Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jeongin’s problems start when his debit card gets declined at the neighborhood superette for a purchase of ₩19,000—though in some ways, they started long before that. It feels easier to blame the cereal, shampoo, and overpriced coffee than to blame himself, even though there’s no doubt with whom the fault really lies. The cashier hands his card back with a pained expression, awkwardly explaining the error message, and Jeongin stumbles through an apology as he leaves his items on the counter and books it out of the store.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting. Eventually, the balance in his account was going to hit zero. That’s what happens when you spend money without making any—and Jeongin sure hasn’t been making any money this summer!

He graduated in February, with honors, with a bright outlook on the future and a resolve to get a high-paying job in his field before the summer was through. It’s now August. His BA in Music Theory is gathering dust on his dresser, unframed and unused. He’s spent the past six months staring at the diploma, willing himself to at least look for job openings, let alone submit a few applications. He hasn’t wanted to admit it, but the truth seems unavoidable now: he’s come down with a critical case of what the kids call burnout.

He lets himself into his building, trudging up the stairs to the third floor walkup he shares with his college roommates. Please don’t be home, Jeongin thinks to himself, as he unlocks the door to their apartment and pushes it open.

They’re home. Felix and Seungmin are on the couch—or rather, Seungmin is on the couch and Felix is in his lap. The TV is on—some new anime Jeongin doesn’t recognize. Neither of them seems to be watching. Felix’s arms are wound loosely around Seungmin’s neck, Seungmin’s wrapped securely around his waist, and they’re trading deep, languid kisses as Jeongin walks in the door.

Jeongin clears his throat, loudly and intentionally. They pull apart, but not far.

“Oh,” Felix says, giving Jeongin a sunny smile. “Hi Jeonginnie.”

“Hi,” Jeongin mutters.

“Hi,” Seungmin says. He tilts his head around Felix so he can get a better view. “Thought you were going to the store?”

“Yeah, about that.” Jeongin bends down to untie his shoes, and hears Felix’s low, rumbling laugh. When he stands back up, he catches Seungmin pressing another kiss to the corner of Felix’s mouth. 

“Jeonginnie,” Felix sing-songs. “Wanna watch TV with us?”

Jeongin stares at Felix’s hands, slowly caressing the nape of Seungmin’s neck. “Yeah, no, I’ve got some stuff to do,” he says.

“Suit yourself,” Seungmin says, as Jeongin hurries past them and into the safety of his bedroom. He hears Seungmin murmur something, hears Felix laugh again like it was the funniest thing in the world. He can’t get his door closed fast enough.

Jeongin loves his roommates—that’s the worst part. He and Seungmin met in an intro-level composition class their sophomore year, having been randomly assigned partners for a group project. Seungmin was quiet and introspective, but not timid. His kind, friendly demeanor cut through Jeongin’s initial shyness, but it was his musical aptitude that blew Jeongin away. Study sessions turned to lunches together, and before Jeongin knew it, they were fast friends. A singer and songwriter like himself—though a much, much more talented one—Seungmin made the farsighted, practical decision to only minor in Music while pursuing an Engineering degree, and he has a very impressive, very well-compensated job to show for it—the kind Jeongin assures his mother he’s working on getting every time she calls to hound him about it.

The first time Jeongin came over to Seungmin’s dorm, Seungmin warned him about his roommate. “He’s the best,” Seungmin said, “but he’s a lot.” That first meeting, bright, bubbly Felix swept Jeongin into a hug, thanked him for taking such good care of “his Minnie,” and effusively complimented his shoulders. An international student from Sydney, he speaks Korean with the cutest Australian accent, and is probably the only reason Jeongin passed his required English language classes. Felix is another CompSci and Engineering disciple, a coding whiz who built his own gaming PC and has already turned down contracts from two major companies because their offers weren’t high enough. (Jeongin is pretty sure he comes from money.)

Naturally, the three of them became inseparable. They’ve lived together for two years, the most fun of Jeongin’s life. They play video games, they get drunk, they bicker over the dishes and borrow each other’s clothes. Jeongin grew up with two brothers, but they’ve never been close. He imagines that if they were, it would feel something like this. 

After a few tough weeks of all-nighters, the three of them managed to pass their final exams and graduate together, with plans to continue their easy living arrangement into the foreseeable future. Since then, Seungmin has been working, Felix has been volunteering while he waits for the right job to come around—(he gives his evenings to a hunger bank feeding low-income families, because of course he does)—and Jeongin has been… kind of dicking around. He’s been recovering from his last semester. He’s been thinking about applying to jobs. He’s been laughing his ass off with his two best friends, letting them distract him from the crushing dread he feels every time he spies his dusty diploma. And it was all going perfectly fine—until last month.

Jeongin doesn’t know how he missed it. He thought they were all friends, and nothing more. Sure, Seungmin and Felix would cuddle an awful lot, but Felix is physically affectionate with everybody—he and Jeongin even kissed once, drunk and dizzy on the dance floor of their favorite gay club, and Jeongin definitely didn’t hate it, but he assumed it was like, a friendly kiss. Just like he assumed Seungmin and Felix’s cuddles were friendly cuddles. 

They weren’t. One miserably hungover morning last month, Jeongin stumbled into Seungmin’s room to wake him up, only to find them both in his bed—half-asleep and half-naked, their bony limbs tangled together. A drunken hook-up, Jeongin assumed—until he caught them making out in the kitchen that afternoon. “I don’t even know how it happened,” Felix said, dreamily, walking hand in hand with Jeongin as he caught him up to speed. “It doesn’t feel real. He told me he loves me. Can you believe it?”

“I didn’t even know you liked him that way,” Jeongin said, trying not to let his bewilderment come off as negativity. If it did, Felix was immune to it. “It’s Minnie,” he said, like that was explanation enough—and in some ways, it was. Anyone would fall in love with Seungmin.

The change in the group dynamic has been an… adjustment, to put it mildly. Felix and Seungmin can’t keep their hands off each other, and unfortunately for Jeongin, they don’t seem to care whether or not he’s in the room to witness their public displays of affection. It’s constant—the flirting, the kissing, the nuzzling and giggling and possessive hip-stroking—and it’s weird, to be this up close and personal with his best friends’ love lives. Seungmin, always so modest and private when it comes to dating, has taken to slipping his hand into Felix’s back pocket and giving him a cute little puppy whine whenever he wants a kiss. Felix can’t seem to say Seungmin’s name anymore without throwing “sexy” in the sentence—including, mortifyingly: “Jeongin, doesn’t Seungmin look sexy today?” Neither of them have any regard for volume when they retreat to one of their rooms at night, and despite two doors and a decent pair of headphones, Jeongin has heard plenty of things he wishes he could unhear. It’s all very, very uncomfortable for him.

He knows he’s being a baby about it. Obviously, he wants the two of them to be happy, and he knows if he voiced his complaints out loud, he would sound like a bitter, heartless troll. He wishes he had literally anyone else he could vent to about it, but Seungmin and Felix, unfortunately, are his only two real friends.

What Jeongin really needs is to move out. The situation wouldn’t be nearly as bad if he weren’t painfully third-wheeling whenever he’s at home—which is an awful lot, given that he’s unemployed. But moving requires money, and Jeongin has been doing his best not to think about money this summer. He’s been telling himself it’s not that bad. He can handle a little PDA. He can handle his best friends coupling up, probably starting their big adult life together soon and leaving Jeongin in the dust behind them, a fading memory of a college friendship that they look back fondly on whenever they remember he exists.

And then his card gets declined.

Jeongin sprawls out on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Divine intervention is what he needs. He doesn’t think God usually gets people jobs, but it couldn’t hurt to ask. He should go to church with his mom the next time he visits home. She’ll have to buy my train ticket, he thinks, sullenly.

He digs his phone out of his pocket and opens Instagram, ready to lock in for a few hours of mindless scrolling. He has a few DM notifications, and goes to check them. Two reels from Felix—he’ll watch in a minute—and…

That’s weird. He has a message from Hwang Hyunjin, someone he doesn’t think he’s interacted with—on social media or otherwise—in at least five years. He opens the chat to read the message.

hi jeonginnie 🫶 hope you’re doing well. i know it’s been a while. i hope this isn’t weird, but i have a job for you if you’re still looking. big payday. let me know. also, congrats on graduating.

Jeongin stares at the message in utter bewilderment. Does this hacker think he’s stupid? An old friend DMing out of the blue, saying he has some big job opportunity and providing zero details? He’s sure their next message will explain how easy it’ll be to get hired, as soon as he sends over his bank information and routing number. Jeongin almost wants to do it for the bit, just to picture their face when they actually see his account balance. Maybe they could buy themselves some McDonalds.

He scrolls through his phone contacts, seeing if he still has Hyunjin’s number in there somewhere—and he does. Maybe he’ll have changed it since they last talked, but it’s worth a shot.

jeongin
uhhh hey, idk if this is still your number but i think your insta got hacked

He hesitates a moment before adding:

(this is jeongin)

Hyunjin’s response is almost instantaneous, which is a surprise—if Jeongin remembers correctly, he used to be a terrible texter.

hyunjin
?

jeongin
[Screenshot: IMG_7063]
lol

hyunjin
that was me!

Oh. Jeongin is more confused than ever. He and Hyunjin are definitely not friends anymore. They used to be—best friends, in fact. They lived next door to each other for most of middle and high school, and would always take the early morning train together, bickering like sleep-deprived siblings. After school, Jeongin was always at Hyunjin’s house—it was quieter, with no other siblings around, and he had the cutest family dog. 

Hyunjin was older by a few years, and even then was already such a beauty that people would stop them on the street to ask if he had representation. He went off to college when Jeongin was fifteen, and despite his promises to visit, he almost never came home, even for the holidays. His messages became fewer and farther between, until Jeongin stopped hearing from him entirely. It makes sense—he's a big-shot model now, the last Jeongin heard. Some luxury European brand. Hyunjin posts the photoshoot spreads on Instagram, and Jeongin used to dutifully like every picture, until he realized how cringe that probably was. It isn't like Hyunjin wanted to talk to him—he never messaged or anything. Clearly, he outgrew the little hometown kid he used to hang out with after school.

hyunjin
sorry, i know it’s random.
are you still looking?

jeongin
how do you know i need a job

hyunjin
our moms talked…

Of course they did. No longer neighbors, their mothers are still friends. Jeongin is sure his shameful lack of employment is the talk of the concerned-mother-grapevine.

jeongin
perfect

hyunjin
so, are you?

jeongin
i mean yeah

hyunjin
you should take this job. you still like kids, right?

Jeongin studies the text with furrowed brows. He doesn't know how Hyunjin would know this about him. He only recently started toying with the idea of working with kids—as in, post-graduation recently. He hasn’t even told his roommates yet.

jeongin
it’s a teaching job…?

hyunjin
nannying!

Ah. Jeongin knew he shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up. Nannying is tough work—long, draining hours for little pay, and he doesn’t have a drop of experience. Sure, he looked after his younger brother and his aunt’s kids growing up, but nothing you could tack onto a resume. He would be severely out of his element, overworked, and barely making anything to show for it.

jeongin
idk if that’s what i’m looking for.
i have a degree you know

Hyunjin waits a minute before he starts typing again.

hyunjin
if i offended you jeongin, i’m truly very sorry! i only suggested it because i thought it’d be a good job. the guy is really great, apparently, and i have it on good faith that his daughters are angels. and did i mention he’s loaded? he’ll pay well. 
i think it’s short term. just some after-school care for a few months, something with the mom’s schedule. i didn’t get that many details, but i can get more if you want them.

Multiple daughters? Jeongin’s cousins are all boys. He doesn’t even know what looking after girls would entail. And why does Hyunjin care this much about getting him a job? He feels awkward now, though, like he’s made things uncomfortable for no reason. Hearing Hyunjin out is probably the least he can do. And… okay. He is curious.

jeongin
who even is this guy
does he not know how to make a job posting

hyunjin
you’re the first to know about it! 
he’s a producer, i know that much. the way my friend talks about him, he’s a saint.

jeongin
your friend?

It takes Hyunjin another minute to respond.

hyunjin
well, a guy i kind of know
but i don’t see why he wouldn’t be honest

jeongin
a guy you kind of know

hyunjin
he’s good friends with the dad. they work together. do you want me to tell him you’re interested?

Jeongin doesn’t know what to say. This is not exactly the type of job to write home about. And the whole situation seems weird—this guy is a friend of some friend-or-possibly-not-friend of Hyunjin’s, who Jeongin barely even knows anymore. Who’s to say he’s really a saint? What if he’s an asshole, or a creep? What if there is no job, and this is all just some big prank they’re playing on Jeongin together?

If divine intervention exists though—this would be it, right? Is this not exactly what he wanted, for something to fall into his lap to circumvent his apparently pathological inability to get his life started on his own?

Something clatters to the floor in the living room—to Jeongin’s ears, maybe a mug getting knocked off the coffee table. He hears hushed voices, another soft thump. Felix’s low laugh. He pictures the rest of his evening holed up in here, his headphones’ volume up loud enough to do permanent damage to his hearing.

Fuck it. He responds before he can think better of it. 

jeongin
sure. tell him i want the job

Chapter Text

“I think he’s gonna take it,” Hyunjin says, without looking up from his phone. 

Changbin pokes his head out from the hotel bathroom. His mouth is full of toothpaste, so his voice is garbled beyond comprehension when he replies. “You think who is gonna take what?”

Hyunjin rolls his eyes, glaring at Changbin. He does his best not to let his gaze linger, but Changbin just got out of the shower—his dark curls are wet, he’s wearing nothing but a towel tied around his waist, and his chest is glistening. “Do you ever listen when I talk?” he says.

Changbin spits and rinses, then comes back into the room. “I listen!” he insists. “I listen to every word you say, beautiful. I just have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Hyunjin ignores the flicker of warmth in his stomach. He may not know Changbin very well, but he learned early on what a sweet-talker he is. Flattery like that is going to get him nowhere. “My friend Jeongin. Is going to take that job. He’ll watch your friend’s dumb kids.”

“Hey now,” Changbin says, joining Hyunjin on the bed. He lounges on his side in a way that hikes up the towel, revealing an obscene amount of his large, muscular thigh. “Say whatever you want about me, but those are my girls. I won’t hear a word against them.”

“Hmm.” Hyunjin has never met the kids in question, but he obviously doesn’t think they’re dumb. He just figured Changbin would say something like that. 

“It’s not just that they’re Chan’s kids,” Changbin adds. “They’re seriously really cool.” He breaks into a sheepish smile. “And they call me Uncle Changbin.”

Hyunjin reaches out, running his fingers through Changbin’s damp curls. “That’s cute,” he says. “I bet you spoil them rotten.”

Changbin’s smile deepens. “They’re not the only ones I can spoil rotten,” he says, his eyes glittering, flashing down to Hyunjin’s bare chest, where his silk robe has fallen open.

There’s that heat in Hyunjin’s stomach again. “Is that so?” he asks, arching one eyebrow, like it means nothing to him.

Changbin leans in close. Hyunjin can smell spearmint on his breath. “Name it, baby,” Changbin murmurs, his lips just barely brushing Hyunjin’s. “Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

Hyunjin knows Changbin has money. He clocked him from the very expensive sneakers he was wearing the first time they met—three weeks ago, at the gym where Hyunjin never plans on showing his face again. He normally sticks to cardio, but for some reason that day he had the bold idea to try out some machines in the weight room. Greatly overestimating his own capabilities, he ended up pinned under the leg press, close to 300 kilograms slowly crushing down on him—and before he could call out for help, a stranger jumped to his rescue. He lifted the weight with practiced ease, locking the machine back into place and allowing Hyunjin to escape out from under it. Hyunjin was about to say a quick, embarrassed “thank you” when the stranger turned around, revealing himself to be the hottest man Hyunjin had literally ever seen—broad, muscular shoulders, thick thighs, a fantastic ass. He was probably pushing forty—he had the greying hair and the laughter lines to prove it—but you’d never know it from his well-maintained figure, or the expression of childlike wonder on his dangerously cute face. Hyunjin was stunned into silence.

“Happens to the best of us,” the man said, with a wink that left Hyunjin weak at the knees. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Hyunjin managed.

The man studied him, a small smile playing at his lips. “I’m Changbin, by the way.” When Hyunjin made no move to introduce himself, he continued. “I’m sure you know this, but when you’re moving up in weight, it’s always best to have a spotter. I’m guessing your boyfriend couldn’t make it today?”

Oh great, Hyunjin thought. He thinks he’s smooth. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” he said, lifting his chin haughtily. “Is that what you wanted me to say?”

The man—Changbin, apparently—beamed. “Maybe,” he said. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to fight someone.”

He’s fast, too. Hyunjin liked the direction this was headed—he hadn’t been laid in weeks. He reached up to redo his ponytail, cognizant of the way his cropped tank top rode up when he lifted his arms. “That’s awfully presumptuous,” he said, tracking Changbin’s eyes as they lingered on his exposed abs.

“What in the world someone as gorgeous as you is doing being single is beyond me,” Changbin said, his voice a touch lower, but no less confident. “Some idiot let you slip through his fingers, is that right?”

He wasn’t wrong. Hyunjin hasn’t exactly been lucky in love these past few years. He tells himself it’s because he doesn’t have time to seriously date—a much easier pill to swallow than the possibility that no one wants to seriously date him. Which is how it feels sometimes, wasting his nights on short-lived flings with men who more often than not have a wife waiting at home. The sex is phenomenal, of course—for a while—but at the end of the day, the sex is all there is. No meaningful connection, no long-term commitments. A few weeks later, it’s as if they never knew each other. Hyunjin is usually the one who pulls away, he’s aware of that—but shouldn’t they want him enough to chase him down and win him back?

It probably doesn’t help that he has a weakness for older guys. He’s tried sleeping with people his own age—men and women—and it can be fun, for sure, but nothing is going to top the confidence and expertise of an experienced, middle-aged lay. They take charge in a way that makes Hyunjin’s toes curl. They spoil him a little. They’re grateful for anything he’ll give them, happy just to have a fresh, sexy twenty-something in their bed, indulging their fantasies and bringing a little youthful excitement to their otherwise boring lives. They’re not something he has to work for—a welcome respite, when Hyunjin feels like he’s spent every other minute of every day of his life working.

Not that he’s complaining. It’s what he wanted, right? Anything to be able to dance?

“Hey,” Changbin says, now, in their hotel bed. He pokes Hyunjin gently between the eyebrows. “You still with me?”

Hyunjin blinks back at him softly. He’s sweet. It’ll be a shame when this one fizzles out too. “For now,” he says, with a melancholy smile.

“When’s your next class?” Changbin asks. “Can I take you out for lunch?”

He hasn’t let Changbin take him anywhere yet, besides to a hotel of his choosing every single day this week. Hyunjin spent two weeks playing hard to get, rebuffing Changbin’s persistent advances at the gym, then waking up at ungodly hours just to accidentally run into him the next morning. When he finally, finally relented and let Changbin fuck him, it was… Hyunjin doesn’t use the word “mind-blowing” lightly. He’ll just say that it was worth the wait. And that he may or may not fall asleep every night fantasizing about it, replaying the day’s tryst over and over again behind his closed eyes.

As expected, Changbin has been hounding him like a needy puppy-dog ever since—sending him good morning texts, telling him he wants to see him, asking what his weekend looks like, if he likes cocktail bars or high-end restaurants or live music or midnight strolls along the river. He’s been asking about his dancing, about his friends and his parents and even his family dog. It’s overkill, really. He doesn’t need to do all that to get in Hyunjin’s pants again.

“Two hours,” Hyunjin says, glancing at his phone. “Let’s stay here until then.”

Changbin’s lip curls into a grin. “Something else I can do for you?”

Hyunjin fights the smile off his face. “Maybe,” he says, twirling a strand of Changbin’s hair around his finger.

Changbin crawls on top of him, and Hyunjin’s heart starts to pound in his chest, the way it does every time. Changbin ducks his head to kiss the side of Hyunjin’s neck, just below his ear.

A frisson of want courses through Hyunjin. Changbin’s small, perfect mouth is as talented as his arms are large, caging Hyunjin in on either side—massive, looming shadows in his peripheral vision. He tilts his head back, elongating his neck in a way he knows men like Changbin find irresistible.

“So,” Changbin says, his lips finding the exact spot Hyunjin had in mind. He trails a line of kisses from his Adam’s apple to the hollow of his throat. “Little Jeongin wants the job?” Another kiss, just over his clavicle. “That’s great. I’ll let Chan know.”

Hyunjin shifts against Changbin, trying not to seem impatient. Changbin doesn’t need to know how much he thinks about his mouth. “I still don’t know what’s in this for you,” he says, breathily.

Changbin smirks, shuffling lower down the length of Hyunjin’s body. He undoes the sash of his robe one-handed, letting it fall open and baring Hyunjin’s naked form. “I thought you might have a cute little starving artist friend who fit the bill,” he says, his voice a pleasant, self-satisfied rumble. “And I wanted to help them out.” He presses a kiss to Hyunjin’s stomach, just over his navel. “As a favor to you.”

Hyunjin gets a hand back in Changbin’s hair and gives him a light push downwards. You don’t even know me, he wants to say, but it might kill the mood. He settles for asking, “Why?”

Changbin kisses his hip bone in response. “Because I like you,” he says, eyes flicking upwards to meet Hyunjin’s own, a disarming display of earnestness. “Because I want to do things for you.”

Hyunjin rolls his eyes. He can’t let himself think that Changbin might not be like the rest of them. He’s already too hot for Hyunjin’s good—he refuses to hope for anything else. He tilts his hips up ever so slightly, nudging his rapidly hardening cock in the direction of Changbin’s pink, parted lips. “Do this for me,” he says.

“Whatever you say, beautiful,” Changbin murmurs, and takes him into his mouth.

* * * * *

Two hours and his second shower of the day later, Hyunjin is on his way to the studio for his evening class. He refused Changbin’s offer of a ride there from the hotel, insisting he prefers the bus, and the long walk afterwards from the bus stop. 

It isn’t a total lie. Hyunjin has always relied on his commute to build some necessary alone time into his otherwise packed schedule. It isn’t as important now that he lives alone, but the ritual of it is calming to him—a designated time and place to process his thoughts, where he doesn’t answer any messages or take any calls from his agent, Jinyoung—who is not exactly happy with him at the moment.

Hyunjin got scouted at eighteen, the spring after he graduated high school, while buying groceries with his mother. At the time, they were still trying to figure out how to pay for his dance school tuition, and the recruiter came at just the right time and made a very convincing pitch. Hyunjin had never modeled before, but he knew he had a pretty face, and figured he should use it if he could. He signed with an agency, who put him on a strict diet and workout plan and pretty much took charge of his life as soon as he moved out of his parents’ house. It all happened so fast from there—with classes taking up most of his days, his evenings and weekends were quickly booked up with screen tests, fittings, photoshoots, brand meetings, contract negotiations, obligatory networking events, and all the other unglamorous minutiae of working in the fashion industry. It’s been seven years since then—four of which he spent earning his dance degree, and another two completing his graduate program.

