Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jisung was disappointed.

When he was little, he dreamed of having many things. Many of them involved money, success, fame, happiness, a good life, a united family, and more success. However, now that he has money — not just any money, but a lot of it — works at his dream job, and has gained fame over time, he cannot achieve fulfillment, let alone success. Because, for him, in his life, there will be no success without happiness first, a happiness that has now become almost unattainable.

His schedule is packed.

His life as a K-pop idol has never been so easy: to get into a company in the industry, he had to convince his mother to pay for dance classes and invest much more money in him than she could afford. Thus, Jisung found his first obligation beyond school: his first job. It’s not that he disliked the place, but balancing school with dance classes and the workload of his internship was truly exhausting. The fragile body of a fourteen-year-old begged for rest, but unfortunately, he couldn’t afford to give up so easily just because he was “weak.”

And thus, his journey was being destroyed constructed. He was too innocent to notice that he was digging his own grave, so he didn’t mind continuing to wear himself out until his body finally gave in.

Every day, he woke up at four in the morning, got ready quickly, took public transport to dance classes, and at the end of rehearsals, he would rush to the nearest public restroom to change; he needed to ration his energy throughout the day to have enough left either to go to school — not that he cared much about his social status, since he was never very good at socializing anyway — or to start his night shift.

It happened initially when he was 16, while he was training as a trainee at the company. He felt some symptoms presenting a pre-syncope, such as nausea, weakness, and paleness; however, all these signs, until then, were hidden, so they were ignored in favor of good performance in the monthly evaluation conducted with the company’s trainees. He fainted when it was his turn. It was a tragedy. He received minimal support as one would expect — and, of course, to avoid worrying his sick and weakened mother, he chose not to tell her about the incident and just hoped there wouldn’t be similar episodes.

He really thought it was just a simple fainting spell, with no association with any illness or imbalance, until the fainting spells became much more frequent.

“Han, I’m worried about you” repeated BangChan, a friend Jisung (surprisingly) managed to make within that company. He was also the only one who wasn’t crazily obsessed with debuting among all those dreamer and ambitious trainees. Not to the point of looking down on his colleagues, disregarding the fact that they were all human, and acting arrogantly. No, Chan wasn’t like that.

But still, Jisung didn’t listen to him, which left Chan upset and even very angry, as he knew that the more he warned Han about the possible consequences of his negligence towards his health, the more responses like “there’s no dream without sacrifice” he would receive. 

It happened that later, when he could no longer hide from his mother that something was wrong, he consulted until he discovered that he actually had Burnout Syndrome.

Of course, he was so successful that it seemed like a bad joke.

{...} In the present day {...}

“‘3RACHA’ is a musical group formed in March 2018 and composed of 3 members: CB97 (Bangchan), SPEARB (Seo ChangBin), and J.ONE (Han Jisung). Formed by JYP Entertainment through the ‘reality survival: Burning Tires - the road to success’, the group is characterized by composing their energetic songs with a unique style, having been an innovative act within the K-pop industry due to their versatility.”

Han Jisung frequently reviewed the presentation of the group he was part of. Many times with a sneer on his face. His purpose for reading that text was nonexistent; it really made no sense and no reason to do so, except to boast, which he wasn’t doing. Still, whenever he got bored, he found himself revisiting the same page. 

It had been almost 7 years since he achieved what he believed to be his greatest dream, debuting in a group, yet he felt as if an eternity had passed. The moments with his two members were pleasant and comforting, but he missed one thing, something he wasn’t sure of — not because he didn’t like it, but because he felt the need for more to fulfill his needs.

Since his debut, his mother’s health condition improved, especially since Jisung dedicated all his earnings from the first months to her health, but he still lived with the constant fear that everything was an illusion and that the improvement would prove less genuine. 

He always heard from his grandmother about the invaluable value of health. He knew that if his mother showed any decline, there was nothing he could do; all that his poor and frivolous soul could offer — besides money, of course — was love. 

Yet, there was nothing to worry about; his mother loved him and was very grateful for all the dedication he had for taking care of her. But the most comical part of this story is that, in terms of worry, his mother surpassed him. 

Han Soojin had been concerned from an early age about how the exhausting routine could affect her son at the beginning since he was just a developing teenager. This worry grew exponentially after he debuted in his musical trio, knowing how dangerous a fan could become for an idol. She had a constant fear that some deranged person would harass and threaten Jisung’s safety outside or even during work hours.

