me next to you. If you like, I can be anything. You can hurt me, I don't care. You can burn me. Unlike those who run away from you, I'll embrace you.

Like a volcano, love at a temperature that can melt when touched, take me to you, way below to the end of the ground. It's okay if everything burns down. Even if I go back hundreds of times, my choice is always…

(You…)

You’re the one I can’t live without. Even if I die, even if I’m reborn over and over again, it’s only you.

Minho didn’t know how Chan did it. They had asked him multiple times, and he had refused to give any details as to how he had convinced the company to keep them all on.

“Trust me,” he had said, with a painful grimace. “You don’t want to know. What’s important is that it’s done.”

Their only request, Chan said, was that they give them some time. Time to communicate with their contacts in the industry, to prepare for the inevitable consequences, to spin the narrative in their favor. And that suited 3RACHA’s plans just fine. In the meantime, “Volcano” was breaking all of their previous records. Released a little over a month before the end of year award ceremonies, it claimed one more title of its own when it won song of the year.

“Yes!” Yoonjae exclaimed, from where they were clustered around the TV again. “Another win!”

Hyerin had pursed her lips but said nothing in rebuttal.

“My girlfriend actually really likes this song,” she said eventually, begrudgingly. It looked like it pained her to admit. “So I can’t say much either.”

On screen, Jisung had accepted his award and was standing in front of the podium.

“Wow,” he said. “Wow. Thank you again to everyone that’s supported me. I’m sure you’ve heard variations of this speech a million times tonight, but to my company, my members, my friends and family — thank you. I couldn’t have done this without you all.”

Jisung was strong, Minho thought, stronger than Minho had been at his age. Over the last month and a half, he had practiced this speech in front of Minho so many times. He had always been incredibly nervous, afraid to meet Minho’s eyes as his voice shook. Sometimes, he even forgot some of the words.

Granted, they had thought that he would be giving this speech in an interview, a few days after the chaos of the end of year ceremonies died down. The interview had been scheduled for weeks. But Minho had seen the look in Jisung’s eyes when they had announced “Volcano” as the winner and known.

There was no trace of his nerves now.

“There’s someone else I have to thank,” Jisung said calmly. Under the spotlight, he appeared bright. Invincible. “Someone who’s very special to me. The person that inspired ‘Volcano’ and many of my other songs.”

Yoonjae gasped. “Is he saying what I think he’s saying?”

This time, it was Hyerin that shushed Yoonjae.

“Lee Minho,” Jisung said. His smile was radiant. “My boyfriend. I love you so much. Thank you for finding and saving me.”

“Who?”

Minho could hear the sound of his phone going off. Soon, he thought, Avia would be receiving calls as well. On screen, Jisung had made his way back to his seat, with Chan and Changbin still standing and applauding. The hosts were scrambling to get the ceremony back on track.

The internet was blowing up, Minho knew. But it was easier to focus on the chaos unfolding in front of him.

Yoonjae and Hyerin had whirled around to look at him.

“There’s not another Lee Minho we haven’t met, is there?”

“No,” Minho said softly. He took a deep breath. “Just me.”

For once, they were both speechless.

“And I was complaining about representation,” Hyerin muttered eventually, smacking a hand over her face. “Goddammit. Serves me right.”

Yoonjae was still floundering like a fish out of water. “But when you said — when ‘Close’ won — the storyline — the happy ending —”

“It was you,” Yoonjae finished uselessly, blinking at him. “You knew.”

Minho nodded.

“Well, you might have been right about that,” Yoonjae said, after studying him for a long while. “But I was right about the happy ending. Wasn’t I?”

Was this how Jisung had felt? Minho thought. It was like sunshine had found its way into every inch of his heart. He felt like he was floating, under bright skies and an endless summer.

Being brave was so much harder than hiding. But it felt so freeing.

He couldn’t have kept the smile from his face if he tried.

“I guess you were.”

+++

Minho had buried the rings deep in his sock drawer, because he knew Jisung would have never accidentally stumbled onto them there, messy as he was with his own belongings. He stared at them now, finally done folding the last of the laundry back into their shelves and drawers.

Six years now, almost to the day. It was still an uphill battle. But they were carving a place for each other, day by day.

“Are you coming? Going to miss your own anniversary dinner?”

Jisung sounded a little grumpy, maybe, at how distracted Minho had been the entire day. Minho hid a smile, shoving the boxes into his pocket and standing.

“Wouldn’t be much of an anniversary without me, wouldn’t it?” He called.

Jisung rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, giving Minho an absentminded nudge towards the door when he appeared. After Minho pulled his shoes on, he leaned against the doorframe and watched Jisung fiddle with the thermostat. After a few seconds, it beeped twice, and Jisung smiled, pleased.

Jisung turned just in time to catch the tail end of Minho’s smile, soft and fond. “You know this is exactly why thermostats have schedules, right?”

“Oh, shut up,” Jisung said, and reached down to take his hand. “I just don’t want them to freeze. You know how picky our babies can be. You can never be too sure.”

Minho looked at him and his heart swelled. He thought of their pets. Of their home. The one they had made, together.

“I don’t know how it’s possible,” he said, a bit more unsteadily than he intended, “but I love you more and more each day.”

Jisung’s eyes widened slightly, and his grip tightened on Minho’s hand. “So do I,” he murmured. “Come here.”

Minho went. Would it be too rash, he wondered, absurdly, if he got to the floor at this very moment and knelt on one knee?

Minho thought of the reservation he’d made months in advance. The candles and flowers that Jisung would love, the secret romantic that he was. The printed photographs he’d had to gather, painstakingly, from Jisung’s family, coworkers, and friends. The song that had taken him the better part of the last two years to write, the one that he’d had to swear Chan and Changbin to secrecy for. He thought of it all, and he thought of the phone call years ago, the amusement in Jisung’s voice still fresh in his mind.

I would've said no. Have the ring, at least.

It wasn’t perfect. The marriage would be — illegal, of course. Illegitimate. But Minho, quite frankly, could not give a single flying fuck on what the government would deem as legitimate. There was nothing, he thought fiercely, nothing, that was more real than this. There was still a long way to go. When — if, Minho allowed — Jisung said yes, this would be one more thing in a long list of things that was theirs and theirs alone.

But first, they had to make it to the restaurant.

So for now, Minho closed his eyes and allowed the kiss to wash over him. It was, admittedly, an easy thing to do. Not yet, he thought.

Not yet. But soon. Very, very soon.

I know it will change with just one word. I'll talk quietly.

나지막이 (Limbo)