His modeling paid his tuition. It covered his room and board and his dance gear and it granted him the freedom of self-sufficiency, which he will forever be grateful for. It also restricted every other sense of freedom he held dear. He could handle it—again, it was what he wanted—but he couldn’t say it wasn’t hard. Instead of going home for Chuseok, he was up to his neck in coursework, or on a red-eye flight to Paris. He barely had time to text his parents, let alone his closest childhood friend. Every free moment that wasn’t monopolized by his agent, Hyunjin spent dancing. He told himself the rest of his life could wait for him, that the loneliness would pass. And it did, in a way. He learned to look after himself. He learned to throw every fiber of his being into his art, and the results were extraordinary.

But now, he’s graduated. He has his Master’s Degree in Contemporary Dance, and he craves the freedom of free time—to take more classes, to learn from and with his peers, to be present in his body and move and flow and experiment with his own choreography. When he recently broke the news to his agent that he wanted to pull back from some of his sponsorships, the conversation did not exactly go well. Jinyoung was dismissive at first, then reactive. He seemed to take it as a personal offense, like Hyunjin didn’t have a hundred reasons to make this decision for himself. Hyunjin knows his two biggest contracts—the Italian watch company and the Japanese streetwear brand—are both up this fall. He does not plan on re-upping them, no matter what Jinyoung has to say about it.

A problem for another day, Hyunjin thinks, as he ducks through the front door of the studio. He greets every familiar face with a faint smile and a nod—they’re all incredibly talented, and seem perfectly nice, but he’s just never been that great at making friends. It isn’t until he sees a smaller figure standing in front of a locker that he breaks into a wide smile and all but skips over to him.

Minho is still wearing his cardigan and cleanly-pressed slacks, which means he just came from his other job—teaching the youngest age group at an elite children’s dance academy. When Hyunjin throws his arms around him from behind, he yells, “Watch it!” and shucks him off, but his delight shines through his half-hearted glare.

“I missed you yesterday,” Hyunjin says.

“I was leading that pop-up class I told you about,” Minho says. “It was cool, you should’ve come.” 

Hyunjin wanted to so badly, but it hadn’t been in the cards. “I had a call with that French label,” he says. “It took forever, and the shoot isn’t even ‘til next month.”

Minho hums sympathetically. “Busy busy Hyunjinnie. Did you make it to any classes?”

“Choreo, in the evening,” Hyunjin says, then bites his lip sheepishly. “I saw that guy again.”

“Yesterday?!”

Hyunjin nods slowly, refusing to make eye contact. Eventually, he covers his face with one hand, and adds—“And today.”

Minho gapes, huffs out a laugh, and punches Hyunjin in the shoulder. Around them, other dancers are closing up their lockers, filing slowly into the main practice studio as their class’s start time approaches. “Tell me after class,” Minho says. “Drinks?”

Hyunjin nods, letting Minho hurry off to change into his sweats, smiling to himself as he watches him go. Hyunjin’s college years were some of the loneliest of his life. He never properly bonded with any of his classmates. His closest confidant was probably Jinyoung, and talking to him about personal matters always got complicated quickly. And then there were his dates, who weren’t usually exactly the conversation type. He hadn’t even realized how badly he needed a friend until he met Minho.

One night last year, Hyunjin was heading home after an evening class when he realized, while trying to board the bus, that his wallet wasn’t in his bag. He retraced his steps all the way back to the studio, which should have long been locked up by then—but there was a light on inside. Hyunjin hammered on the door until the culprit appeared. Minho and Hyunjin were in a few of the same advanced dance classes, so they recognized each other—Minho also taught the beginner levels, which was why he had a key. He had been illicitly using the space to practice alone, late at night, for months, and this was the first time someone had caught him. 

Rather than explain, Minho first tried to intimidate Hyunjin into insisting he hadn’t seen anything and wouldn’t tell anyone. Hyunjin found the little act adorable, and more than that, he completely empathized with Minho’s desire for a solo dance space. They struck up a deal—Hyunjin wouldn’t tell Minho’s supervisors, as long as Minho let him join.

They’ve danced together so many nights that Hyunjin’s lost count. Hyunjin has never seen anyone move the way Minho does—with the power and control of a seasoned professional, but the fluidity and grace of a giant mountain cat. There’s something superhuman about the way his body snaps from pose to pose, making it look easy—so firm in his foundations and so quick on his feet. Sometimes it’s enough for Hyunjin just to sprawl out on the floor and watch him.

Sometimes though—Hyunjin just wants to dance. He’ll turn all the lights off, not even using his mirror, just him and his body and the wide open dance floor, and he’ll let the feeling rush through him, moving without thinking, every step instinctual and impulsive.

Minho tells him he dances like he’s possessed by a demon. “In a good way,” he says. “You’re very intense.” Hyunjin knows what he’s talking about. It’s definitely his style to jerk and shudder, to arch his back in slow, sinuous rolls, then throw his head back like he’s surrendering his body to the spirit of dance. His precision and technical control are what he’s had to work to hone over the years—that wild, feverish passion for movement has always come naturally.

Class is fun. Minho teaches this one, so of course Hyunjin signed up. Minho is a little older than him, and a little more experienced—though his comes from his years on various dance crews, rather than formal schooling. He always has eyes on everyone in the class at once, evidenced by the very specific advice he doles out. Hyunjin thrives on his feedback—it makes them feel like collaborators. He’s dripping sweat by the time it’s over, wrung out in the best way.

When Minho is done locking up for the night, Hyunjin hops in his passenger seat and lets him drive them to their favorite late-night spot. They get a private table near the back—while Hyunjin isn’t famous per se, he gets recognized enough for it to be a bit of a nuisance. Either that, or “I’ve seen your picture somewhere” is everyone in Seoul’s favorite pick-up line.

“So,” Minho says, once their drinks have arrived. “How’s the guy.”

Hyunjin buries his nose in his wine glass, biting back a smile. “He’s fine.”

“He’s fine?” Minho asks. “Since when do you settle for just fine?”

Hyunjin shrugs.

“Since when do you fuck someone this many times in one week who’s just fine?”

“He’s good,” Hyunjin laughs. “He’s good.”

Minho blinks his big eyes at Hyunjin, his expression placidly blank.

Hyunjin lets out a loud, exasperated sigh. “He’s so fucking hot. Oh my God, he’s hot.”

An evil grin spreads across Minho’s face. “Tell me.”

“It’s like, not okay. I need you to see him. Can you come as my guest to the gym sometime?

Minho shakes his head firmly. “I hate the gym,” he says, taking a polite sip of his beer. “Just show me his socials.”

Hyunjin groans. “No, they’re so bad. I stalked him immediately, obviously, and all his pictures are that old man angle.”

Minho folds over, cackling. When he’s back upright, he imitates taking a selfie head-on, phone angled from below to really center his chin.

Hyunjin doubles over too, and hits him on the shoulder. “Exactly,” he says, laughing until he’s clutching his stomach. “But he’s so hot in person, I swear. I’ll take a picture myself to show you.”

“Why don’t you let him pose for you?” Minho asks.

“Please,” Hyunjin says. “I’m not wasting a painting on some guy. Even if he does look like that. He hasn’t earned it yet.”

Minho raises his eyebrows. “But you think he could?”

“No, that’s my point. He won’t.”

“Another one, huh,” Minho says, with a frown.

Hyunjin takes another sip of wine, nodding glumly. He can feel the alcohol, molten heat swirling in his stomach, and tries not to think about because I like you and because I want to do things for you.

Minho nudges him with his shoulder. “You’re too young to be this cynical. What are you, twenty-two?”

“I’m twenty-five and you know it,” Hyunjin grumbles.

“Just a baby,” Minho coos.

“Shut up, old man,” Hyunjin says, but he’s smiling again.

“I’m thirty!” Minho protests. “I’m in the prime of my youth!”

Hyunjin lowers his eyelashes at Minho, flashing him a flirtatious smile. “You’re almost old enough to be my type.”

“And you’re almost bratty enough to be mine.” Minho drains his glass, setting it down on the table with a resounding thump. He nudges Hyunjin again. “How old is he, really?”

Hyunjin heaves a sigh, rubbing his temples with his fingers. “He just turned thirty-nine.”

“Jesus,” Minho says. “It’s like they made him in a lab for you.”

“I know.”

“And you’ve fucked him how many times?”

Hyunjin swirls his wine, carefully studying the bottom of his glass. “Five,” he says. “Well, five days.” He smiles conspiratorially at Minho. “A lot more times than that.”

Minho whistles. “Girl,” he says.

“I know.”

“And he’s not married?”

Hyunjin shrugs. “He claims to be single.”

“Is he nice to you?” Minho asks.

“Too nice,” Hyunjin says. “I think he’s obsessed with me.”

“Right,” Minho says. “Which you hate.”

“Which is not sustainable.” Hyunjin sighs. “Obsessions wane.”

“Sometimes.” Minho tilts his head, studying Hyunjin. “Maybe don’t drop this one too fast.”

“Hmmm.” Hyunjin finishes his glass, then smiles back at him. “Maybe don’t tell me what to do.”

When Minho drops Hyunjin off at his apartment, he gets a big hug as payment for all his attentive listening, which he attempts to squirm out of. Hyunjin kisses him on the cheek as well. 

Letting himself into his unit, Hyunjin checks his phone for the first time in a few hours. A text from Jinyoung, of course. A few from Jeongin, confirming that he’s free Sunday to meet Changbin’s friend and his kids. Hyunjin insisted they go together, which Jeongin seemed confused by but not resistant to. Changbin all but begged Hyunjin to let him drive them and make the introductions, but there’s no way that’s happening. They’re perfectly capable of taking the bus all by themselves, and besides, he’s sure Jeongin will want to make his own first impression.

He’s nervous to see Jeongin again, but excited-nervous. It really has been forever. He thinks about him often, and the simple, carefree days of their youth. He must be so grown up by now. And his mom says he just got a music degree—how lovely. He always had the most enchanting voice.

His other unread messages are all from the same number. Hyunjin swallows as he reads them, a pained, hollow feeling settling deep in his stomach. Sinking down onto his couch, he tugs a blanket around his shoulders, curls his knees up to his chest, and reads them again.

changbin
Hey Angel, I hope class was fun.
Just wanted to wish you goodnight
And tell you I’m thinking about you
Sweet dreams Gorgeous
XOXO 💕

Chapter Text

Jeongin rocks back and forth on his feet, his hands shoved awkwardly into his pockets. He triple-checked the address Hyunjin gave him before he texted that he was here. His apartment is apparently on the way to the guy’s house, so Hyunjin told Jeongin to meet him here so they could go the rest of the way together. Jeongin has been waiting for almost fifteen minutes now—with a pang of nostalgia, he remembers Hyunjin was like this as a kid too.

Finally, the building’s main door pushes open, and there’s Hyunjin. He’s wearing dark, chunky sunglasses and a baseball cap, but Jeongin recognizes him in an instant. 

Hyunjin looks at Jeongin for only a moment before a huge smile spreads across his face. “Jeonginnie!!” he cheers. Jeongin holds up a hand in greeting—it’s still stiffly raised in the air when Hyunjin all but tackles him, enveloping him in a crushing hug.

Jeongin blinks, recalibrating. He doesn’t know what he was expecting from big-shot model Hyunjin, but it wasn’t this. He stands stock-still, letting Hyunjin hug him.

“It’s so good to see you,” Hyunjin says, muffled against Jeongin’s ear. When he pulls back, he’s beaming. “This is crazy! You’re so tall!”

“Not really,” Jeongin says, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re still taller than me.”

“Barely!” Hyunjin says. “How are you?? Sorry I took so long—should we walk and talk? I want you to catch me up on everything, but I’m sure you don’t want to be late.”

He doesn’t. Hyunjin gave him the dad’s number last night—Chan, he found out his name is—and Jeongin sent him the most awkward introduction text in the world, confirming the plan to come over Sunday at 3 and meet him and the kids. Chan’s prompt response of “Sounds great! See you then!” didn’t give Jeongin much insight into his personality, besides that he’s apparently an exclamation-point-texter—so he’s either very polite or very old. Either way, they agreed on a time, and disregarding it would make a terrible first impression.

They take off towards the bus stop together, Hyunjin bombarding Jeongin with questions as they walk. He seems very interested in learning what Jeongin has been up to since they lost touch—unfortunately, the answer is not very much. His life is dismally uneventful compared to someone as interesting and successful as Hyunjin.

“Really, I’ve pretty much just been doing school,” Jeongin says. “And now that that’s over, I just hang out with my friends. I don’t know.”

“I want to hear about your friends!” Hyunjin says. “I need to know who’s been taking care of my baby.”

Jeongin laughs—what a ridiculous thing to say. “They’re just my roommates,” he says. “We went to school together. They’re cool, I don’t know. And they’re not… taking care of me. I’m an adult, I can take care of myself.”

“Of course you can,” Hyunjin says, sincerely. The irony of their current situation is not lost on Jeongin, but Hyunjin is kind enough not to tease him about it. 

The bus pulls up, and they get on. Hyunjin doesn’t need to know that Jeongin had to borrow Seungmin’s transit card for the occasion.

“What about you?” Jeongin asks. “What are you doing now, besides modeling?”

Hyunjin wrinkles his nose. “It doesn’t leave time for much else,” he says—if Jeongin didn’t know better, he’d say he almost sounds resentful. “I’m dancing, though. Always dancing.”

“That’s awesome,” Jeongin says. “I know you, uh. You always wanted to do that.”

The conversation hasn’t been miserably awkward so far or anything, but it does feel a little stiff. Like there are talking points they’re supposed to hit, and they’re checking them off one by one. School, work, friends, family. Next, Hyunjin is going to ask him if he has any pets.

Before that can happen, Jeongin jumps in. “So tell me again how exactly you know this guy? The dad’s friend?”

“Oh,” Hyunjin says. He runs a hand through his hair and laughs out loud, even though Jeongin hasn’t said anything particularly funny. “We met at the gym.”

“Got it,” Jeongin says. “He’s like, your gym buddy?”

“Absolutely not,” Hyunjin says, laughing again. When Jeongin only stares, confused, he says—“Oh, sorry. We’re sleeping together. Did I not mention that?”

“Oh,” Jeongin says. He should have figured that out. Hyunjin probably thinks he’s an idiot. “That’s cool,” he says. 

Hyunjin sighs. “Is it?”

Uh. Jeongin furrows his eyebrows. “Is it not…?”

“No, no, it’s cool. It’s great.” Hyunjin waves his hand dismissively. “It’s great. He’s outrageously hot. And more importantly, he has rich friends who need nannies for their kids!”

“But you’ve never actually met this rich friend.”

“We’re not exactly at the meeting-each-other’s-friends stage,” Hyunjin teases. “Although I did let him take me out last night. He kept throwing his black card around like I was supposed to be impressed.” He scoffs, rolling his eyes with what even Jeongin can tell is obvious delight.

“Right,” Jeongin says. “So they’re rich, and they work together, and that’s all you know.”

“They’re old friends,” Hyunjin says. “I think they go way back. Changbin—that’s my guy—he talks about him all the time. Not that I’m threatened,” he says, laughing a little too loud and running his fingers through his hair again. “I don’t think Chan is his type. And he’s married, anyway.”

“Right,” Jeongin says again. “But we don’t technically know that he isn’t a serial killer using this nanny thing as a front to lure in his next unsuspecting victim.”

Hyunjin barks out a laugh. “Is that something you’re concerned about?”

“Not particularly,” Jeongin says. “I’m just saying we don’t know it for sure.”

“I feel like Changbin would…” Hyunjin says, then trails off.

“You feel like Changbin would know if his friend was a serial killer?” Jeongin says, incredulously.

“I mean… wouldn’t he??” Hyunjin looks like he’s taking the thought very seriously. “Okay,” he says. “I’m going to wait outside while you’re in there, okay? And I want regular texts, so I know everything is fine and you’re still alive.”

“What if he takes my phone?” Jeongin says. He’s not actually worried, but provoking Hyunjin is kind of helping him relax. And it feels much more like their old, playful banter.

Hyunjin’s face has gone a little pale. “Just…!! Stay alert and vigilant! Keep an eye out for red flags!”

“Alright, hyung, I’ll do that,” Jeongin says. The affectionate term just slips out, but he leaves it be.

The house is a short walk from the bus stop. Jeongin and Hyunjin climb a steep hill, past large, expensive-looking mansions surrounded by high, gated fences. Everyone in this neighborhood has money, it seems. 

When they reach the address in question, Jeongin is actually surprised. It’s smaller than most of the residences they’ve passed—only two stories, with an unobtrusive facade built of dark stone. There’s only one car parked out front, next to a small, well-kept garden.

Jeongin checks his phone. It’s 2:58—perfect. “Do you think I should text…?” he asks Hyunjin. “Or just go ring the bell?”

“Just ring the bell,” Hyunjin says. He glances around, scoping out the rest of the block. “I’ll wait just around that corner,” he says, then gives Jeongin’s shoulders an excited squeeze. “It’s gonna go great, you’re going to crush it! But text me if anything is weird!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jeongin says, shaking Hyunjin off and climbing the steps that lead up to the house’s front door. His nerves are back with a vengeance, but he tries to swallow them down.

If there is a doorbell, Jeongin can’t find it. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he knocks three times on the door. 

“Just a second!” A voice calls from inside. Jeongin stiffens. His hands fly to his hair to try and neaten it up, but it’s hard without a mirror. 

The front door creaks slowly open. Big, dark eyes on a round face blink up at Jeongin from somewhere near waist level. The girl isn’t smiling—she almost looks like she’s sizing him up. In her little overalls, she paints a fairly intimidating picture.

“Hello,” Jeongin says, offering a cheerful smile that he hopes doesn’t look too forced. 

“Hello,” the girl replies. She narrows her eyes. “You don’t look like a nanny.”

Jeongin glances down at himself, smoothing down his pants. “Must’ve left my uniform at home,” he says, and bends his knees a bit so he’s not towering over her. “I’ll remember it next time,” he whispers.

The girl stares for a second. “Actually, I know nannies don’t wear uniforms,” she says. “You’re trying to trick me.” 

Before Jeongin can respond, that voice comes again, from somewhere behind her. “Nari! Are you interrogating our guest?”

The suspicious look on the girl’s face evaporates. “No!” she calls back, with a devious little laugh. She swings the door fully open, then darts away, disappearing somewhere inside the house. Jeongin is left standing in the empty doorway, unsure whether or not that constituted an invitation to step inside.

He’s about to ask, or knock again, when a man steps into the entryway. He’s shorter than Jeongin expected—shorter than Jeongin, even—compact in a way that’s at odds with the striking width of his shoulders. The sleeves of his button-down are rolled up to the elbow, revealing wiry forearms, and he’s drying his broad hands on a unicorn-print dish towel. His full head of dark hair is tinged with grey. A pair of thick-rimmed glasses sit perched on the end of his nose.

Oh fuck, Jeongin thinks. He’s gorgeous.

The man smiles at him, dimples creasing his cheeks. “Jeongin?” he asks.

“Hi,” Jeongin manages. Remembering himself, he dips his head and shoulders slightly into a polite bow.

The man does the same. He offers his hand, and Jeongin takes it. His grip is hair-raisingly strong, which Jeongin should’ve expected from hands that size.

“I’m Chan,” the man says. His smile is warm and kind, and feels almost unnervingly genuine. Jeongin’s first instinct is to look away—he’s not used to being smiled at like that, and he’s worried he’s going to start blushing. 

“I’m Jeongin.” He already knows that, stupid. “Pleasure to, um. Pleasure to meet you.” Jeongin inclines his head again, watching as Chan repeats the gesture as well.

“The pleasure is mine,” Chan says, still smiling. Then he laughs to himself, or possibly at himself. “Where are my manners? Come inside, please. Get cozy. Ah, comfy, I should say.” He ushers Jeongin inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Jeongin toes off his shoes and follows Chan through the vestibule, finding himself stepping into a large, high-ceilinged living room. Ah—now it’s obvious how much the house cost. The TV is twice the size of Seungmin’s. The entire back wall is lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, through which Jeongin can see what looks like a pool. Everything looks expensive, from the deep, velvet sectional to the chandelier dangling from the ceiling. The open-concept floor plan flows seamlessly into a massive eat-in kitchen, with all stainless steel appliances and a marble island in the center of the room. Everything is spotless—not a hair out of place, no dirty dishes or piles of shoes or strewn-about children’s toys. If Jeongin hadn’t just met one of them, he’d have trouble believing that any kids lived here at all.

“Girls!” Chan calls, in the direction of the staircase. Up near the top, Jeongin can make out two sets of hands clinging to the railing, and two little faces peeking through the bars.

There’s no response. Chan crosses his arms, leaning down and looking around in big, exaggerated movements. “I don’t know where they disappeared to,” he says, catching Jeongin’s eye and winking. “I got some new pudding flavors for them to try, but if they’re not here, I guess Jeongin will have to help me eat them!”

“No!!!” A laughing shriek, and one of the figures comes barrelling down the stairs. “Daddy, don’t give him our pudding!!”

This girl is even smaller than the one who questioned Jeongin at the door. She slams into Chan, throwing both arms around his legs.

“I didn’t see you buy any pudding,” the older one says. Nari, Jeongin remembers. She flounces down the steps much more deliberately. “Besides, grown-ups don’t even like pudding.”

Chan raises his eyebrows in astonishment. “Grown-ups don’t like pudding??” He scoops the younger girl up into his arms, and she bursts into a fit of giggles when he swings her up high before settling her on his hip. “Then I don’t know who is going to eat these…” He backs up towards the fridge, pulling the door open with his free hand to reveal, front and center, three pudding cups.

Nari’s cocky expression falters. Jeongin can see her craning her neck, trying to see what flavors they are. 

“We’ll eat them!!” The younger one squeals, starting to squirm in Chan’s grip. He sets her on her feet next to her sister. 

“Deiji, Nari,” Chan says. He gestures to Jeongin, and for a panicked second Jeongin thinks he’s going to touch the small of his back. He doesn’t—just hovers his arm behind him, like he’s presenting him. “This is Jeongin. He came all this way today to meet you. Please show him that I haven’t raised a pack of wild animals and say hello nicely.”

Both girls straighten up, then bow in unison. Deiji dips so low that her little pigtails flop in her face.

“Hello, Jeongin-ssi,” Nari says.

“Hello, Jeongin-ssi,” Deiji echoes.

Jeongin returns the bow. “Nice to meet you both,” he says.

“There we go,” Chan says, a satisfied twinkle in his eye. He pulls the pudding cups out of the fridge and sets them on the counter. “Now you may each take one of these upstairs to your playroom. Daddy is going to talk with our new friend down here for a bit. Can I trust you not to get into trouble?”

Deiji presses up onto her tiptoes, straining to reach the pudding on the counter. “Yes, Daddy,” she says.

“We never get into trouble,” Nari protests.

“Mmmm, I don’t know about that,” Chan says. He hands them their choice of flavors, and tucks a pair of spoons into Nari’s hand. “Go on, get.”

The girls scurry up the stairs. Jeongin is about to speak, but Chan holds up a finger in a “wait” gesture, tilting his ear up towards the second floor. A few seconds later, they hear a door close. Chan smiles at Jeongin. “There we go,” he says.

A moment of silence follows. Jeongin tries to stand up a little straighter—Seungmin is always telling him he slouches. “I’d like to thank you for giving me the opportunity to meet with you today,” he says, a little stiffly. “I’m happy to start by going over my professional background, if you… um.” He stops, distracted. Chan has picked up the last pudding cup and is reaching towards Jeongin, offering it to him. “Oh, no, thank you. I’m okay.”