It had always been like this, actually.

Years before, when Jisung hadn’t been corrupted by ambitions yet, on his 10th birthday, they went on a hike. Soojin already knew about his osteoporosis and hypertension, so they didn’t climb a mountain or go to any elevated place. They hiked to a waterfall — the weather was pleasant that day, by the way — and upon reaching their final destination, they bathed in the lake where the waterfall poured down. 

Jisung never knew how to swim, so he stayed in the shallow end. His mother watched him to ensure he wouldn’t be dragged to the bottom by any kind of current. The thing is, Han was already quite stubborn at that time, so he waited for his mother to divert her attention to admire some birds soaring and jumped toward the center of the lake.

he- help, help, he- help, please—

When Soojin realized Han was drowning, she didn’t hesitate to jump into the lake. After that, her attention doubled, and at no point did she blame him; she only became more cautious and blamed the current. With guilt and much shame, the younger one couldn’t admit his stupidity and couldn’t stop blushing.

Even though Han tried to reassure her, his efforts were in vain.

[...]

Back to the present moment, he admired some individual and group photos that were on Google. He saw no shine in himself, only emptiness. Of course, there was image control from JYP over him, and that during photoshoots, the directors were responsible for animation, but seeing his other persona through the screen made his stomach churn.

In the same way, his main objective at the moment was yet another external validation. He even acted more masked in fan content, which is, in fact, very hypocritical, given that he was one of the composers of MANIAC. 

As if clearing the torment in Jisung’s head, his dorm and work colleague interrupted his thoughts, appearing at his bedroom door.  

Jisung instantly closed his laptop so that his friend wouldn’t notice or discover what occupied his mind.

“The lawyer wants to meet us.” 

He referred to the lawsuit involving the partial dissolution of the partnership they discussed.  

For Jisung, the most annoying part of the abusive control from JYP Entertainment is the image management. The way idols are sold as products that mold according to the audience. He hates being controlled so blatantly, whether by his company or not.  

And this doesn’t only irritate him. If it did, his two friends wouldn’t be proceeding, along with him, with the separation from the trio and the company. They had always been autonomous, even as trainees, since they already had a graceful affinity, so it wasn’t hard for the three to join and perform as teenagers in bars and streets to earn some change.  

They just hadn’t started this legal process earlier because there was a confidentiality agreement that only expired after 7 years of activity. And that milestone was approaching.

“Have you contacted the accountant yet?” Jisung asked “I want to leave with my rights, but we also need to have some money saved, right?”

Changbin laughed at his lame joke.

“Not yet, but it’s not like we’re going to starve. The savings we already have are enough to support us simply for a few years.”

“Is this lawyer trustworthy?” Han changed the subject.

“I think so. Felix recommended him to us.”

Han made a confused face and opened his mouth to speak, but as if pondering the situation, he closed it. After a few seconds, he opened it again.

“Felix, Chan’s hookup?” Jisung finally asked. Changbin confirmed.

Jisung shifted uncomfortably in his chair, looking at the laptop screen one last time.

“And what’s the lawyer’s name?”

“Lee Minho.”  

Chapter Text

“To begin the legal process, we first need to clarify the main claims for this action. From what I’ve been told, you want to sell the shares you own in the company to dissociate yourselves from it, right?”

Bangchan, Changbin, and Han Jisung were in Lee Minho's office, a guy their age. 

It's strange to think that I could be like him, have a normal life, a normal job, and be happy with that, Jisung thinks.

The office was simple, monochromatic, and minimalist. Upon entering, they noticed a large desk at the back with items that were probably very personal, not allowing them to face it with attention. Further ahead, there were three armchairs and an office chair — of the same set as the desk, they deduced — facing the three pieces of furniture.

The scent was also sophisticated; surprisingly, that woody and gentle aroma reminded Jisung of the time when he had time. Going to a library and smelling the refined aroma of books was a custom, even as a child.

And now, in the office of the famous Lee Minho, he found himself in a situation he never imagined for himself.

The “interview” had already started some time ago. Lee Minho was investigating them with papers in hand. These papers probably contained all the information from the process conducted via email, but it was already expected that more substantial information would be required to proceed.

“That's right” Chan affirmed.

“In addition to the shares, we want to ensure our contractual rights regarding image and the annulment of political confidentiality with the company. Because besides being partners, we are part of the product that the company sells,” Jisung clarified.

Minho nodded. Although his gaze had momentarily stopped on the member who was now speaking, he had been too busy getting lost in Jisung's eyes. He quickly turned to the document in his hands, jotting something down afterward.

“Let me ask: is there any specific motivation for this sale?” he inquired. “I'm asking this so it can be included in the termination document presented.”

Changbin now took the reins and integrated into the discussion.

“We reached a consensus after suffering from the lack of dedicated support for our physical and mental health, the lack of security in working hours as public figures, and the extreme exposure that even crosses the 'thin' line” and he gestured with his hands to emphasize the word “between professional and personal life, disclosing private information to fans and other 'light' things, as they would say.”

He gives a sweet smile at the end of the sentence, playing with the seriousness and palpable weight of the situation.

Lee Minho smiles at the joke, the first truly human trait he shows since the beginning of the meeting. This reaction is so unprecedented that it feels intimate on his part.

“If that's 'light' imagine the rest,” he dramatically widens his eyes while speaking between small laughs. His voice presenting itself sweet and soft while smiling.

The entire 3RACHA is surprised by the languidness of Lee's voice, perhaps because his profession required him to be more serious and stoic than usual, diminishing the probability of hearing that gentle tone escape from his vocal cords more often. However, this moment doesn't last.

“Since you have arguments for the annulment of political confidentiality, I don't think I need to ask anything else for now.” He pauses briefly. He turns his face to the paper in his hands and then directs his gaze upward just to meet theirs. “Do you wish to add anything else, or will you hire an accountant for the case? I mean regarding the distribution of assets.”

Bangchan responds to him.

“We'll just think about the accountant for now.”

“Then, allow me to recommend a trustworthy friend of mine to take care of that!” Minho says in a friendly tone, but still far from the tone recorded moments before.

He rises from the armchair with slow and elegant steps and heads to the desk on his left, searching among some papers for a rather unremarkable card.

“ACCOUNTING SCIENCES

(XX) X XXXX-XXXX — HYUNJIN  

assistant in accounting and finance”

-

Minho was passionate about contract law. He vividly remembers when he was still in college, a bright, dreamy little fish hoping to make his parents proud. Not that he didn't already do so — his parents had always supported him from the beginning to pursue his degree — but he felt he should do more.

From the moment he attended the first class on contract and corporate law in his second semester, he knew how and why he would specialize.

He loved the idea of being precise and flexible in what he did; he enjoyed exploring the law to its limits, as if it were an elastic band waiting to snap. As long as the elastic didn't break — that is, as long as no ethical or legal value was abandoned — his journey within the parameters of the law would continue to be his greatest pride.

His eager desire to work in what he loved and have a successful career to help others helped him maintain a simple, honest life. He never needed to flaunt privileges — after all, he didn't have any — he studied early to boost his knowledge and get into a prestigious university.

To his surprise, he succeeded.

And now, at the age of 27, he is working on a moderately complex case involving an indirect termination due to the main wrongdoing.

This is because the current case involves a certain type of "just cause” as the employees in the situation are ending their activities with the company due to mistakes made by the employer.

In summary, from what he understood so far, the wrongful act is precisely because the company managing this trio called 3RACHA deceived them into signing a contract that clearly disadvantaged them. And now they were filing a lawsuit against this company.

Unusually, this case reminds him of one of his first legal cases he took on in a law firm.

He needed to help a small entrepreneur who bought shares with the foolish idea of not reading the contract before signing. It turns out that, unlike the offer of 25% of the shares in a cooperative that was presented to him, he ended up with only 3%, which was unfair, considering the money the small entrepreneur invested — foolishly, of course — was not that small.

At the time, he found it challenging to resolve this, but nowadays he considers it quite simple...

In any case, the failure of his clients means a prosperous career for him, so he learned to be a little more selfish over the years.

This contrasts completely with the exaggerated sentimentalism he had for ethics in his college years.

But somehow, seeing those three young men in front of him reignited his feeling of empathy. Not because he felt no empathetic pity for his previous clients, but seeing those boys — about his age — reminded him that he could be in their place.