Chan waggles the snack in his hand. “You sure? It’s really really tasty.”

He must think I’m twelve, Jeongin thinks. “Thank you, I already ate.”

“Fair enough,” Chan says. He lets out a little laugh as he pulls the foil top off, before he grabs a spoon for himself and takes a bite. “Wow,” he says, smiling so wide that it reaches his closed eyes. “So good.”

Jeongin stands there awkwardly, trying to figure out what he should be doing right now besides watching this forty-something-year-old man eat pudding and trying not to get lost in his dimples.

“Sorry,” Chan says, laughing again, covering his mouth as he sets down his snack. “I’m sorry. I’d love to hear about your background. Why don’t we sit down?”

He leads Jeongin back into the living room, gesturing at the couch and taking a seat in the armchair opposite him. Jeongin sits down carefully, like his very presence might leave a mark on the dark velvet. 

Chan, on the other hand, sits like he owns the place—which of course, he does. He leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on comfortably spread thighs and lacing his fingers together. 

“I graduated in February,” Jeongin starts. “With honors.”

Chan nods. “I’m not surprised,” he says.

Jeongin falters. “Oh–okay.” His curiosity gets the better of him. “Why?”

“Oh,” Chan says. “Nothing. You just give off that serious sort of vibe.”

Jeongin compulsively reaches to fix his hair. “Um,” he says, trying to remember the lines he practiced this morning. “And I also had a work-study job on campus all four years, which demonstrates initiative, responsibility, and strong work ethic.”

Chan groans. “Oh, work-study, I remember having to do that. Nightmare, it is. All your friends going off together, and you’re stuck at some desk. ‘Course that was probably before you were born.” He chuckles to himself, then catches Jeongin’s bewildered stare. “I’m sorry. I keep interrupting you.” He laughs again, bringing his palm to his own forehead for a light, chastising smack. “Clearly, I’m not very good at this. Please, Jeongin. Go on. What did you study?”

“Um,” Jeongin says. He hadn’t been planning on mentioning that. “Music Theory?”

Chan’s eyes light up. “Music Theory, really?” He leans back in his chair, crossing his legs. “You’re a musician, then?”

“Sort of,” Jeongin says, haltingly. “I play piano, and a little guitar. And I, um. I sing a little.”

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Chan says, his smile absolutely radiant. “Do you write?”

“Um,” Jeongin says. “A little.”

“Oh, that’s fantastic. What kind of music do you write?”

Jeongin can feel the heat rising in his cheeks. “Um,” he says again, sounding stupider by the second. “Nothing that’s really finished, I don’t know.” He tucks his hair behind his ears. “I like ballads, I guess. Where it’s really about the singing, you know?”

“Of course,” Chan says. “You must have a great voice, then.”

“Oh no,” Jeongin says, quickly. “Not really.” He flails for some conversational thread to steer this topic away from himself. “So you must like music, then?”

Chan gives another quiet laugh, shaking his head softly to himself. Jeongin isn’t sure what’s funny, but he sort of laughs along. “That’d be tough if I didn’t, wouldn’t it,” Chan says.

“How so?” Jeongin asks.

Chan blinks at him. A strange expression crosses his face—bemusement and wonder, and Jeongin is certainly missing something.

“You’re serious?” Chan says, leaning forward again, his forearms coming to rest back on the tops of his thighs.

“Um,” Jeongin says.

Chan waves his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “I work in the industry, that’s all. Figured you might’ve known. That’s great, though! A musician would be such a great influence to have around the girls.”

Oh right, Jeongin remembers. Hyunjin said he was a producer. He hadn’t made a big deal about it though, so Jeongin didn’t think he was like, famous or anything. He must not have many big-name clients, if he’s excited by the idea of Jeongin influencing his kids.

“Will you tell me about them?” he asks.

Jeongin didn’t think Chan’s smile could get any brighter. The older man heaves a deep sigh, glancing up at the ceiling with the fondest, proudest look on his face. He produces a microfiber cloth from his pocket and takes his glasses off, cleaning them as he talks.

“Nari, my oldest, is seven. Wicked smart, ever since she was a baby. Always figuring out how to open the child locks and where we were hiding her Children’s Day presents—that sort of mischief. She loves reading—she must be reading at a high school level by now. She was trying to teach Deiji to read before she could even talk!” He beams, replacing his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Oh, she’s precocious alright. One of the funniest kids you’ll ever meet. Let’s see… she’s a fantastic swimmer. She says she wants to join her school’s team once she’s old enough, just like her old man. She plays the piano—hey, I bet she could practice with you! I try and help her with her duets, but I’m no good.” He starts laughing again, and this time Jeongin catches a little squeak escape his lips.

“She sounds like she’s turning into a fine young lady already,” Jeongin says, smiling himself.

“Oh, she is,” Chan says. Something wistful passes behind his eyes. “Her mum is her role model.” He looks at his feet, sighing, before meeting Jeongin’s gaze again. “But there’s no one she loves more than her sister.”

“They must be close,” Jeongin says, softly.

Chan sucks in air through his teeth, grimacing. “They’re close. Little partners in crime, they are. Deiji, my little one, will be five this fall. Cute as a button, she is, but don’t let her fool you. She may look sweet, but she’s a little rascal. I strongly suspect she’s the brains behind some of their most nefarious schemes.”

Jeongin laughs, trying to imagine a four-year-old concocting nefarious schemes. He also realizes that he’s relaxed back a bit in his seat—something about listening to Chan talk about the kids is putting him at ease. It’s not just that the focus has been taken off of himself. Chan’s obvious adoration of his daughters is infectious, and soothing, and—it’s just nice. It’s very very sweet. Jeongin could listen to him go on and on for hours.

“Does she do any activities?” he prompts. “I know she’s young.”

“Ah, but that’s the best time to start!” Chan says. “She wants to do everything Nari does, of course. She’s just starting to get the hang of the piano. We also have her in dance classes this year—to try and get some of her energy out, more than anything—and she seems to be liking them so far. A few hiccups, but that’s to be expected.” He pauses. “Of course, we don’t sign them up for any lessons they aren’t excited about. Now that I’m talking, it sounds like we’re one of those families who’re trying to train up little prodigies, then work them half to death.”

“Oh, no,” Jeongin says. “It doesn’t sound like that at all.”

“It’s good for their development, of course,” Chan explains. “But at the end of the day, it’s whatever they have fun doing that we want them to be doing. My dad had this philosophy when my siblings and I were growing up. You know, I would put a lot of pressure on myself as a kid. And he had this phrase he would always say—just enjoy.”

“Just enjoy?” Jeongin echoes.

Chan nods. “Just, you know. Love your life. Don’t stress. Have fun. Do what makes you happy.”

“Just enjoy,” Jeongin says. “Wish my parents had that philosophy.” Horrified, he realizes what he’s just said out loud. “Wow, sorry. I didn’t mean—that just sounds nice. Sorry.”

Chan only watches him, his expression thoughtful, his eyes dark and sincere. “I was very lucky,” he says, eventually. 

“My parents are fine,” Jeongin blurts out. “They’re normal parents. They have normal expectations, you know.”

“Hmm,” Chan says.

“I just mean—they just don’t get, like, anything outside of good-degree-equals-good-job-equals-good-life. Which is whatever. They’re probably right, anyway.”

Chan frowns. He looks like he’s about to say more, so Jeongin keeps frantically babbling. “It’s fine,” he says. “They’re fine. They’re my parents, you know? Raising me was probably really hard.”

“And despite that, look how you managed to turn out,” Chan says. Jeongin’s face burns—he can’t accept such a compliment. This man doesn’t know him. He doesn’t know how he turned out.

“Anyway,” Jeongin says, shifting in his seat. Chan nods, like he understands they’ve exhausted this particular topic, which is very considerate of him. 

“So,” he says instead. “What does your availability look like for this coming fall?”

Right, Jeongin thinks. Business. He’s here for a job. “Open,” he says. “Wide open.”

“Their mother is out of the country right now, and will be out of the equation until sometime in December. I’m hoping you won’t mind helping me out until then.”

“Of course,” Jeongin says.

“I’ve been picking the girls up from school myself since it’s started up again,” Chan says. “Ideally, you’d take over on that front, get them home or to their various activities, and entertain them for a few hours while I finish up my work for the evening. School lets out at 2, and I would never have you here past 5 or 6. Does that sound like something that would work with your schedule?”

A few hours a day would certainly be better than nothing. “Absolutely,” Jeongin says. “I can do that.”

“You would be a lifesaver," Chan says, sighing like he really means it. “Work isn’t too crazy right now, but we’ve got a project coming up that unfortunately requires a lot of my direct attention.” He catches Jeongin’s eye, smiling. “I’ll be glad to know the girls are in such good hands while I’m tied up.”

Jeongin glances away, trying not to blush at Chan’s unintentionally awkward choice of words. “I’m honored you would trust me to look after them,” he ends up saying.

Chan tilts his head, still gazing thoughtfully at Jeongin. ‘Staring’ might be a better word. Jeongin fidgets his hands in his lap, unsure what else to say. Just as he takes a breath to speak again, Chan clears his throat. 

“We should probably discuss the matter of payment,” he says. “Did you have a rate in mind?”

Oh God. “Um,” Jeongin says. “Not really. I, um—I would prefer you choose.”

Chan nods. “Does two million sound okay?”

Two million won a month?? For those hours? Jeongin can’t believe his luck. He’s going to start looking at apartments as soon as he gets home. “More than okay,” he says, bowing his head gratefully. “Thank you, um. Thank you so much.”

Chan gives a satisfied little nod. “Perfect. If you give me your bank info, I can set up an electronic transfer that’ll wire it to your account every Monday.”

Jeongin startles. Wait. “Every Monday?”

“Oh, unless of course you prefer cash. I’m happy to make that work as well.”

“Chan-ssi,” Jeongin says, his face flushing. “I can’t accept two million won a week.”

“Of course you can,” Chan says.

Jeongin shakes his head frantically. “It’s too much money. I couldn’t possibly. I don’t know when the last time you hired a sitter was, but—that’d be crazy. Please, every month is fine.”

“Nonsense,” Chan says. “And you’re the first, didn’t I mention that?”

He hadn’t. He’s the first sitter they’ve ever had?? That means there’s added pressure, so much added pressure, and with that pay, Chan probably expects him to know exactly what he’s doing, to be flawless and confident, a role model for his kids, an expert at this job he’s never done before and will probably realistically be terrible at. Jeongin springs to his feet, overcome by a sudden need to—he doesn’t know. Leave, maybe. “I’m sorry, I…” he looks around, desperately, his pulse pounding in his ears. “I’m not sure, um. Sorry.”

“Hey,” Chan says. He’s standing now as well, and takes a step towards Jeongin.

“Sorry,” Jeongin says. His mind is racing, but the specific thoughts are all blending together now—a formless, raging storm of anxiety. This was a mistake. His whole life has been a series of mistakes, one after the other, snowballing out of control. For one long, terrible moment, he tries to take a breath and he can’t—his chest is too tight, his lungs have no room to expand. 

Something firm and heavy settles on his shoulder. Jeongin’s eyes follow the unexpected weight to find one of Chan’s hands, gripping him through his shirt. His long, sinewy fingers are digging into the meat of Jeongin’s shoulder, but his thumb is rubbing feather-light against his collarbone. Jeongin stares in disbelief. He’s touching him?

“It’s okay,” Chan says. “You’re okay.”

The back-and-forth motion of Chan’s thumb is hypnotic. Jeongin can feel it every time it grazes his shirt collar—this close to brushing the bare skin of his throat.

“There we go,” Chan says.

Slowly, Jeongin’s gaze moves from Chan’s hand up to his face. He shouldn’t have looked. Chan’s eyes are piercing—dark and focused as they lock on Jeongin’s own.

“Sorry,” Jeongin says. His mouth has gone dry, but he realizes that his heartbeat, so fast before, is slowly returning to normal.

Chan’s hand stays where it is. “I should be the one apologizing,” he says. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t,” Jeongin says.

“Mind if I ask what that was about, then?” Chan asks, gently.

Jeongin swallows. He glances back down at his shoulder, and Chan—seeming to remember himself—finally pulls his hand back and lets it fall to his side.

“I’m, um.” I’m mortified, Jeongin thinks. I just almost had a panic attack at a job interview. “I’m worried I’ve misrepresented myself to you.”

Chan offers him a kind smile. “How so, Jeongin?”

“I’m worried I’ve somehow given you the impression that I’m more qualified than I am,” Jeongin mumbles.

“You’re mistaken,” Chan says.

Felix told him to project confidence today—he’s going to kill him when he finds out what Jeongin is about to say. “I’ve never been a nanny before,” he admits. “Really, I have zero experience. You should be paying me the bare minimum. If you should even be hiring me at all.”

Chan laughs. He takes a seat on the couch, then pats the cushion next to him. Slowly, Jeongin sinks down beside him.

“I’m aware this is your first professional childcare position,” Chan says. “Do you have younger siblings?”

Jeongin nods.

“Cousins? Other youngsters you’ve ever looked after?”

“Yes,” Jeongin says, meekly. “But—”

“Then you’re going to do just fine. Trust me. The girls will love you. They seem very curious about you already. You’re very responsible, like you said. And if you ever feel out of your depth, I’ll be right here to answer any questions that might come up.”

Jeongin can’t resist the urge to bury his face in his hands. Even if he doesn’t believe they’re true, Chan’s compliments are going to his head, making him feel warm and giddy and floaty. He’s never been able to be very chill about receiving praise.

“Still having second thoughts?” Chan asks. Jeongin reluctantly pulls his hands away, looking at Chan, who’s sitting so close to him now. He shakes his head.

“Good. And as someone with the privilege to do so,” Chan says, slowly. “I would like to pay a premium for an invaluable service in an industry where such work is all too often undervalued.” He points at Jeongin with one finger, like he’s chastising him. “You’re not going to change my mind on that, so don’t even try it.”

“Alright,” Jeongin says. He feels humbled, yielding so easily to Chan’s wishes like that, but the feeling isn’t bad. Just—destabilizing.

“Alright then,” Chan says. “That’s that.” He gives Jeongin’s knee a friendly pat, then stands up, slipping his hands into his pockets and glancing up towards the staircase. Jeongin’s eyes follow his, because it’s that or stare at the spot on his knee where Chan just touched him again.

“Deiji gets those,” Chan says, out of the blue. He catches Jeongin’s eye again. “She’s so little, you’d think she wouldn’t have much to worry about yet.”

“You’d be surprised,” Jeongin says, quietly.

Chan nods, a troubled expression coming over him, worry lines creasing his statuesque face. “Her doctor thinks they’re trigger-based. It seems like overstimulation is the main culprit, but we’re not quite sure yet. Been trying to manage them without making her feel too different from the other kids.” Gazing down at Jeongin, he smiles. “Looks like I lucked out, finding you.”

Jeongin can only stare back up at him. Why is he being so nice? What could he possibly see in Jeongin’s nanny potential that makes him treat him so kindly? Why does his smile have to be so, so mesmerizing?

He’s jostled out of his reverie by a sharp knock at the door. Raising an eyebrow in Jeongin’s direction, Chan moves towards the door, unlocking it and pulling it open. 

Jeongin hears a familiar voice coming from the entryway. “Mr. Bang?”

“Yes, that’s me,” Chan says. 

“I came here with Yang Jeongin. Is he in there? He’s not answering his phone. His roommates both have this address, you know. They’ll call the police if he doesn’t come home tonight.”

Goddammit, Hyunjin. Jeongin jumps up, making his way quickly to the door. “Hi, yes, I’m fine, hyung,” he says. “Go away.”

“Jeonginnie!” Hyunjin says, craning his head around Chan to see him better. “I called three times!”

Chan turns around to look at Jeongin. Jeongin is worried he’ll be offended, but he almost looks charmed. “What a ringing endorsement, to have such protective friends,” he says, before addressing Hyunjin again. “The blame is mine for detaining Jeongin for so long. I’m afraid once I start rambling, I just go on and on. He’s been very kind to humor me all this time.”

Hyunjin looks a little embarrassed, which is nothing compared to how Jeongin is feeling. “I can’t believe you,” he hisses at Hyunjin. To Chan, he inclines his head apologetically. “Forgive my stupid friend, please.”

“Hyunjin, right?” Chan says. When Hyunjin mumbles a yes, Chan blesses him with one of his winsome smiles. “I’ve heard so much about you. Pleasure to finally get to meet.”

Hyunjin’s shoulders seem to tense, and he stands up a little straighter. “Oh,” he says, delicately. “You as well.” He gives a light laugh—which Jeongin thinks sounds completely forced—and tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “What, um. What have you heard?”

“Only good things,” Chan says, with a wink. He turns back to Jeongin. “Any reason you can’t start tomorrow?”

Jeongin shakes his head. “No, tomorrow would be perfect.”

“Excellent. I’ll text you all the info you’ll need for school pickup and get you added to the approved list, but call me if you have any issues getting them checked out. I already cleared my afternoon of meetings, so I’ll be working from home when you all get back. That way, if you have any questions, I’ll be around to answer them. Although,” he chuckles. “Nari will probably beat me to it.”

Jeongin can’t believe how fast this is all happening. He’s relieved Chan will be there on his first day, even if it means he could be watching his performance the whole time. For some reason, the idea of that is comforting, rather than nerve-wracking.

“Sounds like a plan?” Chan asks, and Jeongin nods. Chan takes a few steps towards the stairs, and calls out—“Girls!”

The sound of a door opening, then two voices in unison. “Yes, Daddy!”

As Jeongin has already come to expect, Chan beams. “Why don’t you come on back down and say goodbye to Jeongin!”

Chapter Text

Chan stands in his front doorway, watching Hyunjin and Jeongin’s retreating backs as they start their journey home. He wanted to at least give them a ride to the bus stop, but they were both so quick to politely refuse, and it didn’t seem worth pressing them on. Especially since it would involve strapping both girls into their car seats and bringing them along for the trip.

Deiji comes up next to Chan, peering out alongside him with one little fist curled in his pant leg. “Bye, Jeongin-ssi!” she calls. 

Halfway down the block, Jeongin looks over his shoulder and gives another wave goodbye. Chan waves back, smiling despite himself. What a considerate, well-mannered young man. He sets his hands on Deiji’s shoulders, steering her back inside and closing the door behind them.

Nari is waiting inside, her arms crossed sternly in front of her.

“Well, ladies,” Chan says. “What do we think?”

“He’s okay,” Nari says.

“Mmm.” Chan gives a thoughtful nod. “Deiji?”

“He liked my drawing,” Deiji says, grabbing her handiwork from where it’s lying on an accent table and holding it out to show Chan.

“That’s right, he did!” Chan says. “That means he has very good taste.” He takes the paper carefully from Deiji, who is happy to be rid of it. 

“Or he just said it because he’s supposed to,” Nari says, sullenly.

If any offense was intended, it goes straight over Deiji’s head. She clambers up onto the couch. “Daddy, can we watch TV?”

“Oh, I’d rather we didn’t,” Chan says, as he steps into the kitchen to pin Deiji’s drawing up on the fridge. “It’s beautiful outside, should we go to the park until it’s time to make dinner?”

“Yes!!” Deiji rolls back to the floor with an indelicate tumble, then jumps to her feet. “Park! Park! Park!” she cheers, trotting off in the direction of her shoes. Her sister stays put, looking unhappily at her own feet.

“Nari,” Chan says, his voice gently chiding. “What’s all this, now?”

Nari scuffs her socked foot against the floor. After a moment, she says, “Does us getting a nanny mean you’re going to be working more again?”

Chan squats down so he’s at eye level with her, then coaxes her towards him so she’s tucked in against his knee. “A little bit,” he says. “And you’ve both been very, very grown-up, putting up with so many changes this year. Especially you.” He tucks a strand of hair behind Nari’s ear. “But that’s why it’s important to me that both of you like your new nanny, because he’s going to be spending a lot of time with you when I can’t. If you don’t approve, then.” He makes a popping sound and motions with a thumb over his shoulder, a hit-the-road gesture.

“I like him,” Nari admits, grudgingly.

Chan smiles, thinking about the nervous way Jeongin kept adjusting his posture and messing with his hair—that sweet, shy smile that bloomed on his face the moment the girls came into the room. The serious, heartfelt attentiveness behind his bright doe eyes even as Chan rambled on and on about nothing.

“Me too,” he says. 

That last part, about requiring her approval, is untrue, but Chan knows how important it is for his eldest to feel she has some control over the situation. If a little white lie buys some good will between her and Jeongin, he’ll gladly tell it.

Deiji, meanwhile, has pulled the stroller out of the front closet and is pushing it towards them, Nari’s sandals in a pile on the seat. “Let’s go, unnie!!” she says.

Chan pats Nari gently on the shoulder as he stands back up. “Come on, love. Let’s not keep your sister waiting.”

* * * * *

At the park, while Deiji and Nari chase each other all over the playground and back and forth across the monkey bars, Chan pulls out his phone and scrolls to find his conversation with Sana.

The nanny is a go, he texts her. I like him, and so do the girls.

She replies within the hour—the girls have moved on to the swing set, and are competing to see who can swing the highest, with only the occasional push from Chan. Thank you for taking care of that, she says. Let me know what his fee is, I’m happy to cover it.

Already done, Chan responds quickly. Don’t worry about it. One of the more awkward trivialities of their separation has been dealing with money—both of them have plenty to spare, and both seem to be trying to make a point to pay for as much as possible, when it comes to the girls’ expenses. Chan takes his glasses off, pinching between his eyebrows. He doesn’t know what motivates Sana, whether it’s the same sense of genuine obligation that drives him to provide for his family, or something more personal—vindictiveness, or pride. They don’t really talk about things like that anymore.

* * * * *

The next morning is remarkable in its normalcy. Chan gives the house a quick cleaning pass, making sure there are no sticky surfaces or toys laying about, that all the picture frames on the shelves are at the proper angles and all the breakfast crumbs are swept up. He drops Nari and Deiji off at school, with a quick stop inside himself to confirm with the office that Jeongin is all set to pick them up this afternoon. From their school, he drives himself downtown, parking in his reserved spot in the garage before heading upstairs.

The lobby of the main 3RACHA Entertainment building is quiet at this hour of the morning. No artists and their staff bustling around, no visitors or press or groups of hopeful trainees. Just the usual security guard and receptionist, both of whom Chan greets by name as he ducks past them and into the elevator.

Chan knows he should go to his office first. He has emails to answer, clients to call, and probably a meeting or two that he’s forgotten about. A check-in with his administrative assistant would be wise. Still, Chan lets the elevator breeze past the seventh floor, where his office is located, and stops it on the eighth: home to his studio.

Chan has been in music production for the past two decades—though in some ways, he’s been doing it his entire life. As the story goes, he discovered his mom’s keyboard at four years old, and played it all night until she found him the next morning, fast asleep on the keys, his first composition propped up on the music stand, scrawled out in crayon shorthand. Chan has no idea if it’s true, but it’s what his parents have always told him, and the answer he gives in interviews when asked about his musical origin story. What is true, beyond a shadow of a doubt, is that Chan lives and breathes music. It’s the lens through which he sees the world, the animus that drives him to work harder, be better. He loves collaborating with other artists, helping them realize their potential and bringing their songs to life. After so many years producing, it was only a matter of time before he and his partners started their own company—and while he’s definitely starting to get the hang of the CEO thing, nowhere does he feel more in his element than in his recording studio chair.