It also reminded him of what the lack of experienced and professional lawyers could cause for a layperson in the subject. The problems.

The company of those three imposed several hidden clauses and pressured them to sign that degrading contract, yet the lawyer accompanying them did nothing to help.

And once again, he wished not only for them to succeed in denouncing the company for poor conditions but also that they (as artists) would continue to be supported and able to spread and do more of what they love without obstructions.

One of the three clients today really caught his attention. He had such a lively, youthful, and beautiful gaze that made him want to smile the moment he saw him.

He didn't even remember his name, though.

Chapter Text

As some of the largest shareholders in JYP, it was only natural that the three of them should have freedom of speech in matters such as company products and experimental actions — it was expected for a relationship of that kind. However, in the manipulated and altered contract they signed, there was no clause regarding administrative share ownership.

At first, Bangchan was very apprehensive about the idea of leaving the company, especially because they weren’t just shareholders — they were also artists with a still unstable fanbase. He feared the reaction of the national press, the fandom, and what his career would look like outside the company.

For Changbin, on the other hand, the only thing that mattered at that moment was destroying JYP. And nothing more.

Jisung didn’t know what to feel. He was very afraid, yet the sense of relief often took over.

He’s so lazy that sometimes he just wants to quit this exhausting process and let things be — it’s so much easier; but he knows that would be incredibly selfish. This isn’t just about him; it’s about the trio’s future, about his friends.

He thinks there’s no way out without destroying the career he’s built so carefully and with such dedication, but he also realizes that if things continue as they are, he probably won’t need to worry about his career’s destruction, but his own life’s.

Lee Minho was very kind to all of them, and Jisung noticed that — even amid the lawyer’s serious tone. He seemed moved by the case, but Jisung prefers not to think too much about it, deeming such thoughts arrogant, presumptuous, petty, and unbearably bold. He doesn’t know what goes on in Lee’s mind — no one apparently does; he’s a little odd, but in a pleasant way — just as he didn’t know what the litigator was thinking while noticing his intense gaze on his face.

There’s a lot of praise for this lawyer online — Jisung knows because he did his research, of course. And the musician was relieved that someone so reputable was handling their case.

Throughout the first meeting, Jisung repeatedly noticed Lee’s penetrating gaze, which always broke off after some time when it lingered too long. To be honest, Jisung also knew those stares were mutual — they exchanged glances several times that day — but he was genuinely confused by the lawyer’s shamelessness in not even trying to hide his interest.

As days passed, the disassociation with JYP was publicly announced, and the internet split into two ideological camps: those who would continue to support the trio and those who wouldn’t. The truth is, many in the fandom weren’t actual fans; they were just fanatical listeners of the korean music industry who, by chance, developed a fleeting interest in the product 3RACHA offered. Many of them didn’t even admire the art or interpret the lyrics well enough to understand that, between the lines, the trio was criticizing the very object of their obsession.

The three were very apprehensive — not only about the lawsuit’s outcome but also about the extremely negative public reaction. Inside the company, things weren’t easier either: since the contract was still in effect, they had to maintain mandatory activities. However, through an inevitably bureaucratic process, they managed to pause their duties at the company for fifteen days — just to avoid dragging it out until the end of the trial, which could take days, weeks, months, or even years.

During that period, there would still be meetings with Lee Minho, who was now requesting documentation proving some of the psychological effects of the company’s pressure. Since they agreed to proceed under the view of being artists first and shareholders second, they also followed the lawyer’s suggestion and were now contacting accountant Hwang Hyunjin, who was also well-regarded online.

"The information that one of you suffers from burnout syndrome could be substantial for this kind of allegation. After all, one of the main causes of this disorder is overwork" Minho paused "Do you have a report confirming that?"

Jisung, who had become more active in this matter after the first five visits to the office, rummaged through his black bag until he found the document he brought with him.

"Here. The official medical report."

Minho looked at him.

"Great. We can file it with the rest of the documents."

And so the days went by. When the agreed break ended, the three were forced to return to work. And as if things weren’t already bad, they were treated terribly there. Besides the usual pressure, they had to endure contemptuous stares from employees and an overwhelming schedule. At those times, they just wished for a hiatus.

"Han Jisung, it’s recommended that you take a break right now, or your episodes will return.”

That’s what Mina, his psychologist, said, although he completely ignored her recommendation. He also didn’t speak to Changbin or Bangchan about it, knowing both were already overloaded with everything going on, and talking about his health would only worry them more. He thought he could handle all of this on his own.

☆

He couldn’t handle all of this on his own.

During a meeting in Minho’s office — the lawyer had allowed them to call him by his first name to create a more casual atmosphere, given how much time they’d be spending together — he suddenly had a syncope, a sign of his constant self-destructive habits.

That day had started well: he woke up at 3 AM; skipped breakfast due to lack of appetite; took his dormmates to the company; rehearsed four choreographies out of a set of 28 songs (since they’d scheduled a performance at a major music festival); went to the studio to re-record some projects; and afterward, had a few meetings with the dancers and band for adjustments. Only then did they head to the office, exhausted and nearly falling asleep.

Without eating and having spent so much energy, of course Jisung wasn’t well — nor were his colleagues, Bangchan and Changbin, but at least they had breakfast to help. The mix of hunger, sleep deprivation, and fatigue consumed him more and more, and like a wheel wearing down from spinning at high speed, he eventually stopped — overwhelmed with nausea and fainted.

Naturally, the three present were alarmed, but in a feigned calm, they managed to revive Jisung, who was deeply embarrassed to be so vulnerable in front of people he saw regularly.

This incident was reported to Mina — against Jisung’s wishes — who once again recommended a break from idol activities, now in writing. The company, however, denied the document, compromising the psychologist’s mental well-being, as she began to lose her patience. Fortunately, nothing that the law couldn’t eventually change. After another excessively bureaucratic process, they secured time off from group activities for Jisung alone.

Now, three months into the lawsuit, it would be the first meeting with only Jisung present, as the others were overwhelmed with company duties.

While driving, he kept his eyes on the road, occasionally glancing at tall buildings and wondering about the people inside — their complex lives and their insignificance in the grand scheme of the world. He had this habit of overthinking people and things around him while daydreaming.

The poetry of being individual... such a surreal idea. And lonely.

We look at buildings without imagining that every person inside lives a different life, has a different mindset, a different universe. And out of all those universes, he chose the one of art, of fame, of success. And though it was an old dream, he now feels so empty and defeated.

But he stops thinking before causing an accident.

He arrives at the law firm’s parking lot, sees three empty spots, and calmly steers the car into one on the right.

These last few days had been structured to allow him rest and preserve his health. Yet his mind is so accustomed to the exhausting routine that he sometimes misses the fatigue. He even keeps the company-imposed diet — though unnecessary now — which is why he remains weak, his body begging for mercy every second.

Luckily, he woke up in a decent mood (despite his introspection), which stayed with him as he rode the elevator.

At the office, the two only went over case updates — nothing major. Minho mentioned the possibility of suing the company, as the chances of winning were high, and they could make a decent profit.

"I think that’s something to discuss with the other two present. It’s not my place to make such a big decision.”

Minho replied.

“Understood. If their schedule allows, we could have that conversation even before your hiatus ends.”

Jisung only managed to comprehend up to the fifth word, as his body failed for a few seconds and he felt a sudden wave of nausea.

“Han Jisung? Are you okay?” Minho asked, concerned with Jisung’s silence.

Please, please, please, please, anywhere but here, Jisung thought.

For some unknown reason, the idea of fainting there was more humiliating than he could bear, so he pleaded for help from gods he didn’t even believe in.

And as if one of them heard, he snapped back to normal, shaking his head to exit the trance. The strangest part was seeing Minho kneeling in front of him with his hands on Jisung’s shoulders — his expression was very worried.

“Are you alright?”

No. He wasn’t.

“Uh-huh, yeah.”

And, as if still suspicious, everything after that was brief — even serious topics were left for another day. Not being accompanied, Jisung felt slightly afraid to drive but didn’t dwell on it. As soon as they said goodbye, Jisung stood up — and felt dizziness hit hard again. Even so, he kept fighting the internal debate of asking for help or not — he chose the latter — and opened the door.

Outside, he felt all his strength vanish.

Well, at least I made it this far, he thought.

He fainted soon after.

He could only hear the door slam open and Minho’s panicked breathing above him before losing consciousness completely.

☆

It was terrifying for Minho.