Chan pulls on his headphones and boots up his laptop. When he last closed it, he was working on a track for a new artist the company just signed, a young vocalist named Haewon. She’s fresh out of college, so she must be Jeongin’s age, he thinks, as he plays back his progress on the soundscape so far. Awfully young to be stepping out into the spotlight, regardless of industry standards, but he supposes Jisung was younger when he first got started.

Speak of the devil: Chan has just started to get in his zone when there’s a sharp knock on the door. “Coming in!” a loud voice calls out, before Chan can even extend the invitation, and the door opens to reveal the younger of Chan’s business partners.

“Morning, Jisung,” Chan says, pulling one headphone to the side—a clear sign that he’s listening, but doesn’t plan on chatting long.

“I had a feeling I’d find you here.” Jisung leans against the doorframe, his bag sliding off his shoulder and to the floor. “Is it true, or is Changbin busting my balls?”

Chan blinks at him, blankly. “Meaning…?”

“You’re free? Relieved of duty? You hired a nanny??”

“Ah,” Chan says, and smiles. “I did. He’s starting today.”

Jisung throws his hands into the air, dropping to his knees in an excessively dramatic display of triumph. “I’m saved!” he yells, pretending to weep tears of joy. “The album is saved!”

The look Chan gives Jisung is supposed to be stern, but he can’t help laughing at the whole production. “Seriously?” he says, kicking Jisung away as he crawls over and tries to kiss Chan’s feet. “The album was never in danger!”

“Tell that to me, cruelly abandoned every day by lunchtime, left to twiddle my thumbs with Mr. Let’s-Brainstorm-Over-Barbecue-And-A-Few-Drinks. You know I can’t say no to that! We’ve been getting nowhere without you!”

“Changbin is an incredible producer, and I know you two work well together,” Chan argues.

“Changbin lets me do whatever the fuck I want! I need someone who will hold me accountable!”

Chan heaves an exasperated sigh, but he can’t keep the smile from his face. He’s sure the situation is not as dire as Jisung is construing it to be, but there’s nothing more rewarding for Chan than being told that he’s needed.

“Well, then,” he says. “Consider yourself held accountable. I want demos by Friday—all tracks. Now let me work on this.” He gestures at his laptop. “We can talk more over lunch. Tell Bin—my treat.”

“My treat!” Jisung insists, scrambling to his feet. Chan puts his headphones back into place and makes a shooing gesture with both hands until Jisung starts to back out of the room. “My treat for my most benevolent of hyungs who is going to make my album go platinum!!”

Chan shakes his head as the door closes, smiling to himself. He’s known Jisung for long enough to know he’ll forget he made that offer as soon as lunchtime rolls around. They first met a lifetime ago, at their old company. Jisung was a callow, brassy nineteen-year-old, who had already managed to secure himself a reputation for being difficult to work with despite never having finished an album. Chan was young too, though—thirty-two, if he can believe it. He and Sana had just gotten engaged, and he was determined to do something bold at work, to really make a name for himself as a producer. Enter Jisung, the teenage prodigy who no one could get to meet a deadline or see a song through to completion. Chan saw a challenge in Jisung, and more importantly, he saw his genius. The real game-changer was enlisting Changbin to join their production unit—Chan’s oldest friend, and a musician and producer like himself. With his rap background, he could collaborate with Jisung in ways that Chan couldn’t, and he also just brought a sunny, positive energy to the group that fostered not only good synergy and teamwork, but true camaraderie—and birthed a lifelong, genuine friendship between the three men.

Ten years later, Han Jisung—or HAN, as he’s known onstage—is a household name. The rockstar is both critically and popularly lauded for his lyricism, his genre versatility, and his raw vocals, which he loves to show off by belting as high as he can whenever the opportunity arises. He wouldn’t be where he is today without Chan and Changbin, and tells them often. (He’s also learned a bit of humility over the years.) It wasn’t even a question that when Chan and Changbin left the company to found 3RACHA, they would be bringing Jisung along not only as a client, but as their third partner.

Over the next couple of hours, Chan manages to lock in and finish arranging Haewon’s track. He sends her and her team a quick message, seeing if tomorrow morning is a good time to actually get her in the studio to start recording. By the time he closes his laptop and stands up to stretch, it’s already past noon.

He orders sandwiches for himself and the boys, and decides to throw in a few extras in case anyone in the office didn’t bring a lunch. It’s possible he goes a little overboard—when the delivery driver brings up the order, he’s struggling to stand under the weight of all the bags of food, and Chan has to rush over to help him and take them off his hands. Everyone is so appreciative though—as Chan makes his way around the building, personally handing out sandwiches to anyone who wants one—that he doesn’t for a minute regret it. A well-fed staff is a happy and productive staff, after all!

When he finally makes it back to his office, Changbin and Jisung are sprawled out on the sofa, waiting patiently for him to join them.

“There he is,” Changbin says, handing Chan a coffee in exchange for his sandwich. “The man of the hour.”

“Our hero,” Jisung says, taking his and raising it in a toast. 

Chan sighs, loudly and fondly. He knows they love to tease him just as much as he loves to pamper them, so he’ll allow it.

As they dig into their lunch, Jisung launches in with the questions. “So? Tell us how the nanny meet and greet went!”

“Yeah, hyung, your texts were decidedly vague,” Changbin says. “I’d love a detail or two.”

Chan shrugs. “There isn’t much to tell. Jeongin came over and met the girls. His availability matches well with my needs for the job. He seems like a perfectly suitable fit.”

“Just like that?” Jisung says. “It was that easy?”

“Should it not have been?” Chan says.

“No offense,” Jisung says, nibbling on the edge of his roll with tiny, hamster-like bites. “But you deliberate for days over which shampoo to buy those kids. You spend literal hours poring over ingredient labels and reviews. You’re telling me one conversation was enough to sell you on some random kid?”

“To be fair,” Changbin cuts in. “He’s not some random kid. He came highly recommended by my Hyunjinnie.” As he says Hyunjin’s name, he lets out a dreamy sigh. 

“Oh, right,” Jisung says. “Your alleged twenty-one-year-old hot dancer boyfriend who definitely exists and is real.”

“He’s twenty-five,” Changbin says, indignantly. “And while I agree that he is too beautiful to be real, unfortunately for my sanity, he is very, very real.” He sighs again. “He laughs at everything I say. He smells like roses. We went out Saturday, and I got to see him dance for the first time. You guys.” He buries his face in his hands, then looks back up with an expression of total awe. “I actually don’t know what I’m supposed to do here. He’s literally perfect. It’s crazy. I feel crazy.”

“You are crazy,” Jisung says. “A crazy old man who’s started having hallucinations in his golden years.”

“I’m in the prime of my youth!” Changbin shouts, but the smile hasn’t left his face. “Do hallucinations smell like roses?”

“I can corroborate,” Chan chimes in, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of his coffee. “He is definitely real.”

Changbin sits bolt upright. “Did you meet him?? Hyung!!” He throws a napkin at Chan, which flutters harmlessly to the floor. “You didn’t tell me!”

Chan bursts into laughter. He didn’t tell him precisely because he wanted to see that proud, overjoyed expression in person.

“Isn’t he gorgeous?” Chanbin asks, excitedly. “Was he a little shy? He says he’s always shy meeting new people. What did you guys talk about?” He props his chin up on the back of one hand, flexing his fingers and fluttering his eyelashes. “Did he mention me?”

“This is embarrassing,” Jisung says, while Chan just laughs and laughs. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“There’s nothing embarrassing about being in love!!” Changbin yells. Chan blinks, astonished and delighted in equal measure. 

Jisung’s mouth falls open cartoonishly wide, and he loses a bite of food in the process. “In love??” he yells back. 

“That’s right,” Changbin says, his eyes fierce with that stubborn determination that Chan has come to know so well over the years. “And what about it?”

Chan lightheartedly gestures for both of them to keep their voices down—it is the middle of the workday, after all. “I’m happy for you, Bin,” he says, knowing that’s the only response Changbin will hear at the moment. “He’s very cute, and he’s lucky to have landed a guy as great as you. And I’m lucky that his industry friends are so friendly and down-to-earth.”

Changbin lowers the throw pillow he was aiming at Jisung and gives Chan a confused look. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, nothing, maybe I’m being presumptuous,” Chan says, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s a stereotype about models, right? That they’re a bit aloof? I just mean to say that Jeongin was very approachable, at least at our first meeting. He didn’t give off that vibe at all.”

Changbin’s lip has curled into a gleeful half-smile that Chan doesn’t like the look of. “Hyung,” he says. “Jeongin isn’t a model.”

Chan doesn’t understand. “What?”

“He’s not a model,” Changbin repeats. 

“Surely he is,” Chan says. “Is that not how they met?”

“No,” Changbin says slowly, his smile spreading wider. “He’s his childhood friend. How many working models do you know who pick up random babysitting gigs?”

“Oh!” Chan says, blinking. Recalibrating. “Oh, okay! My mistake, I guess.”

“Ohhh shit,” Jisung says. He and Changbin meet each other’s eyes, sharing a look that Chan can only describe as devious. “So I take it…”

“Yeah,” Changbin says. “For sure.”

“What??” Chan says, quickly. The back of his neck has started to sweat, for some reason.

Jisung leans back against the sofa and crosses his arms with a smirk. “He’s hot, is he?”

Chan almost chokes on a sip of his coffee. Between coughing and sputtering, he lets out a loud, stupefied laugh. “What??” He looks back and forth between the two of them, truly astonished at the logical leap they’ve made. “What could possibly make you say something like that?”

“Okay,” Changbin says, rolling his eyes, leaning forward so his arms rest on the tops of his thighs. “Why did you think he was a model, then?”

“Because he—he has that look!”

Jisung raises an eyebrow. “The look of a hot person, you mean.”

“No, Jisung, the—the look of—” Chan is stumbling over his own words, but just because the accusation is so preposterous, and he wasn’t prepared to have to defend himself. “He has the bone structure! Like—high cheekbones, and whatnot. And huge eyes, but they have this very, I don’t know, unique quality to them. Or, like, he’s thin, but—but in a wide-shouldered, athletic sort of way. What???”

Jisung has buried his face in Changbin’s shoulder, obviously trying to stifle his laughter. “He sounds very unique, hyung. Very athletic. Nice job landing him.”

Chan can feel his cheeks getting very, very hot. “That’s not funny,” he says, sharply, and Jisung and Changbin’s smiles quickly fade. “This discussion is beyond inappropriate. Jeongin just graduated, he must be twenty-two years old. What kind of a person do you think I am?”

“Sorry,” Changbin says. “You’re right, hyung. It was a dumb joke.”

“I’m old enough to be his father,” Chan says. “And more importantly, I hired him for a job, and it would be beyond—beyond—unprofessional to talk about whether he is or is not… attractive. I’m paying him to look after my daughters.”

“Right,” Jisung says, bobbing his head like he’s in full agreement. “Right right. You’re so right, Channie-hyung. You’re not a cradle-robber like our Changbin here.”

Changbin whacks him on the back of the head, not nearly hard enough to justify the cry Jisung lets out in response. “Take that back, Han Jisung! Hyunjin is a grown adult with full agency over his choices and actions!” He caresses his own tricep, a smug smile tugging at his lips. “It’s not my fault his preference is for a more mature, experienced sort of man.”

Chan doesn’t think he fully got his point across, but he can’t stomach this conversational thread any longer. Hyunjin and Changbin’s age gap is one thing—their business, he reminds himself, not his. But talking about them in the same context as Jeongin and… Chan is forty-two years old. He has friends with children Jeongin’s age. No matter what Jeongin looks like, no matter how demurely he sat on Chan’s couch, or how sweetly he complimented Deiji’s drawing, or how intrigued Chan is to learn more about him as they get to know each other better—talking about his attractiveness is… It’s hard for Chan to stay clear-headed, he supposes. It’s just an inappropriate way to speak about someone who is for all intents and purposes his employee.

“Anyway,” he says, resolutely. “Jeongin seems like a lovely young kid, and I think he’ll be a wonderful nanny. And that’s all there is to it.”

“Especially since that background check came back clean,” Changbin says, settling back down somewhat.

“Ha!” Jisung laughs. “So you did have him checked out!”

“He wouldn’t take Hyunjinnie at his word,” Changbin mutters. “I told him I’d look into him, just for peace of mind.”

Chan raises his hands, mock-defensively. “I at least owed him the same scrutiny I give the girls’ shampoo, right?”

“There’s the Bang Chan we know and love,” Jisung says, preoccupied with something on his phone. “If it makes you feel less paranoid, he probably at least Facebook stalked you, too.”

“I don’t think so,” Chan says. “He didn’t seem to know who I was at all, actually.”

“Kids these days,” Changbin says, with a wry laugh. “What is it that Nari’s always saying—‘open the schools’? How many songwriting credits do you have to your name at this point!”

“Not important,” Chan says, shaking his head. “It’s not a bad thing. It’s just funny. I had the thought, maybe he’s one of Sana’s superfans, and took the job to try and get close to the kids. But if he was, I think he’d at least have heard of me.”

“Open the schools,” Jisung says under his breath, chuckling softly to himself. He’s been tapping away at his phone for a few minutes now. “Yang Jeongin is his name, right?”

“Yes,” Chan says, warily. “Why?”

“Found his Insta,” Jisung says.

“Oh shit,” Changbin says, craning his neck to see over Jisung’s shoulder. “Let me see.”

“Guys,” Chan says. “Let’s respect his privacy, please.”

“It’s public!” Jisung protests. “Oh my God, he’s so cute!!” He looks up at Chan with wide, innocent eyes and claps a hand over his mouth. “In a wholesome way, of course! But really—hyung. This is who you hired? Oh, he’s so fucking pretty.”

“Oh wow,” Changbin says. “Wait, open that one—okay, yeah, yup. I see what you mean about the cheekbones.”

Chan regrets saying that. He regrets whatever he’s done to invite this social media investigation of his new sitter, who would probably be deeply uncomfortable if he knew three grown men were going through his Instagram posts. He also is getting that unavoidable craving one always gets when other people are looking at something on a phone and not sharing it. It’s not that he wants to see Jeongin’s pictures. He doesn’t. It’s more like FOMO, because Changbin and Jisung keep reacting to things that he can’t see.

He can’t help it. He leans a hair closer to them, and Jisung immediately picks up on the movement and passes his phone to Chan, and now—now the phone is in Chan’s hand, and the app is already pulled up, and really, it isn’t hurting anyone if he takes a little peek, right? It isn’t as if Jeongin will know. 

He posts a lot. Mostly pictures of himself. Chan scrolls through mirror selfie after mirror selfie, in which Jeongin is showing off various hats and streetwear brands, usually with a stern, focused expression—striking against the severe lines of his face. But then there are the pictures of him smiling, candids and group photos, most with the same two faces—one dark-haired, one blond—who are just as beautiful as Jeongin is. More model friends, probably. Changbin must have gotten his facts wrong. Chan has never seen cheekbones like Jeongin’s in his entire life—and when he smiles, he has dimples. 

“He dyes his hair a lot,” Jisung says, peering over Chan’s shoulder now. “Cool kid.”

“It’s red right now,” Chan says, absently, as he studies one particularly cute photo of Jeongin posing with an iced coffee.

“You were thinking of dyeing yours soon, right?” Changbin says to Jisung, who nods and excitedly launches into a description of the new highlights he wants. Chan is only half-listening—of its own accord, his thumb continues to swipe through photo after photo, back through the months. Jeongin petting a stray cat. Jeongin with his arms around two younger boys—maybe those siblings or cousins he mentioned. Jeongin eating ice cream at Nami Island. Each picture is somehow lovelier than the last, and Chan’s gaze softens, seeing how genuinely happy he looks in all of them. He must really like being photographed, he thinks, vaguely.

The next photo Chan stops on, he assumes to be Jeongin’s younger brother—he’s a much younger child, beaming for the camera, dressed in a slightly-wrinkled high school uniform. Paternal instincts kicking in, Chan feels a fond smile spreading across his face. It isn’t until he takes a closer look at the smile in the picture, and the eyes, and the dimples, that Chan startles—no, it’s still Jeongin. Seventeen or eighteen years old, probably, he thinks, something uncomfortable churning in his gut. Chan has scrolled back far enough—and Jeongin was in high school recently enough—that he stumbled on a photo of him as a child.

Chan swipes the app closed and all but drops Jisung’s phone as he shoves it back into his hand. “That’s great!” he says, apropos of nothing.

Changbin and Jisung both slowly turn their heads to look at him, clearly cut off mid-sentence by Chan’s outburst.

“Really good,” Chan says, combing a hand quickly back through his hair. He stands up. “Right. I ought to be getting back soon. Working from home this afternoon again, while he learns the ropes. For his, um. The ropes for his first day.” Chan doesn’t know why he’s sweating so much today. The office’s air conditioner must be on the blink.

“No, hyung,” Jisung whines. “The album, remember?”

“Tomorrow,” Chan says, hastily packing his belongings into his laptop bag and tucking it under his arm. He takes a deep, steadying breath. Nothing happened. He doesn’t even know what he was freaking out about. Everything is fine.

* * * * *

Chan does manage to get some work done at the house, while he waits for Jeongin and the girls to get home. His home office—set up downstairs, in their finished basement—is not nearly as conducive to productivity as his studio, but with the rest of the house quiet, there are few distractions to keep him from answering those neglected emails. The boring parts of his job are still important, he reminds himself as he reviews next quarter’s release schedule, absentmindedly straightening the pens in his desk organizer so the caps all face the same direction.

At quarter past 3, he sees a cluster of shadows passing the garden-level window above his desk—the only natural light source in the office. He pulls his headphones off to the sound of approaching voices, followed shortly by the turning of a key in the lock and the front door swinging open.

“Daddy! Daddy’s home!” Deiji’s voice carries down the stairs like a cheery, candy pop melody. “These are Daddy’s shoes,” Chan hears her explaining to Jeongin, and warmth curls in his chest. 

“Yes, they are,” Jeongin says. “That means Da— Um. Your dad is home, but he’s working, remember? What did we say we were going to do when we got home?”

A brief silence. Chan can imagine Deiji’s little mouth hanging open, zoning out as she tries to remember what they agreed on doing.

“Be super quiet,” Nari’s voice cuts in—but helpfully, not rudely. “And show Jeongin-ssi up to our playroom without disturbing Daddy.”

“That’s right,” Jeongin says. “Thanks, Nari. Does anyone need a snack or something before we go upstairs?”

The sound of thundering footfalls erupts over Chan’s head—clearly the girls making an excited beeline for the kitchen. Chan shakes his head, laughing to himself. Trying to keep them quiet and tempting them with snacks? Rookie mistake. He sets his headphones back over his ears, and the noise cancellation blocks out all but the hardest of stomps on the floor above him. Soon, the noises cease altogether.

Chan wills himself to focus on his work. It’s harder now, much harder than before, with his daughters just upstairs. He knows logically that some amount of separation is healthy. Parents should know how to spend time apart from their children. It’s just hard to juggle that with the desire to be with them always, to witness every moment of their growth and not miss a single second of it. It feels like yesterday that Nari was Deiji’s age, and now she’s what—seven?? Unbelievable, he thinks. It must be the same fatherly instinct that has him thinking about Jeongin, too, and wanting to observe his first day. He was so nervous yesterday, so tightly-wound, and Chan just wants to see how he’s settling in.

He holds out for another forty-five minutes, before finally giving into the urge to close his laptop. Just a quick break, he tells himself, climbing the stairs up out of the basement, and the next set up to the second floor. Just to say hi, and then he’ll be right back to his work.

The door to the playroom is open a crack. When he and Sana designed the house, they put a lot of thought into making this room perfect. Wall-to-wall bookshelves house the girls’ mountains of books, games, and puzzles, and the loveseat has washable cushion covers, for the inevitable stains. Peering inside, Chan can see the three of them, clustered around the low coffee table, their heads close together as they all pore over something. As he takes a few steps closer and silently swings the door open all the way, he can see it’s a Lego kit instruction sheet.

“I told you, it’s not right,” Nari says, jabbing her finger at one of the diagrams. “The long one has to go on the base, or the wheels won’t go on.”

“I see, I see,” Jeongin says. He struggles with one of the pieces until it pops off in his hand. “I don’t know how we missed that,” he mutters under his breath.

“I wanna put the rainbow on,” Deiji whines. She’s kicking her little feet out behind her as she leans forward on the coffee table. “Can I do the rainbow?”

“The rainbow goes on last,” Nari says, but she hands the piece to Deiji anyway. “It’s decorative. We’re troubleshooting structural problems right now.”

“And Deiji, just—” Jeongin reaches over to Deiji, carefully uncurling her fist and looking over the Lego in her hand. “Okay, that one’s not too small. Just don’t put anything in your mouth, okay??”

Chan is leaning against the doorframe, watching this all unfold with crossed arms and a contented smile on his face when Nari catches sight of him. She gives a delighted little gasp, then glares at him. “Daddy,” she says. “That’s creepy.”

Jeongin whips his head around, his elbow catching the box of unused pieces and sending it tumbling to the floor, Legos scattering across the hardwood with a resounding clatter. Deiji jumps up and charges towards him, calling “Daddy!” at the top of her lungs. 

Chan bursts into a fit of giggles, bending down to catch her in a hug. “Hi,” he laughs, peering around her to see Jeongin crawling around on his knees, scrambling to stop the pieces in his immediate vicinity from rolling any further away, and somehow managing to send even more of them flying. He’s clumsy, Chan thinks, utterly charmed.

Jeongin sits back on his heels, blowing his bangs out of his eyes with an exasperated puff of air and looking up at Chan. “Hi,” he says, fingers spread on his docilely folded knees. “Sorry, I—I made a mess.”

Chan blinks a few times, speechless. It’s fine, of course. He doesn’t mind cleaning up messes—it’s very cathartic for him, actually. There’s nothing… wrong with what Jeongin has done, or said. Chan doesn’t know why something in his brain is short-circuiting right now.

On the other side of the table, Nari is picking up one piece at a time and carefully placing them back inside the empty box. “Accidents happen,” she says, wearily, and Chan snaps back to himself. 

He gives Deiji’s hand a squeeze. “Come on,” he whispers in her ear. “They look like they could use our help.”

When Jeongin sees Chan joining him on the floor, his cheeks flush a very adorable crimson. “Oh, Chan-ssi, please, really,” he says. “You don’t have to—”

Chan fishes a pink plastic wheel out from under the sofa. “What are we building?” he asks, genuinely trying to remember where this set came from.

“A roller skate,” Nari says proudly, holding up their progress so far. 

“I can see that!” Chan says, even though his daughter is showing him an amorphous pile of bricks that doesn’t resemble anything whatsoever.

Jeongin has found the lid to the box, and offers it in Chan’s direction. “It says ages 8 and up, but they both were so excited to put it together,” he says. “I figured it would probably be okay.”