From the beginning of the meeting, he had noticed the paleness in Jisung’s face — something unusual, considering his skin was usually the most tanned Minho had ever seen. His intuition screamed for him to pull that frail body into his arms, but — unfortunately or fortunately — he didn’t. He waited for the mess to happen.

And it did.

The moment he saw Han Jisung staggering just from the simple act of walking, his instincts screamed for him to help. And he wanted to.

The problem, however, was that they weren’t close enough for Lee to feel entitled to show concern. So he decided to wait and hope everything would be fine.

The second he heard a noise — not the door closing, but the one that came right after it — he knew he had made a big mistake.

He ran before his head could overthink. The moment he saw Jisung’s unconscious body, terror settled into his being. Fortunately, his survival instincts spoke louder than any fear, and he managed to act quickly — or at least he hoped so.

He carefully cradled the smaller man in his arms, folding Jisung’s knees over his right arm and supporting his back with his left. The unconscious musician’s head rested against the lawyer’s chest during the strangely slow walk to the car.

Minho gently arranged Jisung’s body in the backseat, being mindful of how he adjusted his limp frame. He drove quickly to the nearest hospital he knew, aware that he now held a great responsibility.

He also knew his boss would probably scold him later, but he didn’t care. Health always comes first.

At some point during the drive, Jisung woke up, startled.

 "Mi... Minho?" He slowly opened his eyes, lifting his head from the car window. His voice was hoarse from disuse.

Lee, who was laser-focused on the traffic, jumped at the sound coming from Jisung’s throat, glancing in the rearview mirror, still alert. But the moment passed, and he turned his attention back to the road.

"We're going to a hospital. You fainted, and I thought it’d be best to get you checked out."

Before Jisung could protest, Minho turned the wheel into the hospital driveway.

Inside, Jisung — fortunately still too dazed to resist — saw the doctor, who advised him only to follow a more nutrient-rich diet. When they asked whether he had any illnesses or disorders, Minho intervened, making sure he didn’t hide the fact that he had burnout syndrome.

"Given that, you need to be even more careful with your health, Han Jisung. If you go through more stress, the syndrome may feed on your misfortunes and send you to the hospital more often than you’d like." 

Fully conscious again, Jisung felt betrayed by Minho for speaking up — but he only nodded at the doctor’s words.

If Mina ever found out about this, he’d probably have to pay for a psychologist — for her this time — considering how many stressful situations he’d already put her through.

But that was her job, after all.

When he tuned back into the world around him, he noticed Minho talking to the doctor for a bit longer, before the medical professional simply exited the room.

'Well, now that we’ve checked how you’re doing, do you feel okay to head back or would you prefer to stay a little longer just to be sure?" Minho asked gently.

The musician cleared his throat to steady his voice and replied.

"I think I’m fine now."

And this time, it was for real.

They then headed to the hospital parking lot, recognizing Minho’s car by the beep it made when he pressed the key. Once inside, silence settled, and Jisung felt compelled to break it.

"Thank you so much, Lee Minho. I hope I didn’t mess up your routine. I’m really sorry."

Minho, fastening his seatbelt, looked at him with such warmth in his eyes that Jisung felt like crying just from the gaze.

"Just call me Minho, Jisung. We’ve talked about this!" He smiled. "And don’t worry about it. It was the least I could do."

Han nodded, and Minho started the car.

However, somewhere along the calm and quiet drive, he noticed the older man's hand trembling.

"Minho? Are you okay?"

The older man flinched, as if he’d been caught committing a crime.

"Ah, yeah, don’t worry. I just have a mild aversion to hospitals."

"Why didn’t you tell me?" Jisung asked, concerned. "Seriously, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable because of me."

"It’s okay, Sungie." He spoke affectionately. "Don’t worry about me." 

And 'Sungie' blushed, realizing the sudden use of the nickname from the lawyer’s mouth. He came back to his senses, though, when Minho turned slightly toward him. But only for a few seconds, since they were still pulling out of the hospital entrance.

"I forgot to ask where your place is, by the way."

WHAT? Why does he want to know my address?

"W-What?"

"It doesn’t have to be your house. Just—  Where are you staying?"

Oh right. He had forgotten he was getting a ride.

"Oh, right. I’m staying at the dorm."

After giving the address, it only took a few minutes before he had to say goodbye to Minho and step back into the shared home.

And it was when he arrived that he realized. 

MY CAR!