“Of course it’s okay,” Chan says. He sweeps his arm under the coffee table, gathering what he hopes are the last of the missing pieces. He tosses them in the box and replaces it carefully on the table top. “Anything to keep them off their screens. Isn’t that right, girls?”

Nari rolls her eyes so aggressively that her whole head swivels. “He’s obsessed with screentime. All of my friends are allowed to go on their iPads more than I am.”

Chan shrugs. “What can I say? Call me traditional.” He pushes himself to his feet with an exaggerated groan. “I am an old man, after all.”

“You’re not old,” Jeongin says, quickly, which is untrue, but incredibly sweet of him to say. What a considerate young man, Chan finds himself thinking again. He offers him a hand in standing up, and Jeongin takes it. 

He has a very singular grip. The feel of it is familiar, from their handshake when they met, and no less remarkable today than it was yesterday. His palm is soft, like someone rubs lotion into it every night, but he clasps Chan’s hand tightly—those long, pianist’s fingers curled around his own, hanging on as if for dear life.

As soon as Jeongin is standing, he drops Chan’s hand, which makes sense—he only needed it to stand up. Chan lets his own drift behind his back, clenching and unclenching his fingers. 

“Much older than you are,” he says, and immediately, immediately regrets it. Maybe it’s the conversation with Changbin and Jisung still lingering in his mind, but something suddenly feels very awkward. He laughs, a little too loudly.

“How old are you, Jeongin-ssi?” Deiji asks, tugging on Jeongin’s hand, the one that Chan was just holding.

Jeongin opens his mouth to respond, but Chan gently shushes his daughter. “Now, now, Deiji. That’s not polite to ask a grown-up.”

“Daddy,” Nari says. She’s been studying the instruction sheet again. “Can we keep working on this now?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” Chan says. “Do you need Jeongin’s help, or can I steal him from you?”

“You can have him,” Nari says. She flashes an impish smile in Jeongin’s direction. “He kept messing us up, anyway.”

Deiji bursts into giggles, and Jeongin makes an affronted noise and puts a scandalized hand to his chest.

“Be good, then,” Chan says. “We’ll just be a few minutes.” He moves toward the door, hovering a hand behind Jeongin to usher him along. As Jeongin turns, Chan’s fingertips graze his waist, just above his belt, and he feels Jeongin tense up slightly. He retracts them quickly—he doesn’t want Jeongin to think that was intentional. 

They settle down in the living room again, just like yesterday—Chan in the armchair, Jeongin on the couch. He seems to be sitting a little less stiffly today, which is good. Progress, Chan thinks.

“Did you get the money transfer this morning okay?” Chan asks.

Jeongin nods. “Thank you again,” he says, quietly, his eyes lowered. 

“And how were they after school?”

“Oh,” Jeongin says, and when he meets Chan’s gaze, his wide, dark eyes are practically sparkling. He is beautiful, Chan thinks, startled. His beauty is arresting, in a haunting, desolate sort of way, especially when he widens his eyes like that. He really should be modeling, if he isn’t already.

“They were perfect,” Jeongin says. “I picked them up, and we hung out at the school playground until all their friends went home, and then we all took the bus back together. They were so well-behaved, really.”

Chan’s chest swells with pride. “That’s good,” he says. “I’m glad to hear it. They’re… they’re good kids.” His voice is embarrassingly thick with emotion. If he’s being honest, he can feel tears threatening to spring to his eyes. It’s just hard to express in words sometimes, how proud he is of his girls.

Jeongin doesn’t comment on it, only offers Chan a soft smile.

“And you don’t have to worry about policing their screentime, by the way,” Chan says quickly, after taking a breath. “Their iPads lock on their own after a set amount of time. I appreciate that you got them to do a real activity—really, more than you know—but if you’re ever having a bit of a lazy day, they’re allowed to play their games for up to an hour.” He grimaces. “That shouldn’t be enough to rot their brains too badly, right?”

Jeongin just smiles and shakes his head. “No, I don’t think these girls’ brains are in any danger.”

“No, you’re probably right. I know, I know, I worry too much.” Chan stands, backing up towards the kitchen. “Can I get you anything to drink, by the way? Coffee, water?”

Jeongin stands too. “Actually, water would be lovely. Thank you.”

“One water, coming right up,” Chan says. As he takes down a glass and fills it from the refrigerator, Jeongin slowly makes his way over, his gaze lingering on the photos on the wall. Most of them are shots of the girls—some professional, a good number that Chan took himself. There’s one of Chan’s mom holding baby Nari, her first grandchild, and one of both girls on the beach in Sydney, where Chan grew up, where his parents still live. One of his favorite pictures of himself, Changbin, and Jisung hangs among the family photos—Jisung holding his first ever Daesang, smiling like the sun, with the other two on either side of him, beaming, basking in his radiance.

Jeongin has stopped in front of a particular family portrait—one of the ones that Chan had re-printed and re-framed after he let Sana take the original.

“Is this your wife?” Jeongin asks. 

“Yes,” Chan says. “Sana.”

“She’s beautiful,” Jeongin says, his voice soft. 

Chan hums. It is a particularly striking photo of her—not that Sana is capable of taking a bad one. The slight downward tilt of her head sends her long red hair cascading over one shoulder, and her sharp eyes are piercing as they seek out the camera’s lens. With a hand on each of the girls’ shoulders, she comes across as a proud lioness, fiercely protecting her cubs. His own affable, toothy grin feels weak by comparison. 

“How long have you been together?” Jeongin asks.

“Oh, we’re not,” Chan says. They’ve decided to keep their separation quiet, at least for now, but for some reason, he doesn’t think twice before telling Jeongin.

“Oh,” Jeongin says. He pauses, waiting for Chan to say more.

“She’s on tour right now,” Chan says. “We’ll get everything finalized when she’s back. Legally, I mean. It would have needlessly complicated things to have to make a custody determination before she left the country for six months. So I’ve been hanging onto the girls on my own for now, but. We’ll see what happens when she gets back.”

A stricken look crosses Jeongin’s face. “I’m sorry,” he says, sounding genuinely heartbroken. “I didn’t know.”

“No, of course not,” Chan says. “Right, and that’s not public information. Do me a favor and don’t spread it around, alright?”

“Of course not,” Jeongin says, quickly and earnestly, and Chan can’t help but smile again. He takes everything so seriously, this kid. There’s an itch somewhere inside Chan that needs scratching, that wants to help him loosen up.

Like yesterday, his hand finds Jeongin’s shoulder—although this time, it’s not to calm him down from a panic attack. He gives him a squeeze, right at the base of his neck. A reassuring, fatherly touch, he’s sure it comes across as. Jeongin doesn’t tense up this time, but Chan almost thinks he can hear the soft breath that escapes his lips.

In his other hand, the glass of water he’d poured for Jeongin is starting to sweat. He releases Jeongin, passing him the glass, registering once more the softness of his fingers as they brush his own to take it.

Chan turns away. It’s refreshing, he thinks, to interact with someone who’s never heard his name—who doesn’t see him as the CEO of 3RACHA Entertainment, or the high-profile music producer with the endless catalog of award-winning albums, or the trophy husband to music legend Sana Minatozaki.

“You’re too young to really know our music, then? Her music, I mean,” Chan says.

He hears Jeongin swallow down a sip of water, the satisfied little sigh he makes after taking a long drink. He can picture the bob of his prominent Adam’s apple as he swallows it down.

“I don’t know,” Jeongin says. “I’m twenty-two.”

As Chan thought.

Chapter Text

“Get the door— ”

“Hah. Trying.”

“Try harder,” Hyunjin laughs, then gasps as it gives way out from under him, swinging into the darkness of Changbin’s apartment. The two of them stumble inside, a tangle of arms and legs and hot, boozy breaths against each other’s mouths. Changbin all but kicks the door shut behind them. 

Hyunjin feels the whole room tilt as he leans down to unzip his heeled boots one at a time. Giddily, he realizes that he’s drunk, certainly drunker than he intended to be this evening, and he has to stabilize himself with a hand on Changbin’s shoulder to keep from falling over.

Changbin visibly stills, like he’s trying to make himself as sturdy as possible for Hyunjin to lean on, while maybe feeling less than steady himself. Once Hyunjin manages to step out of his shoes, Changbin crowds him back against the door, picking up where they left off, moments ago, in the elevator.

“Ah—” Hyunjin moans, as Changbin’s mouth finds the side of his neck and he sucks a sharp bruise into his skin.

“I had a really, really nice time tonight,” Changbin says between kisses, his voice a little slurred. They both had one nightcap too many. “A really, really, really nice time.”

Hyunjin makes some kind of affirmative noise. The next time Changbin comes up for air, Hyunjin drags him in by his tie to kiss him for real. Changbin meets him, open-mouthed, the fierce press of his tongue like fire in Hyunjin’s gut.

He pulls away too soon, nipping at Hyunjin’s upper lip before leaning back and out of reach. “What about you, baby?” Changbin asks, caressing the nape of Hyunjin’s neck with one compact, muscular hand.

“Use your brain,” Hyunjin says, a little rudely, but what kind of a question is that? He sways a little on his feet, surging forward to chase another kiss.

Changbin pulls back again, studying Hyunjin with barely concealed want. Hyunjin can feel it—Changbin’s eyes like two hot coals, scorching him with the heat of their desire. “You’re feeling good?” Changbin asks. His thumb soothes along Hyunjin’s pulse point, his fingertips in his hair. “Didn’t drink too much?”

“I could be feeling better,” Hyunjin says, his hands finding Changbin’s belt buckle and working it loose.

Changbin practically growls, wrapping one arm around Hyunjin’s waist and yanking him in closer, so their fronts are pressed together. Something inside Hyunjin burns.

“I’m trying to check in,” Changbin says, his voice low, a hint of desperation in it.

Slowly, Hyunjin tilts his head to the side. Even without the heels on, he still has some height on Changbin. “You’re saying you don’t want me?” he says, parting his lips just so. Watching Changbin’s eyes unmistakably move to them.

Changbin grinds his hips forward, still holding Hyunjin in place, and Hyunjin gasps as he feels the slow drag of Changbin’s hard-on against his thigh. “I always want you,” he says, and Hyunjin knows he means it. “You want me, too?”

“Fuck me,” Hyunjin breathes, looking down his nose and into Changbin’s smoldering, half-lidded eyes. “Right here. Against the door.”

Changbin lets out a low laugh, rocking their hips together again. “But I like how you look against my sheets,” he says, leaning in to mouth at Hyunjin’s cheek, his ear—anywhere he can reach, it seems. “I like when you leave and my bed still smells like you.” 

Hyunjin moans into another hot, open-mouthed kiss, winding his arms around Changbin’s neck. Fine, he can fuck him in his bed. It’s still just fucking. It doesn’t matter that the server at the ridiculously expensive, Michelin-starred restaurant Changbin just took him to thought they were a couple, or that Changbin made a joke to her about celebrating their anniversary there next year. It doesn’t matter that, at the cocktail bar they stopped at afterwards, Changbin chased off the guy trying to hit on Hyunjin with just a possessive arm around the back of his chair. Like he owned him. Like the guy had made a very rude mistake, having designs on another man’s property.

It doesn’t matter that this is the third night Hyunjin has come over to Changbin’s place, breaking his self-imposed rule of hotel hook-ups only. It doesn’t matter because they are still, despite all that, seeing each other casually.

When Changbin hoists him up into his arms, Hyunjin’s long legs wrap around his waist, smooth as any well-choreographed dance. Changbin carries him to his bed like that, and Hyunjin can’t help ducking his face into Changbin’s neck and giggling.

“What’s funny, princess,” Changbin says, and Hyunjin can hear the smile in his voice even before he pulls back and sees it on his face.

Hyunjin traces the muscles of Changbin’s upper back with one long, slender finger. “So strong,” he muses, in a girlish, teasing voice. He flicks Changbin in the back of the head. “Showoff,” he says, in his normal tone.

“You like it when I show off for you,” Changbin says, laying Hyunjin carefully down on the bed and crawling on top of him.

Hyunjin hums in disagreement. “Nope,” he says, biting his lip. He loves having Changbin’s full weight on top of him like this. Pinning him down. Keeping him from escaping.

Changbin studies Hyunjin’s face for a long, quiet moment, his expression soft, but intense. One of his hands moves to Hyunjin’s cheek, the backs of his fingers trailing slowly over his jaw.

Hyunjin wriggles under the weight of his gaze, the tender caress of his hand. “What,” he says, feeling a pressure on his chest that is much, much more than Changbin’s body weight.

“You,” Changbin says. His thumb strokes the mole just under Hyunjin’s left eye, downy-soft. “You’re…” He trails off, shaking his head. “You’re beautiful, Hyunjin-ah.”

It’s nowhere near the first time Changbin has called Hyunjin beautiful, but for some reason, this one guts him. Maybe he really has had too much to drink. “What are you waiting for then,” he mumbles, turning his face into the sheets—an uncharacteristically shy gesture from him, but he’s feeling… uncharacteristic tonight.

Changbin gets a hold on Hyunjin’s chin and turns his face back to his–carefully, but firmly. “I’ll fuck you, sweetheart,” he says. “Don’t you worry about that. Just…”

Hyunjin tries to look away, but Changbin’s grip is unyielding. He arches up against him instead, grinding their bodies together once more. “Just what?” he says, hooking a leg around Changbin’s own, his heel digging into Changbin’s ass to press him even closer. 

Surprisingly, Changbin doesn’t react to the move. He just keeps looking at Hyunjin, staring into his eyes for what feels like hours. “You,” he says, then swallows hard. When he speaks again, it’s slower, like he wants to make sure Hyunjin doesn’t miss a word. “You mean a lot to me. I know it’s soon, but—ah—”

Hyunjin has wrenched his face out of Changbin’s grasp, diving in to bite at his neck. Stop talking, he thinks. Don’t ruin this, just because you’re drunk and emotional. This is good. Don’t make me want anything more.

“Fuck,” Changbin groans. In one quick, fluid motion, he pins both of Hyunjin’s wrists above his head. That’s it, Hyunjin thinks, as he throws his head back and keens.

Their clothes fall away, a scramble of buttons and zippers and crumpled dress pants landing in heaps on the floor. Changbin tries to stretch Hyunjin open on two lube-slick fingers, but neither of them is feeling particularly patient tonight—it isn’t long before Hyunjin is knocking his hand away, fumbling for Changbin’s cock and pressing it to himself until Changbin takes the hint and bullies his way inside.

They both gasp in unison. Every time Hyunjin lets Changbin fuck him, he’s ready to be underwhelmed, ready for this to be the time the spark starts to fizzle out. Maybe next time, he thinks, his head reeling, the ceiling spinning overhead in lazy, pleasant circles. Changbin is big enough that it’s just on the edge of painful, with so little prep—but that’s what Hyunjin wants tonight. Fast and rough and casual, like he’s best at.

Which is why he finds it irritating that Changbin is fucking him slowly, methodically, each stroke deep and intentional even as Hyunjin is clenching desperately around him. He’s probably too drunk to thrust at a proper pace, Hyunjin thinks, although he can’t deny how good those slow, thorough thrusts feel. There’s no more pain, just fullness—fullness and toe-curling pleasure.

“So good,” Changbin pants, his head hanging between his shoulders as he braces hard on his forearms. “So perfect, baby. Fuck.”

Hyunjin moans, writhing on Changbin’s cock as he keeps up that brutally controlled tempo. 

“God,” Changbin says, leaning in to kiss Hyunjin’s lips again, his hips stilling as he throws all his focus into Hyunjin’s mouth. Hyunjin can’t even bring himself to complain, because his mouth tastes so sweet and he kisses him so well. 

Their lips part eventually, but not far—Hyunjin can still feel Changbin’s hot breath tickling his lips every time he exhales. “Again,” he hears himself say. “Kiss me like you… like you need it.”

Changbin laughs, thick and hazy, and dives back in to smother Hyunjin in the deepest, most ravenous kiss, not caring if Hyunjin needs to breathe, if the scrape of his teeth is too much too fast or his tongue is too forceful in Hyunjin’s mouth.

Hyunjin is never drinking this much again. He swears he almost said kiss me like you love me.

Once Changbin starts moving in earnest, it’s over much too fast—for both of them. Hyunjin doesn’t know how he’s supposed to hang on when Changbin is snapping his hips like that, smearing his wet lips across his cheek to whisper in his ear. “Perfect, beautiful. Fuck, perfect—God, you’re perfect, I’m gonna come—”

“Inside,” Hyunjin pants, and Changbin swears again, fucking Hyunjin with one, two, three more deep, heavy thrusts before he whimpers and spills inside him. Hyunjin can feel him everywhere, the hot evidence of his pleasure, and it nearly knocks the wind out of him. 

He’s learned over these past few weeks that Changbin doesn’t like finishing first—unless Hyunjin is close behind him. When Hyunjin fondly called him a service top, Changbin had somehow never heard the term before, and that’s not him being old. For a successful, well-connected music producer, he just kind of lives under a rock. Anyway, it’s no surprise that even as Changbin is riding out the aftershocks of his release, he fumbles between them to wrap his fist firmly around Hyunjin’s cock. One touch, and Hyunjin is finished.

Lying together afterwards, his head on Changbin’s pec, both of their chests still heaving, it finally occurs to Hyunjin that they were supposed to use a condom. He hasn’t made that mistake in a while. He has one in his bag he could’ve dug out. He knows Changbin has them in his bedside drawer—they opened a fresh box last night. They’ll have to have a serious conversation now, about testing and other partners, but Hyunjin can’t bring himself to regret it. Not when he can still feel Changbin’s come slowly seeping out of him.

Once the sweat has started to dry on Hyunjin’s wrung-out body, he pushes himself up into a seated position. “I’m gonna shower before I go,” he says. “Do you still have a towel I can use?”

Changbin watches him sit up, one arm folded behind his head in a way that absurdly flaunts his triceps. The other is still wound loosely around Hyunjin’s waist. “You could stay the night, you know,” he says. “I don’t bite.”

Hyunjin barks out a laugh, gesturing at a fading, purple bruise on his thigh, to say nothing of the state of his neck. Changbin breaks into a sheepish grin. “Well. You got me there,” he says, hoisting himself upright as well. He leans in to nuzzle Hyunjin’s nose. “Come on. I’ll order breakfast.”

Hyunjin never, ever spends the night. He certainly never does breakfast. He should remind Changbin as much, just so they’re on the same page, so Changbin can wipe the idea from his pretty little head. For some reason, though, what he ends up saying is: “What, you’re not gonna make it for me yourself?”

“Baby, I like you too much to subject you to my cooking.” Changbin’s hand is tracing up and down Hyunjin’s spine, gently stroking all of his vertebrae, like he treasures each one. His smile is mirthful, but the look in his eyes is shockingly sincere. “What do you say?” he asks, and presses a soft kiss to Hyunjin’s lips, lingering for long enough that Hyunjin’s eyes drift closed. “Stay awhile?”

Hyunjin knows that would be a bad idea. Sleepovers are how you catch feelings. There’s something far too intimate about falling asleep tangled in each other—just two warm, touch-starved bodies and no excuses. About letting someone else perceive him, unmasked and unconscious, and trusting them to be there in the morning. About waking up and getting to see Changbin rub the sleep from his eyes, witnessing the moment that perpetual, perfect smile blooms on his face.

It isn’t that Hyunjin decides to stay. He doesn’t. He just decides to lie back down for a bit, on Changbin’s pillowy chest, and to take that shower later. He’s physically exhausted, after all—he had a fitting early this morning, danced for three hours afterwards, and then of course there was the dinner and the drinks and the sex. He’s only listening to his body, and giving it the little rest that it deserves. It’s not his fault that he ends up drifting off, lulled to sleep by the calming, repetitive motion of a strong hand between his shoulder blades, his face buried in Changbin’s neck.

* * * * *

The next day is Friday, which means Hyunjin has his regular morning meeting with Jinyoung to go over his weekend schedule. He’s running late, of course, and feeling a little flustered as he unlocks his apartment door and hurries inside, dressed in borrowed clothes and in desperate need of coffee. Glancing at the time, he bites the bullet and texts Jinyoung, claiming he’s not feeling well and asking to do the meeting over the phone. He knows he’ll get shit for it, but there’s just no way he’s going to make it to his office in time.

His weekend is going to be packed, of course. He has two back-to-back photoshoots tomorrow, and needs to get to hair and makeup for the first one at 7 in the morning. When he points out that he won’t have time to get lunch in between, Jinyoung hums, like it was a minor oversight. “We’ll get you something light for the car ride,” he says. “You don’t want to be too bloated, anyway.”

“I’m still under my target weight,” Hyunjin says, his phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder as he throws his clothes from last night in the washing machine.

“For sure,” Jinyoung says. “It’s just those early morning shoots where you always look the puffiest.”

Hyunjin gives a noncommittal hum. If Jinyoung says so. He personally thinks he looks worse when he hasn’t eaten.

“We were supposed to take your new headshots today, but better postpone them until you’re feeling and looking a hundred percent. Why don’t you take the whole day off? You’re right, you’ve been working too hard.”

“I wasn’t complaining,” Hyunjin says, even though he knows it’s pointless. 

“Of course not,” Jinyoung says, mildly. “And I wouldn’t be doing my job well if I wasn’t keeping you busy! I know hundreds of models who’d kill for a schedule as full as yours.”

“But I’m the only one who has what it takes,” Hyunjin sighs. He doesn’t have it in him to start another argument with Jinyoung right now. His agent seems to be pretending the first one never happened, which is making Hyunjin feel crazy, but which also means he’s not mad at him anymore.

“That’s right,” Jinyoung says. “Now I’ll send a car for you tomorrow morning. Get a good night’s sleep, so you’re fresh and well-rested. You’re not going out tonight, are you?”

“I guess not,” Hyunjin says. 

“Good. You’ll be feeling better tomorrow, then?”

“Probably,” Hyunjin says. He starts the washer, glancing at his phone. This call has been going for forty-five minutes now, and he’s over it. He’s already decided that the second it’s over, he’s going to clean his entire apartment. It’s not in terrible shape, but something about Hyunjin’s scattered headspace right now makes him desperately want to throw some things away, or scrub something until it sparkles.

He also has new texts from Minho, which at least give him something to read while he says his distracted goodbyes to Jinyoung.

minho
[IMG_1548]
these were in the lost and found… again
in your neighborhood anyway, i know you’re at jackass’s office but can swing by and leave them inside xx

It’s a picture of Hyunjin’s Airpods case. The expensive, Italian leather is monogrammed with an ‘HHJ’—a gift from a client, of course—so it couldn’t very well be anyone else’s, and a quick check inside his bag reveals that his earbuds are indeed missing. He was texting Changbin on his commute home from the studio yesterday, not listening to music, so he didn’t even realize he’d misplaced them.

After Jinyoung has finally, finally let him hang up the phone, Hyunjin responds quickly.

hyunjin
literally how do i always do this
and i’m home rn actually!

minho
kay
5 away

hyunjin
thank you baby, you’re a lifesaver

Minho has a key—someone has to water the plants when he’s out of town—and Hyunjin hears it in the lock a few minutes later, while he’s manically throwing his coffee dishes in the dishwasher and brushing his teeth over the kitchen sink. “In here!” he calls, and soon Minho emerges from out of his front hallway, looking unfairly put together by comparison.

“Honey, I’m home,” Minho sing-songs, placing Hyunjin’s headphones on the kitchen counter.

“Don’t hug me, I haven’t showered yet,” Hyunjin says.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Minho says. He gives Hyunjin a once-over, his eyes narrowing. “What happened to you?”

Hyunjin laughs, nervously. He’s still feeling jittery, for some reason. “Just kind of a hectic start today,” he says.

“Uh huh,” Minho says. He slides onto one of Hyunjin’s barstools, propping his elbows up on the counter. “What are you wearing?”

“Huh?” Hyunjin looks down at himself, taking in the faded, unfamiliar sweatpants, the oversized WWE t-shirt that he’s currently drowning in. He’d laughed so hard when Changbin pulled it out of his drawer that he couldn’t very well have asked for a different one.

Minho’s mouth curls up into an innocent, tight-lipped smile. “Are those new?”

Hyunjin tosses a dish towel at Minho, which he expertly bats away from his face before it can hit him. “They’re his,” he mutters. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Minho mimics. His smile hasn’t gone anywhere.

“Stop staring.”

“Your neck is staring at me,” Minho says.

Hyunjin claps a hand over the most prominent bruise. “Stop,” he hisses, even if he’s secretly delighted that Minho noticed. “I’ll put concealer on. I wasn’t exactly expecting company.”

Minho twists around in his seat, craning his neck towards the open door of Hyunjin’s bedroom. “You made your bed awfully quick though,” he says. “Before you even showered? Impressive.”

Hyunjin whines, indignantly. “Hyung,” he says. “Don’t interrogate me today. I’m already hungover.”

“I bet,” Minho says.

“I didn’t mean to stay over.”

“Of course not,” Minho says.

“I didn’t!!” Hyunjin insists.

Minho’s smile only deepens, his eyes gleaming. “I didn’t say you did.”

“I’m not that stupid,” Hyunjin says. He plops down in the stool next to Minho, stretching out one arm and laying his head on it. “Ugh.”

Minho pats him sympathetically on the back. “Did you take your hangover drugs yet?”

“I have to get an STD test this weekend,” Hyunjin says, miserably.

Very considerately, Minho doesn’t react, or pry for details. “Want me to come with?” he asks.

“It’s okay,” Hyunjin says. He lays there for a bit, appreciating the comforting warmth of Minho’s hand on his back. He isn’t one to give out physical affection freely, so even the lightest touch means a lot.

“Hyunjin-ah,” Minho says, eventually. “If this guy is different, it’s okay for it to feel different.”

Hyunjin stiffens. “He’s not,” he says, automatically. He knows Changbin’s type. Accidents might happen, inhibitions might get lowered, but that doesn’t change the facts. Hyunjin knows his strongest assets are his looks. Everyone has always made sure to tell him that’s where his worth is—since he was in goddamn middle school. He understands what men like Changbin are here for, and how long their attention spans last. He’s not pretending there’s anything more to it than there is.

“Okay,” Minho says. “But you’re still having fun?”

“Fun, yeah,” Hyunjin says. “Remember how hot he is?” he adds, a little vacantly.

“Mhm.”

Hyunjin swallows, like he can smother back down the looming feeling of dread that’s trying to crawl up out of his chest. “Probably not long now,” he says.

Minho nods. He looks like he wants to say something more, but he doesn’t. “Okay, well. Keep me posted. On all the lurid details,” he says, raising his eyebrows, and making Hyunjin laugh weakly.

“Always,” he says.

After a quiet minute together, Minho retracts his hand. “Oh,” he says. “You’ll like this. I might have a hot date soon.”

Hyunjin sits upright, activated. “You what?! Oh my God, who? When? Tell me!!”

Minho flashes a toothy smile, giggling at Hyunjin’s admittedly over-the-top reaction. “One of the dads at the babies’ class. I gave him my number last week, and he hasn’t been the one to pick up his kid since then, so I’d kind of lost hope. But then he texted me today.”

“You sat on this for a week without telling me??”

Minho shrugs. “Didn’t know if it would pan out,” he says. “Besides, you’ve been busy.”

Hyunjin feels a pang of guilt hearing that, and is determined to make up for it by being the most enthusiastic friend and wingman Minho could ask for. “What’s he like?” he asks. “Besides hot?”

“He’s flirty,” Minho says. “Likes to hear himself talk. You can tell he’s a freak in bed.”

Hyunjin claps his hands together gleefully. “And he’s single?”

“He used to wear a ring, and he doesn’t anymore,” Minho says, with a smirk.

“Ooh, divorced,” Hyunjin says. “How scandalous.”

“You’d like him,” Minho says. “He’s older.”

“Fuck,” Hyunjin says, with a groan. “How much?”

Minho winks at him. “I’ll find out for you.”

Hyunjin grills him about his plans with this guy—none yet, Minho insists, as they’ve barely started texting—until the buzzer on his laundry goes off. Minho very astutely takes that as his cue to get out of his hair, slinging his bag over his shoulder and cautioning Hyunjin to keep a closer eye on his things, especially the valuable ones.

“I’ll try,” Hyunjin laughs, pulling Minho in for a tight embrace, and receiving another pat on the back in return. “I’m booked up Saturday, but see you Sunday? At the studio?”

“Yessir,” Minho says. “Unless I’m railing this hot dad.”

Hyunjin lets out an excited little shriek. “Okay, I hope I don’t see you then!!” He waves after Minho as he makes his way out the door. “Keep me updated!”

Once he’s alone again, Hyunjin checks his phone. Changbin has been texting him, of course. Even though he was expecting it, Hyunjin’s heart skips a beat when he sees his name.

changbin
Make it home okay?
You rushed off before I could follow through on that breakfast offer but I promise I’m good for it ;-)

Hyunjin tucks his hair behind his ear, smiling as he responds. For all he said to Minho, it’s hard to worry about anything when Changbin is being so stupidly cute.

hyunjin
feel like hell, actually
you got me drunk 😒

changbin
Imagine how I feel then!!
Without the constitution of a spry and youthful 25 year old!
Can I order greasy hangover breakfast to your place?

hyunjin
nice try
you wish you knew where i lived

changbin
I really do
Would love to come over to yours next time, if you’ll have me.
I’m sure the whole place is decorated to your style

Hyunjin curls up on his couch, phone in hand, his laundry long-forgotten. Changbin is right—he put a lot of thought into furnishing and decorating his apartment, in the hopes that someday soon, he’ll actually be able to spend time in it. The aesthetic of every room is painstakingly curated, especially compared to Changbin’s hopelessly basic decor. (The first night Hyunjin came over, he teased Changbin for it, saying it needed a woman’s touch. With a very unsubtle wink, Changbin insisted any artist’s touch would do the trick, and they went back and forth until somehow Hyunjin was on his knees in front of the ugliest leather couch he’d ever seen, demonstrating to Changbin just how deep he could take his cock down his throat. Changbin came in record time, which means that whatever the argument was, Hyunjin won it.)

Changbin is easily impressed, so Hyunjin is sure he’d like his place. He’d delight in his vintage furniture pieces, admire the plants taking over the windowsills and the fresh flower arrangements in every room. He’d probably heap compliments on the oil paintings on the walls without even realizing they’re Hyunjin’s own. Hyunjin would love to see the look on his face when he tells him.

hyunjin
maybe

changbin
Whenever you want. I can wait.
When can I see you again?

Hyunjin bites his lip. He never wants to seem too eager, but he needs to make the most out of this while he’s got it.

hyunjin
i guess i could be free tonight

Changbin takes a minute before responding.

changbin
Could you be free tomorrow night?
I said I’d do dinner at Channie’s tonight.
You know how I love to see my girls

Hyunjin’s heart sinks with disappointment, and with the bitter sting of rejection—both of which are unwelcome and unreasonable. He shouldn’t care. He literally saw Changbin this morning. He woke up in his arms, like he knew he would if he gave in and spent the night. The faint scent of Changbin’s morning breath, coming in soft, sleepy puffs against Hyunjin’s mouth, was not unpleasant, nor was the tang of his dried sweat. Hyunjin was definitely disoriented, but he was cozy and warm and all his limbs felt like they had turned to butter. It pained him to disentangle himself from Changbin’s embrace, to gently shake him from his sleep and tell him he needed something to wear so he could go home. Changbin’s mattress is probably to blame. Rich guys always have the most luxurious mattresses—of course Hyunjin didn’t want to leave.

All that to say—that was only a few hours ago. Hyunjin isn’t so needy that he needs to see him twice in one day!

hyunjin
tomorrow is kind of crazy for me but i’ll lyk

changbin
Okay!!
You could also
Do you want to come to dinner? As my plus 1
Channie always says the more the merrier

Hyunjin furrows his brow, his cheeks growing uncomfortably hot. As if his eagerness hadn’t been embarrassing enough—what is Changbin talking about? His plus one?? What does that even mean? How would it be appropriate for Changbin to bring around the guy he’s screwing to hang out at some family function? Is he really so naive that he doesn’t understand the implications of capital-i-Introducing Hyunjin to his friends?

hyunjin
i don’t know about that
my agent wants me to stay in anyway, i should be good and do it

changbin
Huh. Your agent doesn’t get a say in what you do with your free time!

Hyunjin actually laughs out loud at that, a harsh and unpleasant sound to his own ears.

hyunjin
tell that to him 🙃

changbin
What’s his number?
I’ll tell him

hyunjin
very funny

changbin
I’m not kidding!

Hyunjin shakes his head, but he feels himself smiling once again. He’s ridiculous. He’s always trying to seem so gallant—that’s why pays for everything, why he tried to insist on breakfast, why he jumps out of the car to open Hyunjin’s door for him and pushes his chair in when they go out to eat. That must be why he invited Hyunjin to this dinner, he realizes, with a rush of relief. He didn’t mean anything by it—just didn’t want to leave a damsel out in the cold.

hyunjin
anyway 
*i* want to stay in
thank you for the invite
have fun with the munchkins

changbin
Suit yourself, love. The offer stands
And I will :-)

Hyunjin puts his phone away to charge and sets his mind to enjoying his recovery day. He’s fantasized about having a day off like this—no work and no plans, just unstructured alone time to be with his thoughts and work on his art.

First, though, he has to clean. Arming himself with ibuprofen and electrolyte drinks, Hyunjin hangs up his laundry and puts away his clean dishes. He goes through his fridge, tossing old takeout and wilted veggies. He takes the trash out. He takes a break to take a long, hot shower, then scours his kitchen and bathroom, vacuums the entire apartment, and even mops the floors. Only once he’s run out of chores does Hyunjin realize he’s managed to pass almost an entire day without having to think about anything. 

His evening is now wide open for painting, something he’s always wishing he had more time to do. Hyunjin gets set up at his easel, lining up his paints and brushes in a satisfying array on his work table. He can paint anything he wants, he reminds himself, squeezing a few dabs of color onto his palette and blending them experimentally. His current artistic fixation with couples in love does not have to be the subject of this piece.

After an hour of standing at his easel mixing pants, Hyunjin has yet to put anything on the canvas. He doesn’t know what the problem is—he never gets artist’s block like this. He’s in his head about it, and it’s making it impossible to start. He cleans up, settling in on his bed with his sketchbook instead. He tries to start by drawing things he can see—his bookshelf, his flowers, the view through his window. Nothing is coming out right.

The sun has just started to set when Hyunjin realizes that he does not want to stay in tonight. His wonderful, spotless apartment feels stifling for some reason. He can’t paint, he can’t draw. He can’t even journal—and he tries. He can feel the emotions swirling in his busy head, desperate to manifest as words on the page, but he can’t make himself isolate them, let alone write them down.

He could see if Minho is free to go out. He’s about to text him and ask, actually, before something stops him. Minho knows him too well—he knows how much Hyunjin would normally treasure a night off, alone at home, so he would immediately know something was wrong. And while he wouldn’t pry if Hyunjin asked him not to… Hyunjin doesn’t know. He feels like Minho knows too much about things that Hyunjin doesn’t want to talk about. He doesn’t want to invite any more knowing looks tonight.

He could just suck it up and go to the gym. Some quick cardio wouldn’t kill him—and would help him sleep better tonight. Changbin won’t be there this late, he thinks, for no reason except that the gym makes him think about Changbin.

He certainly shouldn’t go to this dinner at Chan’s house—right? It would be weird… right?

Before he can make that determination, Hyunjin is hit with a flash of inspiration—he should text Jeongin. He hasn’t seen him since Sunday, when they went to Chan’s house together, and now that they’ve reconnected, Hyunjin is determined not to lose touch again. They’ve texted a few times since then—well, Hyunjin asked him how the first day of nannying went, and Jeongin said pretty good, and didn’t really elaborate. Hyunjin hopes his texts aren’t unsolicited, that he isn’t secretly irritated to keep hearing from him. He’s not so good at reading him as he once was. 

Regardless, Hyunjin has to try. He opens their conversation and sends Jeongin a text. 

hyunjin
hi jeonginnie! are you doing anything tonight?
after you’re done with the kids, of course

Jeongin responds almost immediately, as he always does.

jeongin
just left their house actually
i’m taking my roommates out for drinks lol
finally can afford to get the tab
i owe them for all the beer runs they did this summer

Hyunjin smiles, sadly. He didn’t have high hopes, especially on such short notice.

hyunjin
oh! that’s nice, have fun!

jeongin
thanks

He’ll just go to the gym. Even if his workout sucks, it’ll get him out of the house for an hour. And who knows, maybe he will catch Changbin squeezing in a post-work session before his dinner. He certainly didn’t go this morning—he was in bed with Hyunjin.

Would it be so insane to text Changbin and tell him he changed his mind? Would he be crazy to go to this dinner?

Yes, Hyunjin tells himself, tying up his hair and tucking his sneakers into his gym bag. Yes, you would. Don’t even think about it. He’s just slinging it over his shoulder when his phone lights up again—another text from Jeongin.

jeongin
do you wanna come?
i know you don’t know them but they’re really nice

Oh, Hyunjin thinks. He’s so sweet. He didn’t have to invite him. Hyunjin really must be so pitiful, if everyone is throwing him last-minute charity invites tonight. But it would be decidedly less weird to get drinks with Jeongin and his friends than to do a sit-down dinner with Changbin and his friends and their children. 

He pulls his hair back down from its ponytail, shaking it out with his fingers. The idea of meeting new people is nerve-wracking, but Hyunjin really, really needs something to do tonight.

hyunjin
okay! yes!!!
if i wouldn’t be intruding!

jeongin
honestly
you’d be a welcome fourth wheel

* * * * *

Hyunjin shows up at the agreed-upon spot a few minutes early, dressed to impress. He orders himself a glass of wine at the bar, closing out his tab before the tall, handsome stranger eyeing him from across the room has a chance to pick it up. Hyunjin normally wouldn’t mind—the guy is good-looking, although a few surreptitious glances reveal an unpleasant smugness to his face. Smugness doesn’t equal bad sex, though, and it’s not like Hyunjin has to only be sleeping with one guy at once, even if historically that is his modus operandi. There’s no good reason Hyunjin shouldn’t let this guy buy his drink and chat him up. The fact that it’s reminding him of Changbin shooing that other suitor away last night—of the thrill of satisfaction in Hyunjin’s chest when he realized he was being publicly claimed—is not a good reason. It’s a mediocre reason at best.

Needless to say, he’s relieved when Jeongin blusters in the front door flanked by two young strangers—one dark-haired, one blond—who could only be his roommates. “There he is,” Jeongin says, gesturing in Hyunjin’s direction and waving. 

Hyunjin jumps to his feet and gives them all a shy wave in return. “Hi!” he says, bowing his head politely. “I’m Hyunjin. Nice to meet you.”

The roommate with short, dark hair holds out a hand for Hyunjin to shake. He has strikingly pretty features, but a pleasant, humble smile, like he doesn’t know how handsome he is. “Kim Seungmin,” he says, returning the bow. “Nice to meet you, too.”

The other one steps forward. His shiny, blond hair is pulled back in a messy bun, and his big, brown eyes make his freckles pop even in the low light of the bar. “I’m Felix,” he says, with the sweetest, sunniest smile Hyunjin has ever seen. “I’m so glad you could make it. Can I hug you?”

Jeongin brings his palm to his own forehead. “At least now he asks first,” he says.

Hyunjin doesn’t mind. He’s grateful for the gesture—for the physical reassurance that he is, in fact, welcome. “Okay!” he says, and Felix immediately tugs him into a friendly hug. When he pulls back, he’s beaming, and Hyunjin finds himself smiling too. 

“We’re so excited to finally meet you!” Felix says, twining his arm around Seungmin’s and interlacing their fingers. “Jeonginnie talks about you like you’re a god.”

Jeongin bristles, his cheeks flushing a very cute pink as he hisses, “Felix!!” To Hyunjin, he says, “I do not.”

Hyunjin laughs, but his eyes are drawn to Seungmin and Felix’s clasped hands. He intuited the roommates were a couple from the fourth wheel comment, but he wasn’t expecting them to be such a cute one. They don’t separate as the four of them tuck into a booth—they slide onto one bench, Jeongin and Hyunjin take the opposite one. Seungmin holds Felix’s hand on the table in patient silence while Felix chats with their server for long enough that she starts glancing around at her other tables. Their energies are so different, but seem to balance each other beautifully. The moon and the sun, Hyunjin thinks, fondly.

“Do you guys come here a lot?” he asks, after they’ve ordered their drinks.

“I’ve been a little too unemployed to go anywhere a lot,” Jeongin says, ruefully. 

“Not anymore!” Felix cheers.

Seungmin reaches over to squeeze Jeongin’s shoulder with his free hand. “Congratulations. We knew you could do it.”.

Jeongin gives an embarrassed laugh. “It’s not anything huge to celebrate,” he says, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie. “Just a part-time gig.”

“A very well-paying one!” Hyunjin insists. “Lots of people dream of only working part-time.”

“Yeah,” Jeongin says. He blushes again, deeper this time. “Chan-ssi is unnecessarily generous.”

“Or he just knows what you’re worth,” Seungmin says. “People like him will pay for quality.”

“People like him…?” Jeongin asks. 

“Established people. Industry people.” When Jeongin only stares blankly, Seungmin huffs. “You do know he’s like, kind of famous, right?”

“He is?” Jeongin says, his expression betraying his total ignorance. Hyunjin vaguely knows this—a quick internet search of Changbin’s name brings up their company info, of which Bang Chan is the CEO. Hyunjin interacts with famous people a lot, though, for his job, and he’s learned not to make too big a deal about it. Especially if doing so might inflate the egos of certain show-offs who already know how hot they are without being made to feel like they and their friends are important. He’s just realizing now that Jeongin probably wouldn’t feel the same. 

“3RACHA Entertainment,” Hyunjin says. “Look them up.”

The phones come out. Hyunjin and Seungmin thank the server as she returns with their tray of drinks, since the other two are too engrossed to register it happening. 

“Sorry, this is the dad you’re nannying for?” Felix says, his jaw falling open in shock.

“Yeah,” Jeongin says absently, like he isn’t frantically thumbing through their Wikipedia page. 

“Jeonginnie,” Felix says. He shows the picture on his screen to Seungmin, then Hyunjin. It’s the same handsome, middle-aged man he embarrassed himself in front of on Sunday, though he’s traded the glasses and the house slippers for a black button-down, the top two buttons popped and the sleeves rolled up. 

“Jeonginnie,” Felix says again. “Jeonginnie.”

“What?”

“He’s a total DILF,” Felix says. “Why didn’t you say how hot he was.”

Jeongin refuses to make eye contact. “Stop being weird,” he says.

“Jeonginnie,” Felix says, looking completely scandalized. He turns to Seungmin. “Did you know about this?”

“I knew what he looked like,” Seungmin says, meeting Felix’s eyes with a playful smile. “You like him?”

“Minnie,” Felix says, like he can’t even dignify that with a response. Hyunjin gets it—Chan is gorgeous. 

“He represents HAN…?” Jeongin says, awestruck.

“Yeah, they all run the company together,” Hyunjin says. “Those two and—you know. Changbin.”

“Is that another producer?” Seungmin asks.

“Yeah, he’s, um. He’s a friend.”

“Ohhh,” Felix says, looking between Hyunjin and Seungmin, his eyes lighting up. “A friend. I understand.”

“He mentioned being in the industry and that his—his wife was famous,” Jeongin says, still lost in the world of his phone. “I guess she’s some big 2000s pop star. I started to look up her music, but then it felt too weird, I don’t know.”

That, Hyunjin didn’t know. “I’m surprised the kids aren’t little terrors, then,” he says. “Aren’t celebrity children usually spoiled rotten?”

“Not these ones,” Jeongin says. “They’re really good. Chan is like, the best dad I’ve ever seen.”

“You’ve been saying,” Seungmin says, and Hyunjin doesn’t miss the look he shoots Felix.

“Not to me!” Hyunjin says, leaning into Jeongin’s space and pouting. “I want to hear about them!”

Jeongin sighs, tucking his phone back in his pocket. “They’re just really sweet kids. They’re both so friendly, they just want to chat with me about everything. They’re always asking questions, the way kids do. I don’t know, they’re curious and smart and really funny. Watching them is obviously a little draining, but it’s genuinely fun to spend time with them, too.”

Hyunjin smiles, remembering that Changbin had said something similar.

“And Chan is just…” Jeongin trails off, slowly rotating his beer on the table with both hands. “He’s so good with them. He’s like… he sets rules with them, but they’re always happy to follow them, because he’s their dad and they want to listen to him. He’s not like, strict or anything, but he’s—I don’t know—firm? Like he knows what’s best for them.” He takes a long pull of his beer, then goes back to spinning the glass. “Obviously he knows what’s best for them. He’s their dad.”

“Right,” Felix says. “And you always want to be good for Daddy.”

Jeongin’s face goes scarlet. “Felix, stop,” he says, and Felix lets out a painful grunt that makes it clear he was kicked under the table. “It’s not funny.”

Seungmin looks at Hyunjin. “I think Felix wants Jeongin to seduce his boss,” he explains, as if Hyunjin needed help figuring that out.

“No one is seducing anyone,” Jeongin says quickly. “Felix just has to be weird and horny about everything.”

Felix wiggles his eyebrows with a smug little smile. “So?” he says.

“Listen, I get it,” Hyunjin says. “Trust me. Hot dads are on another level.”

“See?” Felix reaches over to clap Hyunjin on the shoulder, and his hand lingers to give his arm a little squeeze. “Hyunjinnie’s with me.”

“It does get messy when they’re married, though,” Hyunjin says. “Not that I haven’t been there.” He laughs nervously, instantly regretting the overshare. He’s been feeling so at ease that he forgot these are people he just met. 

“Oh boy,” Seungmin says, as Felix sits up straighter in his seat, his eyes lighting up. “Yes,” he says, tightening his grip on Seungmin’s hand. “Cheating is sexy.”

“No it’s not,” Jeongin snaps.

“I mean,” Hyunjin says. “It’s not good. It’s definitely bad.” Hyunjin doesn’t feel great about the fact that he’s slept with married men. He rationalizes it to himself in a number of ways—they were going to cheat anyway, it’s more on them than it is on him, he’s just helping them explore their sexuality outside the confines of heterosexual marriage. The truth is something a little more complicated. If their connection starts as an affair, there’s no room for him to get his hopes up for it to turn into anything more. Once a cheater, always a cheater, right?

“But it’s so sexy,” Felix says. “I’ve been trying to convince Minnie that we should do something like that. You know, like a cheating scenario. But where everyone consents to the cheating. That’d be even hotter.”

“Babe,” Seungmin says, shaking his head and smiling. “We’ve been over this. It’s not even cheating, then.”

“What I will say,” Hyunjin adds. “Is that it’s more complicated when there are kids involved. In a bad way. No one wants to be a homewrecker.”

“Jeonginnie does,” Felix says, in a teasing, gremlin voice.

Jeongin has been getting progressively redder and redder the deeper they get into this conversation, and at Felix’s last comment, he slams his hand down on the table. “He wouldn’t even be cheating, okay?” he says. “Not that I… But even if I did, he would never do that! He’s a good guy, and they’re not even together anymore!” 

No one speaks for a second, as Jeongin’s words catch up with them.

“Oh, shit,” Seungmin says.

Jeongin’s eyes go wide, and he claps both hands over his mouth.

“Really?” Seungmin asks. “He and his wife split?”

“Aw,” Hyunjin says, genuinely disappointed. He feels bad for those girls now. He wonders if Changbin knows—what is he talking about, of course he knows. And of course he wouldn’t say anything to Hyunjin about it.

“Fuck,” Jeongin says, frantically running a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone.”

“It’s okay,” Hyunjin says, gently. “We’re not going to say anything.”

“He asked me not to tell anyone,” Jeongin says again. “Guys, seriously, please. Nobody can know about this.”

“Know about what?” Seungmin says, blinking at Jeongin with a pleasantly blank stare. 

Felix leans his head on Seungmin’s shoulder, winking in Jeongin’s direction. “We weren’t even listening,” he says. “We were distracted by your pretty mouth. Was it saying something?”

“Thanks guys,” Jeongin says, rubbing his face with an exhausted sigh. He finishes his beer, glancing around for their server.

Hyunjin decides to give him a breather, and steer the conversation in another direction. “So,” he says, turning to Seungmin and Felix. “How long have you two been together?”

Felix beams, nestling his head closer into Seungmin’s neck. “A couple months, maybe?”

“Six weeks,” Seungmin says. He traces his thumb against the back of Felix’s hand. “Tomorrow, it’ll be six.”

“Oh wow,” Hyunjin says. “I would’ve guessed it was much longer than that.”

“Really?” Felix says, his eyes practically sparkling as he looks up at Seungmin. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Hyunjin says, smiling. “I can’t explain it. You fit together so well.”

Seungmin leans down to press a kiss to Felix’s cheek, then murmurs something against his ear that makes Felix giggle.

“They’re just codependent,” Jeongin says, by way of explanation. “They’ve been best friends since freshman year, and have lived together for almost that long. You couldn’t separate them if you tried.” He rolls his eyes a little, but Hyunjin can feel something deeper behind his words—a little bit of longing, a lot of love.

“That’s so sweet,” Hyunjin says, sighing dreamily. “A real life friends to lovers arc.”

“And Seungmin is quite the lover,” Felix says, grinning mischievously at Hyunjin. Hyunjin raises his eyebrows. Jeongin groans and buries his face in his hands.

Seungmin pinches Felix in the side, but seems otherwise unfazed. “Tell us about your guy, Hyunjin-ssi,” he says.

“Just Hyunjin, please,” Hyunjin says, quickly. “Or hyung, if you like.”

“Okay, hyung,” Seungmin says. “Spill.”

Hyunjin laughs, running a hand through his hair and polishing off his drink just as another round hits the table. Perfect timing, he thinks. “I don’t really have a guy,” he says. 

“The other 3RACHA producer,” Seungmin says, flatly. “Changbin, you said? He’s the one who got Jeongin the job.”

“I think Jeongin got himself the job,” Hyunjin says, redirecting. “With his lovely and charming personality."

“Of course,” Seungmin agrees, ignoring Jeongin’s protests. “But what’s the guy’s deal?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Hyunjin says. He laughs again, for no real reason, tracing the rim of his glass with one finger. “I’m kind of seeing him right now. It’s kind of complicated.”

Felix hums. “Is he also a DILF?”

“No,” Hyunjin says, laughing again. God, why can’t he stop that? “Absolutely not. No kids. Not that he wouldn’t be great with them,” he adds. “He’s got that hot uncle thing going on right now—he’s obsessed with Jeongin’s charges. He’s with them right now, actually—they’re doing a dinner at Chan’s place.”

“The girls would not stop talking about Uncle Changbin and Uncle Hannie coming over tonight,” Jeongin confirms. 

“Yeah, um,” Hyunjin tucks his hair behind his ear. “He actually wanted me to come? But I thought that would be weird.”

“You don’t like kids,” Felix says, nodding in understanding.

“No!” Hyunjin says. “Kids are fine. It would actually be really cute to see him with them.” He can picture Changbin swinging the little one up into the air, setting her on his big shoulders and making jokes about her being taller than him. He smiles into his glass as he takes another drink of his wine. “We’re just like, not together like that, you know? Which is fine, I’m not really looking for that right now. I’m really busy with work and stuff.”

Seungmin nods. “I get that. I used to find dating really draining.”

“Poor baby,” Felix coos, biting Seungmin’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Hyunjin says. “I mean, spending time with him isn’t draining. It’s always nice, even if it’s my only free time of the day. Which is good, because he is needy,” Hyunjin laughs again. “He wants to see me, like, every night. It’s kind of ridiculous.”

“Are you an introvert?” Seungmin asks.

Hyunjin nods. “Usually, yeah.”

“That’s interesting that you always make time for him, then.” He turns his and Felix’s interlaced fingers over. “I can only do that for a few choice people.” He nods in Jeongin’s direction. “These losers, for example.”

“Yeah,” Hyunjin says. “I don’t know, I think it’s just his personality. He’s very… I don’t know how to say this without sounding vain,” he says, with another uncontrollable laugh. The alcohol has started to work its way into his system, and he can feel it loosening his tongue. “He’s very me-focused? And I don’t just mean in bed, although...” He shields his eyes in mock-shyness, as Felix lets out a delighted gasp. “He’s always trying to do little things that will make me happy, or make me laugh, or make my life easier in some way. I never feel like I have to entertain him, or carry the conversation, because he’s happy to keep it going, or to just sit in silence with me, and it doesn’t feel weird. And when I talk, it really feels like he’s listening, you know? Like his answers are really thoughtful. I don’t know. It makes it easy to spend time with him.”

After he finishes rambling, there’s a kind of awkward silence. Felix is looking at Hyunjin with what he can only describe as heart eyes. Thankfully, Jeongin speaks up. “I didn’t know you were an introvert, hyung,” he says.

“Really?” Hyunjin says, surprised. He definitely has always been one, even in high school.

“You always seemed so good with people,” Jeongin says. “Maybe I was just that weird and awkward, but you seemed so cool and put-together around strangers.”

“You weren’t awkward, you were cute!” Hyunjin says, wrapping his arms around Jeongin, who attempts to wriggle free. 

“Let me go,” Jeongin laughs. He hunches his shoulders and gasps when Hyunjin nuzzles just under his ear. “Hyung! Get off!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Hyunjin grumbles, releasing him. “Forgot about your whole sensitive neck thing.”

Seungmin and Felix perk up in unison, like Hyunjin has just rung a dinner bell. “Pardon?” Seungmin says.

“Jeonginnie has a sensitive neck?” Felix asks, a grin spreading across his face that Hyunjin can only describe as hungry.

“Oops,” Hyunjin says, hiccupping into his hand. He is definitely tipsy again. He’s going to look hungover tomorrow, and Jinyoung is just going to have to deal.

“I do not,” Jeongin says. Felix reaches across the table to test for himself, and he swats his hand away, but Seungmin takes the opportunity to sneak in while he’s distracted and tickle his neck on the other side. Jeongin cries out, shrugging his shoulders up to his ears and clapping his hands to either side of his neck. 

“Oh wow,” Felix says. “Oh wow.”

“I hate you,” Jeongin says to Hyunjin.

“Is it just his neck?” Seungmin asks.

“That’s the worst spot,” Hyunjin says. “But he’s kind of just sensitive in general. Like his shoulders… or his waist…” 

“And it’s such a cute waist,” Felix says, his eyes tracing down Jeongin’s silhouette as far as he can see, then meeting Hyunjin’s. “It’d be a shame if someone were to grab it.”

Hyunjin snakes an arm around behind Jeongin and tickles him just above his belt. Jeongin yelps and jumps up in his seat, while Seungmin and Felix fall over each other laughing.

“I’m not sensitive anymore!” Jeongin insists, clenching his jaw. “It’s just my neck, the rest is fine! I didn’t react at all when Chan-ssi…” He stops, but the damage is done. 

“Oh no.”

“When Chan-ssi what?”

“Jeonginnie. What did he do.”

Three voices clamor over each other at once. For the hundredth time this evening, Jeongin’s face starts to go red.

“He didn’t do anything,” Jeongin says, his hands still protectively covering his neck. “He’s just kind of. I don’t know. Touchy-feely.”

“He’s touchy-feely??” Seungmin says, his mouth hanging open. “With you, his new nanny?”

“Forget seducing him. He wants to fuck you,” Felix says. He looks at Hyunjin and Seungmin. “He wants to fuck him, right?”

“Where exactly does he touch you,” Hyunjin says slowly, though he’s inclined to agree with Felix.

“He–he doesn’t… touch me!! You’re making it sound dirty!” Jeongin says. “He, like… okay, like on the first day I was kind of panicking, and he touched my shoulder. Like, in a super tame, comforting way. He’s done that like, one more time. Maybe two.”

“Okay…” Seungmin says. “And?”

“And… I don’t know. He asked about my rosary ring, and he kind of, like. He kind of touched the back of my finger when he was pointing to it. And like, helped me get my bag on my shoulder one time when I was leaving, ‘cause my arms were full. It’s all stuff like that! All perfectly tame!” 

“He asked about your ring?” Hyunjin says. “And touched the back of your finger?”

“You’re making it sound weird! He’s like, a dad!” Jeongin says.

“Yeah,” Felix says, his mouth twisting into a smile. “He sure is.”

“I have to pee!” Jeongin yelps, pushing himself past Hyunjin and out of the booth. “Get your minds out of the gutter!” He shouts over his shoulder, fleeing the room.

“Me too,” Seungmin says. He disentangles his hand from Felix’s for the first time since they got to the bar and stands up. “I’ll talk to him. Make sure this is what we think it is and not some sort of harassment.”

As soon as they’re alone, Felix gets up from his side of the booth and sidles up next to Hyunjin. “Wow,” he says. “I can’t believe he was keeping that from us.”

“I know,” Hyunjin says. “That’s a lot. I mean, Chan is really hot, and obviously Jeongin is gorgeous.”

“Obviously.”

“But I never thought he would actually make a move on his nanny. I mean, Changbin said he was like, a really decent guy.” A surge of protectiveness is flaring up inside Hyunjin. “Jesus. Jeongin is twenty-two.”

“Yeah,” Felix says. He looks like he’s thinking very hard about it. “I’m twenty-two, though,” he says. “And if I wasn’t with my sweet baby Minnie, I would want to fuck this hot dad.”

“Yeah,” Hyunjin says, tilting his head in acknowledgment. “And you would be well within your rights to do so. I just think it’s on the dad to hold onto some standards of professionalism.”

Felix nods, visibly thinking harder. “It is. I guess… he didn’t actually make a move on him yet.”

“No, I guess not,” Hyunjin said. “Still. I’m going to tell Changbin about it. He should know what’s going on.”

“Good idea,” Felix says. Then, to Hyunjin’s surprise, he picks his hand up from off of his lap and takes it in his own. “He sounds really great. Changbin.”

Hyunjin can feel his face getting warm. “Oh. Yeah. I mean, he’s fine.”

“Nuh-uh,” Felix says. He laces their fingers together, looking at Hyujin with round, serious eyes. “I think Minnie is my soulmate,” he says. “Even when he’s not here, I’m always thinking about him. I get excited to tell him things, and I want to spend all my free time with him, and he makes me feel really, really good about myself.”

“That’s great,” Hyunjin says, with a smile. “I’m really, really happy for you guys.”

“Thank you,” Felix says. “But what I mean to say is, I know what it feels like to have found your person. I can tell,” he says, as Hyunjin’s heart thuds weakly in his chest in anticipation—dread—of what he’s about to say. “I can tell that you know all this too. From the way you talk about him.”

“What?” Hyunjin says, his throat suddenly dry. Felix’s small hand is so warm that Hyunjin’s palm has started to sweat.

“I know you’re in love with him,” Felix says, and Hyunjin feels his stomach drop, somewhere unfathomably deep in his gut. “And I’m so happy for you, too.”

“I…” Hyunjin says. “I don’t…”

“It’s okay,” Felix says, giving him a cute wink, completely ignorant to the damage his words are wreaking on Hyunjin’s insides. “I can keep a secret. But your face can’t.”

“I…” Hyunjin tries again.

“Don’t worry,” Felix says, leaning in to whisper in Hyunjin’s ear. “I’m sure he can see it, too.”

Hyunjin is still grasping for words when Jeongin and Seungmin return from the bathroom. Felix gives his hand a final squeeze before retreating to his side of the table, leaving Hyunjin sitting there—reeling, stunned. Completely hollow.

He barely registers the rest of the evening. He’s pretty sure Jeongin pays the bill soon after that, and he thinks he manages to pull his face together to say his goodbyes. Jeongin has been watching him closely, like he’s trying to figure out what he missed, but he doesn’t say anything. He does initiate hugging Hyunjin goodbye, which normally would be cause for celebration, but Hyunjin is barely there. 

Felix hugs him too, and the little frown on his sweet face makes it clear that he’s realized he said something he shouldn’t have. He leaves hand in hand with Seungmin again, his other arm looped through Jeongin’s, and keeps glancing back over his shoulder with that sad, pathetic look as they disappear down the block.

Hyunjin took a car here. He was planning on calling one to get back home tonight—the walk would be almost two hours. He starts walking anyway, one foot in front of the other, trudging back homewards in the dark.

Is he in love with Changbin? He can’t be. He—he couldn’t possibly be. He’s been careful. He’s kept his walls up, his rules—every part of himself closely guarded, protected from the pain of another heartbreak.

No, Hyunjin realizes, his head starting to spin. No, he hasn’t. He’s broken all his rules for Changbin. He went to his house. He slept over. He let him fuck him bare. He’s been thinking about him, dreaming about him, talking about him to his friends. One might’ve been an accident, an exception. All of them?

He let Changbin worm his way inside his heart, Hyunjin understands now. He let him in, with his charms and his promises and his fucking smile, and he convinced himself it wasn’t happening, when it so, so painfully, obviously was.

Felix can see it. Minho can see it. There’s no world in which Changbin can’t see it.

He’s fallen for him. Head over heels.

Chapter Text

Jeongin’s days have started to take on a pleasant routine—something he hasn’t had since graduation, and is only now realizing makes an immeasurable impact on his mental well-being. With something to look forward to in the afternoons, his mornings are more productive than they’ve ever been. He goes to the gym, goes grocery shopping with Felix for more than just instant ramen, and does his laundry before his hamper starts overflowing. He scrolls through apartment listings, bookmarking the promising ones and forwarding them to Seungmin, who’s insisting on personally vetting any of Jeongin’s apartment selections so that he “doesn’t get scammed.” Jeongin wants to tell him to buzz off, that his meddling is unnecessary and a little infantilizing, but then he remembers the crestfallen looks on his and Felix’s faces when Jeongin told them he was planning on moving out. If this means Seungmin will be excited about the process, he’ll let him have it. Besides, Jeongin isn’t confident that he wouldn’t accidentally fall for a housing scam.

When it’s time, he takes the bus to Nari and Deiji’s school, a route he knows well by now, even though it’s barely been a week and a half. He waits outside with the other guardians come to collect their kids, giving awkward smiles and half-waves to the parents and grandparents he’s started to recognize, until the 2 o’clock bell rings and the children start pouring out from the double doors. The kindergarten class always lets out first, and Jeongin brightens when he spots Deiji in the crowd, her big backpack bouncing on her shoulders as she runs over to him. She doesn’t crash into him for a hug the way she always does Chan, but he likes to think she greets him happily.

Nari always takes a few minutes longer, engrossed in conversation with her classmates as she makes her way out of the building. She’s started slinging her backpack off her back and holding it out expectantly to Jeongin as she approaches him. “What do you say, Nari?” Jeongin asks this time, trying to keep the smile off his face, because even if it’s not polite, it is very cute.

Nari tilts her head back and groans. “Jeongin-ssi can you please carry my backpack,” she says, all in one breath.

“Of course,” Jeongin says, smiling back at her sweetly. She’s not a rude kid by any means, he’s decided. She just likes to push his buttons, like it’s some sort of game, and she likes to debate things with him when she has a strong opinion one way or another. Jeongin has to make an active effort sometimes to remind her that he’s in charge, but he doesn’t think it’s a bad thing at all—to have instilled in a young girl such confidence that she now believes she has a say in everything. It takes very good parenting to do such a thing.

Today is Tuesday, which means both girls have their piano lessons after school. The studio isn’t far, so they walk—Deiji and Nari leading the way, hand in hand, swinging their arms back and forth, and Jeongin bringing up the rear, one backpack slung over each of his shoulders, attentively watching to make sure they stop and wait for him at the crosswalks. 

The lessons themselves are back to back. Jeongin entertains Deiji while Nari goes—they sit together in the waiting room, Deiji cuddled up against Jeongin’s side, reading the picture book she had stuffed in her backpack. Jeongin holds it open while Deiji sounds out every word aloud, sometimes looking up at him for affirmation, which he is quick to give. Her favorite part does seem to be turning the pages, but at least it keeps her interested. 

When it’s Deiji’s turn for her lesson, Nari wants to walk around, so she and Jeongin take a turn around the nearby park. Jeongin listens while she explains to him her current topic of interest: ghost stories. He finds it so funny what sorts of things interest a kid Nari’s age—it’s never what he’d expect, and every day he looks forward to finding out what her next area of self-proclaimed expertise will be. 

Honestly, though, Jeongin has enjoyed everything about taking care of these girls so far. He really does like kids. He’s had the seed of an idea for a few months now, that he would like to work with them professionally, and was toying with the idea of going for a Master’s in Early Childhood Education—not anytime soon, of course, because another degree would require more money. But now he has that, so… maybe he should keep seriously thinking about it?

“I found a book of ghost stories at the school library,” Nari is saying, trailing her fingers along the branches of bushes they pass as they walk. “I left it in my desk, though, because Daddy is a scaredy cat and he would say it’s ‘not age appropriate.’” She turns to Jeongin, narrowing her eyes. “Don’t tell.”

Jeongin crosses his heart. If it was at the school library, it’s probably okay, he thinks. He might double check with Chan anyway. 

“Mommy would let me,” Nari says, like she feels like she needs to justify their subterfuge. “She and Daddy used to watch scary movies together, but only because she liked them. She said Daddy always hid his face under the blanket, and she would have to rub his back until he stopped being such a baby.”

Jeongin’s heart clenches. The girls haven’t talked about their mother a ton, and certainly haven’t brought up any memories of Chan and Sana together. He wonders if he should… say something? Just so Nari knows this is a safe space, if she wants to talk about it?

“She sounds very brave,” he says. “Braver than most grown-ups. I don’t like horror movies either.”

Nari rolls her eyes. “They’re not actually real, you know. I’m going to watch them with Mommy when I’m old enough, and I won’t be scared either.”

“That’s good,” Jeongin says. He takes a breath. “So, um. You’re feeling okay? About your mom and dad? About them… not living together anymore?” It comes out even more awkward than it sounded in his head, and Jeongin instantly regrets saying it. 

Nari looks thoughtfully down for a bit, watching her own feet as she walks. “Sometimes it’s better for moms and dads to just be friends,” she says. “So they don’t fight as much.”

“That’s true,” Jeongin says. “That’s a very wise way of putting it, Nari.”

Nari shrugs her shoulders. “That’s just what Daddy said.”

Jeongin can’t say he’s not curious to know more—what kinds of things did they fight about? Was the separation Sana’s idea? Did Chan want to try and make things work?—but he isn’t going to interrogate the seven-year-old for more details about her parents’ divorce. 

Unprompted, Nari continues. “Mommy is moving back to Osaka after her tour is over, and then we might live there with her.”

She says it so casually that it takes Jeongin a second to process. As soon as he does, it’s like the ground falls out from under him. “Oh,” he manages to say. “Osaka? Really?”

“Yup,” Nari says. “And we’ll get to see Obaa-chan all the time, which is good, because her house is really big, and she always lets us have pudding as long as we finish all our dinner.”

“Your mom’s mom?” Jeongin asks, numbly, anxiety twisting in his gut. Chan alluded to a custody battle before, when he first told Jeongin about the divorce, but he hadn’t said anything about a decision being made yet. 

They’re moving to Japan? Could this really be happening? The idea of Sana taking the girls away from Chan is actually going to make him physically sick. He’s never met anyone who loves their kids the way Chan loves Nari and Deiji. What would he do without them? And they without him?

“Yup,” Nari says again. She stops briefly to pick up a stick, then drags it against trees and lampposts as they keep walking.

Jeongin is scrambling for something appropriate to say. “Well,” he tries. “If that happens, I’ll miss hanging out with you.”

“You’re not hanging out with us, you’re our babysitter,” Nari says, tapping Jeongin’s hand lightly with her stick. “Grown-ups always say it like that, like I don’t know this is your job that Daddy pays you for.”

Jeongin laughs, lightly, more than a little forced. “You are right about that,” he concedes. “But is it not hanging out too?”

“No,” Nari says, definitively. “Hanging out is when you go on a playdate with someone your own age.”

“Okay, you got me there.” Jeongin tries desperately to remember when Chan said the tour was going to be over. December? How soon after that would they move? Would Sana look for a house first, or just move into her mom’s place with the girls while she sorts all that out?

Horrified, a new thought crosses Jeongin’s mind—does Chan know about this? Is he aware this is Sana’s plan, or has she only told Nari? Is this—is this even legal? He’s heard of divorced parents whisking their children away to another country to prevent their partner from getting custody. Maybe he should prompt Nari for more information after all.

“That’ll be fun,” he says, carefully. “To live somewhere new. You and your sister must speak pretty good Japanese, then?”

“I do. Deiji is pretty good, but she could use some more practice.”

“And your mom—she must be looking forward to that, too,” Jeongin says, trying to tread lightly. “When would it… When would it be?”

Nari looks at him like he’s the dumbest person alive. “After her tour is over. I already said that.”

“Right, of course,” Jeongin says. “Silly me.” He scratches his neck, nervously. “And your… You’ve talked about this with your dad, too, right? Not just your mom?”

“He’s always trying to talk about it. He calls it ‘a conversation.’ ‘Do you and your sister want to have a conversation tonight?’” she says, in a frighteningly accurate impression of Chan. “And Deiji never even adds anything, because she’s not old enough to understand what a divorce is.”

“I see,” Jeongin says. So Chan does know. What is he planning to do about it, then? He can’t have ceded custody of his children that easily.

“I’m not even the only kid in my class with divorced parents,” Nari says. “Miyeon says her mom doesn’t even let her talk to her dad anymore.”

Jeongin swallows. “That must be really hard for her,” he says.

Nari shrugs. “She doesn’t even get to have two houses, because she’s not allowed to live with him. I can’t wait to have two houses.”

“Oh—you’re going to… Oh. Okay.” A nervous laugh escapes Jeongin. “Of course. Two houses.”

“Daddy says we’ll get to have two of everything,” Nari says, snapping her stick in two and throwing both pieces over her shoulder. “That means I’ll have two beds, and two keyboards, but probably only one iPad, since I can carry it back and forth on the plane. Although it would be annoying to have to carry it when I’m not even allowed to use it for the whole flight, so I still think I should have two. You should tell him that you think so, too.”

“Good point,” Jeongin says, though to be honest, he was only half listening. He’s still kind of reeling. “So you… You would still also spend time here in Korea?”

“Duh,” Nari says. “Daddy isn’t moving to Japan. We’ll have to fly a lot, but I told Daddy I don’t want to have two schools, so maybe we’ll only live with Mommy on weekends or school holidays.”

Jeongin lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “That makes sense,” he says. “No one wants to go to two different schools.” He knows how weird he’s probably being, but he just has to make sure. “So you—um. You would still be living with your dad otherwise, then?”

Nari gives him a sideways look. “Duh,” she says again. “He wouldn’t trust anyone else to be the screentime police.”

Jeongin is so relieved, he actually laughs out loud. “No,” he says, turning his gaze skyward, inhaling deep as he watches the wind rustling the leaves overhead. “I don’t suppose he would.”

* * * * *

Chan gets home not too long after Jeongin and the girls do. He pokes his head into the playroom to say hi, momentarily distracting them from their task of picking out a puzzle to put together. Jeongin straightens up at the sight of him—not out of anxiety, though. It’s something closer to… eagerness?

Here’s the thing—Chan is a great dad. He’s so positive, and encouraging, and heaps praise on Deiji and Nari at every opportunity. And sometimes, when he glimpses Jeongin interacting with the girls, he extends that same generosity in Jeongin’s direction. He compliments his choice of activity, or his vigilance in getting their homework finished, or his foresight in bringing a couple umbrellas with him that stormy day when rain hadn’t been in the forecast. He tells Jeongin he’s smart, and helpful, and a natural with the girls. It’s too much, honestly.

Jeongin has always liked getting positive feedback, though. He’s not the type of person who can feel confident in the quality of their work, or their decisions, without someone else’s reassurance. Praise has a strong effect on him, and coming from Chan… It makes something under Jeongin’s skin hum.

For instance. Deiji pulls out the book they read earlier and waves it in Chan’s face. “Daddy, look what me and Jeongin-ssi read at piano today!”

Chan takes the book with a radiant smile. “This? You read this?”

“Yes!!” Deiji chirps.

“My smart girl,” Chan says, tugging gently on one of her braids. Then his eyes flick up to meet Jeongin’s. “And to get some reading in before even getting home? Well done.”

Jeongin blushes, looking down and away, then back at Chan with a smile. “It was all her idea,” he says. “Really.”

Chan gives him a knowing look, like he doesn’t believe him. “I’ll be downstairs finishing up some work for an hour or so,” he says. “Give a shout if you need anything.”

He says that every time he’s working from home when Jeongin is over watching the girls. While Jeongin’s goal is never to bother him, the offer is always comforting—a weight lifted off his shoulders, knowing that if anything were actually to go wrong, he could trust Chan to take care of it.

Deiji and Nari get to work, emptying the box of puzzle pieces onto the coffee table and beginning to hunt for the edges and corners. Jeongin helps them, the tactile process a nice distraction from his thoughts. 

Namely, that Chan hasn’t touched him since Friday. Jeongin wouldn’t have even noticed, except that the conversation with his roommates and Hyunjin has now made him hyper-aware of it. He explained it so poorly to them, and they somehow got the wrong idea, and he knows they’re all convinced something inappropriate is going on. Seungmin even followed him into the bathroom that evening, throwing around all kinds of wild accusations.

“Jeongin,” Seungmin said, through the stall door, since Jeongin was inside pissing and definitely not hiding. “This is important.”

“Forget I said anything, please!” Jeongin moaned. “It is not like, a thing!”

“Okay,” Seungmin said. “Let’s say it’s not a thing. Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“No,” Jeongin said, quickly. 

“Okay. You don’t mind it?”

Jeongin didn’t say anything. He really, really did not want to talk about this anymore.

“If you mind it, it’s okay. We can help. You don’t need this job. Just because he’s older and has money, doesn’t mean—”

“It’s not like that,” Jeongin said, all in a rush, and buried his face in his hands. “Please don’t do anything. I don’t—I don’t mind it. I swear I don’t. It’s… nice, okay?”

The next time Seungmin spoke, his voice had lost its serious tone. “Oh, it’s nice?”

Jeongin yanked the door open so quickly that Seungmin, leaning up against it, stumbled. “You’re the worst,” he said, washing his hands more aggressively than necessary. “Let’s go back.”

He knows how Seungmin interpreted what he said, but that’s not how he meant it. Something can be nice without having a sexual connotation. Sometimes, touches are innocent and friendly, and don’t mean anything else, and can still make someone feel really, really good. Like his very presence in the room is important enough for Chan to acknowledge with a touch. 

Is it a crime to want the occasional brush of hands or shoulder squeeze? Is it illegal for Jeongin to enjoy the thrill of his breath catching and his heart picking up speed when it happens? He honestly cannot believe Seungmin would think that would make him uncomfortable. Especially coming from someone as gentle and doting as Chan. And besides, Felix is the most touchy-feely person Jeongin has literally ever met—surely Seungmin should understand where Jeongin is coming from?

“Jeongin-ssi.” 

He’s startled back to reality by Nari’s voice. “Huh?”

“Those are my pieces. I already organized them.”

“Right, right,” Jeongin says, returning the puzzle pieces to Nari’s outstretched hand. “Sorry.”

It hasn’t quite been an hour when the aroma of garlic and chilis starts wafting upstairs, and Jeongin knows Chan must be getting started on dinner. “Be right back,” he whispers to Nari and Deiji, still deeply engrossed in their puzzle. Jeongin slips out of the playroom, pulling the door most of the way closed behind him and quietly making his way down the stairs. 

Chan is in the kitchen, as expected, an apron tied around his waist. Jeongin flushes—it’s not that he’s never noticed how slim Chan’s waist is, but with the tie cinched tightly around it, it’s just… more obvious. It’s a stark contrast to his wide shoulders, which makes it more remarkable. 

Chan has two pans going on the stove, and another pot simmering on the back burner, but when Jeongin walks into the room, Chan’s eyes go straight to him.

“It smells good down here,” Jeongin says.

“Ah,” Chan says, with a proud smile. “Good, good.”

Jeongin cranes his neck to peek into one of the pans. “Pork belly?”

“Indeed,” Chan says. “Though you’re smelling the veggies—that’s where the garlic is.”

Jeongin nods, rocking back and forth on his feet and digging his hands into his pockets. He feels like he has to justify his reason for coming down here, which was… He’s sure he had one. “Sorry to bother you,” he says, a little shyly. “They don’t want my help on the puzzle.”

“No,” Chan says quickly, his eyes widening. “Not a bother. Never a bother.” He laughs, shaking his head. “I know how Nari can get when she’s trying to focus.”

“Right,” Jeongin says. “Exactly.”

Chan pours Jeongin a water without asking this time. “Always welcome here,” he hums, almost to himself, then turns briefly back to his frying pans.

Jeongin, who had just taken a long sip, chokes on a cough. He wasn’t anticipating the way the apron would look from behind—namely, the little bow tied tightly at the small of Chan’s back, creating an unobstructed view of the perfect swell of his ass. Jeongin knows it’s weird to think about—to… objectify Chan like that, and he’s been trying not to, but. It’s so big. It’s just prominent, and it’s such a nice shape—round and sculpted, like it belongs to a woman in some famous nude painting in a museum. 

Chan turns back to Jeongin, completely unawares, and claps him on the back with a laugh as Jeongin continues to sputter and cough.

There—finally. He’s touching him again. Only briefly—three or four gentle thumps, then nothing—but Jeongin can feel the lingering weight of his hand between his shoulder blades long after Chan has pulled it away.

He knows that what Felix and Seungmin were implying is ludicrous. Just because Chan touches him occasionally does not mean he… wants him. That would be an insane leap to make. That’s just what Felix does—always sexualizing everything, always assuming everyone is gay and that every smile or friendly gesture means something lewd. Chan literally married a woman—he’s probably straight. The hottest ones usually are, with Jeongin’s luck. 

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Chan says, once Jeongin has been standing in the kitchen for long enough that he’s officially loitering.

“Please,” Jeongin says, perking up in anticipation.

“I know I already have all your weekday afternoons—which, again, thank you for that,” Chan says. “And I really don’t mean to monopolize all your time, but—how would you feel about the occasional nighttime sitting gig as well?”

He always does that—talks about it like Jeongin is doing him a favor, instead of working the job Chan pays him to do. “Yeah, I could do that,” Jeongin says. 

A lovely smile illuminates Chan's face. “That’s great,” he says. “That’s really good to know.” He pauses, holding up his wooden spoon in thought. “No chance you’d be free this Friday, is there?”

“I’m free this Friday,” Jeongin says. Seungmin and Felix actually have a date scheduled for Friday, so his big plans were to spend the whole night playing League of Legends on the couch, maybe jerking off if he felt really ambitious. 

“Oh—you are?” Chan’s eyebrows go way up on his forehead. “And you—you’d be willing to watch the girls that night?”

“I’d be happy to,” Jeongin says.

“Because I really don’t want you to feel pressured to say yes,” Chan says, turning back to the stove, gracing Jeongin once more with the sublime view of his ass from the back. “You see, I’m not sure exactly how late my plans would go.”

“I have nothing going on,” Jeongin says, trying not to stare. He swears Felix has done something to his brain—he wouldn’t be so mesmerized otherwise. “I can stay ‘til whenever.”

When Chan turns back to face him—Jeongin quickly and guiltily dragging his eyes back up to his face—he is smiling at Jeongin like he’s just offered him the moon. “That’s wonderful. Thank you, Jeongin. Okay.”

Jeongin blooms in the wake of Chan’s gratitude, the way he always does. It’s the same as with his praise. It makes Jeongin feel… good. Like he’s good. Like he’s done a good thing, that will really, genuinely help Chan.

He crosses his arms, imbued with a newfound, unexpected surge of confidence. “Don’t even think about paying me extra,” he warns, raising his eyebrows like he’s daring Chan to even try.

Chan gives a laugh that somehow sounds like a threat. “Oh, are you setting terms now?”

“I mean it,” Jeongin says. It’s true—the first week’s deposit caught him up on rent and bills and replenished his savings account. With the second week’s arriving yesterday, he literally doesn’t know what to do with so much money.

“I’m requiring more hours of work from you,” Chan says, sternly, but the glint in his eyes is playful. “I will be paying you for them.”

It’s an edict—a command—and Jeongin folds like paper. “Chan-ssi,” he pleads.

“I’ve told you before, Jeongin, there’s no need for formalities between us,” Chan says. “Just Chan, if you please.”

Jeongin couldn’t possibly—he isn’t that shameless. “How much?” he says instead.

“How about…” Chan deliberates for a moment. “Another ₩500,000.”

Jeongin shakes his head. “I won’t accept it,” he says, mustering up his last shreds of defiance.

Rather than fight him, a smirk creeps across Chan’s face. “Won’t you?”

Jeongin shakes his head again, jutting his chin out resolutely.

“Alright,” Chan says, slowly. “₩200,000, cash, and you let me make you dinner.”

Jeongin’s heart skips a beat. He can feel his cheeks getting hot. “Huh?” he says, stupidly.

“On Friday,” Chan clarifies. “Before I take off for the evening. Why don’t you just stay for dinner? That way, you don’t have to go home in between.”

Right. Of course. Since he’ll be cooking for the girls anyway. “Okay,” Jeongin says. He’s feeling a little… jittery, all of a sudden. He’s definitely glad he didn’t say anything stupid, betraying his absolutely braindead assumption that Chan was talking about some sort of dinner for just the two of them. He would never, ever have lived that down.

Chan smiles. “Excellent. Is there anything you don’t eat?”

“No, I’ll eat anything you make,” Jeongin says, then wrinkles his nose. “Well… I don’t love black beans.”

Chan’s smile reaches his eyes, his crow’s feet crinkling. “Roger that. No black beans.”

Conversation finds them. Chan asks how the girls were today, and Jeongin fills him in, dutifully exposing Nari’s secret ghost stories book. Then he asks about Chan’s day, which is how he learns HAN is working on a new, full-length album for the first time in three years. They both laugh when Jeongin tries to recreate Deiji’s impression of a duckling they saw at the park, Jeongin’s embarrassment quickly overshadowed by the look of adoration on Chan’s face.

Standing here with Chan while he cooks, chatting, soaking up the warmth and comfort of his kitchen, Jeongin once again is overcome with relief that his earlier fear of Sana getting full custody was unfounded. He cannot fathom the girls not getting to have this anymore.

During a quiet moment, with the rice cooker cooking and all Chan’s sauces set to simmer, Jeongin notices Chan starting to fidget. “So,” he says, compulsively straightening every appliance on the kitchen counter. “How’s everything going outside of this? You’re doing alright?”

Jeongin blinks. “Fine,” he says. “Why?”

“Your friends are doing good? Hyunjin? He’s doing well?”

“I think so,” Jeongin says. He frowns, remembering the sudden shift in Hyunjin’s mood on Friday. He tried asking Felix what happened, but Felix very seriously said he didn’t think Hyunjin would want him to talk about it. Jeongin hasn’t reached out to Hyunjin himself—they’re not really close like that anymore, and even though they were getting along great at the bar, he’s worried his meddling would be unwelcome. “Why?”

“Oh, no reason,” Chan says. He pauses. “And he hasn’t taken a trip, or anything, where he wouldn’t have any cell service?”

Jeongin gives a confused laugh. “No…” he says. “I sent him a TikTok this morning, and he liked it.”

“Oh, good! That’s good. I’m glad.” Chan adjusts the angle of the spoon on its spoonrest, his smile now tinged with something that looks almost sad.

“Why are you asking about Hyunjin?” Jeongin asks.

“No reason,” Chan says again. He looks at Jeongin and heaves a sigh, his smile brightening. “Well. You must be ready to get out of here.”

Jeongin checks his phone—it is past six. He didn’t notice the time passing. He feels a little guilty, leaving the girls on their own upstairs for so long, but he figures if they’d finished, he and Chan would’ve heard. “You don’t have any more work to get done?” Jeongin says, surprised to find that he’s disappointed—he was hoping for at least a little more kiddo time today.

“No, no, I’m good,” Chan says, waving his hand. “Gonna call them down to be my kitchen helpers soon. You’re officially relieved of duty.”

Talking about Hyunjin has reminded Jeongin of something, though. He’s been trying to forget it, to tell himself it’ll be fine, but whenever he remembers, it starts eating at him anew. It isn’t often he and Chan have a moment alone—now is his opportunity to come clean, and face whatever consequences might come.

“Before I go, there’s something I—I need to say something,” Jeongin stammers. “Um. Apologize for something.”

Chan looks puzzled, his brow creased with worry. “What is it?” he asks.

“I, um. I’m so sorry.” Jeongin bows his head, his shoulders set stiffly, and lets it all out in a rush, before he can hold anything back. “I accidentally let my friends find out that you and, and Sana, are separated. I know I promised not to tell anyone, but it just slipped out. I’m so sorry,” he says again. “They swore not to say anything, but I still… I just thought you should know. Please forgive me.”

He feels Chan’s hand between his shoulder blades again before he hears him speak. It lingers this time, rubbing barely-perceptible circles into the center of his back. Jeongin tries to keep steady, tries not to tremble or, God forbid, make a sound. Every second that passes where Chan is touching him feels like a lifetime.

“Jeongin, please,” Chan says. “Relax.”

Jeongin peers up at him, anticipating at least some irritation, if not a scolding, in the wake of his confession. Chan’s eyes, though, are absent of any malice. They’re soft and understanding, and soothe Jeongin’s fears at once, even if they don’t absolve his guilty conscience. “I broke my word,” he says, his voice quiet and ashamed.

“It was a big ask,” Chan says, scratching lightly at Jeongin’s upper back before—no, don’t—retracting his hand. “And one I shouldn’t have put on your shoulders. Also, I more meant for you not to leak the story to the press or anything,” he laughs. “It’s alright if your friends know details about the job you’re working.”

“Oh,” Jeongin says. “Okay. I mean, of course I would never tell the—the press.”

“I know, don’t worry,” Chan says. He laughs again, chuckling softly to himself. “I have to say, I am a little curious how that came up.”

Jeongin swallows, his pulse picking up speed. The idea of lying to Chan is awful, but the truth is even worse. Oh, we were just discussing how hot you are, and how I should seduce you, and whether or not you being married and it being cheating would make it hotter.

“We were just talking,” he says. “I don’t know how it came up.”

"I see," Chan says. He rocks back and forth on his feet, a sly smile on his face.

"What??" Jeongin says, but he finds himself smiling too. It's like Chan has a magical ability to make Jeongin relax, to lighten his mood no matter how tense he's feeling. He's so playful, he really is like a child himself, and it makes Jeongin want to play right back.

Chan shrugs. "Talking about me?" he asks, and then he winks.

Jeongin's smile widens, his tongue prodding the inside of his cheek as he folds his arms indignantly. "Wouldn't you like to know," he says, and turns his back on Chan before he can see his reaction.

“Deiji, Nari,” he calls up in the direction of the playroom. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Bye, Jeongin-ssi!” Two voices call in unison, and Jeongin feels a small flicker of pride. When he dares to look back at Chan, he’s still standing in the kitchen, staring at Jeongin, an expression of wonder frozen on his face. He must’ve liked that comeback. Jeongin's pride swells.

“See you tomorrow, Chan-ssi,” he says, glancing down bashfully as he slips his shoes on. 

“Of course,” Chan says. “Tomorrow.” He gives a feeble wave, his eyes never leaving Jeongin’s face. “Have a good night, Jeongin.”

Jeongin sniffs the air just before he opens the front door. “Is something burning?” he asks, as the smell of singed scallions reaches his nose.

Chan whirls back around to the stove, his hand flying to the burner dial. “Oh, shit,” he says, lifting a small pan off the heat. “Wonderful.” He puts it in the sink, turning the water on as steam billows around him. “No matter. I’m sure Nari would like to show off how good she’s gotten at slicing scallions anyway.”

“You let her use a kitchen knife?” Jeongin laughs, leaning back against the door. God, he really doesn’t want to leave.

“Under careful supervision,” Chan says. “Go on, I’m keeping you. How embarrassing,” he mutters under his breath, and Jeongin is still laughing to himself as he lets himself out, leaving the warm, slightly-burnt-smelling comfort of Chan’s home and making his way to the bus stop.

* * * * *

Friday comes around before Jeongin knows it. He’s packed a backpack with a few night sitting essentials—namely, his shitty laptop, in case he gets bored of scrolling on his phone and can’t figure out how to work Chan’s TV. He still carries Deiji and Nari’s both, of course, so he’s loaded down like a pack mule as he herds them in the direction of the bus.

He and Chan went over details yesterday. Bedtime is 8:30 for both of them, and Chan plans to take off around 7. That means only about an hour to kill before it’s time to start putting them down. Their nighttime routine seems straightforward enough—once they change into pajamas, take their vitamins, and brush their teeth, they can each pick out a few books for Jeongin to read to them before it’s actually time to go to sleep. 

Deiji is ecstatic that Jeongin will be staying so late, although she keeps calling it a sleepover, so he’s not positive she understands exactly what’s happening. “You can sleep in my bed, Jeongin-ssi!” she says, excitedly, and he doesn’t have the heart to correct her.

Nari, on the other hand, seems a little quiet today. Her one-word answers to his questions about her school day make it clear she doesn’t feel like chatting, and while Jeongin doesn’t know why, he doesn’t bug her about it.

The house is empty when they get home, so Jeongin gets the girls set up at the dining room table. (When Chan works downstairs in his office, Jeongin worries about the sound carrying and disturbing him.) Nari does her homework while Deiji colors outside the lines in her coloring book. Every so often she glances at her sister and tries to imitate her posture, which Jeongin finds hopelessly adorable. He rinses and cuts up a bowl of strawberries for them to snack on while they work, which they dig their fingers into without so much as a thank you, but Jeongin doesn’t mind.

“All done,” Nari says, straightening the papers in her hands and handing them to Jeongin. “May I play on my iPad now?”

“If you play on it now, you won’t be able to later,” Jeongin reminds her. “And you have me all night tonight, so what if you get bored of me?”

“I won’t get bored,” Nari says. “I think I would get more bored now if I didn’t have screentime.”

“Suit yourself,” he says, and Nari pushes her chair away from the table and scampers up the stairs to the playroom, where her iPad is charging. When she returns a few minutes later, she has Deiji’s tucked under her other arm, and two sets of headphones trailing behind her.

“Here, Deiji,” she calls. “I got yours too.”

Deiji, who up until now was fully engrossed in her coloring, perks up.

“What do you say, Deiji,” Jeongin sighs.

“Thank you unnie!!” Deiji sings, grabbing her iPad from her sister with both hands and unlocking it with frightening ease. Jeongin helps her get her headphones set up, and does his best to wipe the sticky juice from her hands before it gets all over everything. Once the two of them are seated and locked in, he pops the last strawberry into his mouth and takes the bowl into the kitchen to wash it.

Jeongin always wishes there were a few chores for him to do in times like this, when the girls are having down time and he’s just milling about. There almost never are. Chan’s home is perpetually as spotless as the day Jeongin first saw it. It’s not like the girls are particularly tidy, either—Chan is just always following them around, picking up and neatening and cleaning in their wake without a breath of complaint. Jeongin washes and rinses the single bowl, setting it on the empty drying rack.

Just as he turns the water off, Jeongin hears a key in the lock. He turns around, and there’s Chan, slipping through the open door and toeing his shoes off in the entryway. Jeongin’s heartbeat quickens, as usual. Something about Chan looks different today, but he can’t immediately figure out what.

“Hi!” Jeongin says, waving at him from the kitchen. Nari whirls around—once she sees it’s just Chan, she wordlessly returns to her game.

“Why hello,” Chan says, smiling brightly. He pads softly over to the dining table, ruffling Nari’s hair as he passes her, wincing when she swats his hand away. He lifts Deiji’s headphones off her head, leaning down to press a kiss to her cheek. “Hello sweetheart,” he says. 

“Daddy!” Deiji cheers, and Jeongin catches himself smiling, too. “I’m playing a drawing game,” she says, thrusting her device at Chan two-handed so he can get a good look.

“Yes, you are,” Chan says, beaming.

Nari lifts one headphone off her ear. “We just started screentime. And I finished all my homework.”

“Alright, alright,” Chan says, raising his hands in the air and stepping past them into the kitchen. “Don’t let your old man ruin your fun.”

Both sets of headphones go back on. Jeongin shakes his head, catching Chan’s eye. “I warned her this is all they get tonight,” he says.

“Thank you for doing that,” Chan says, sincerely. “And for getting all Nari’s weekend homework done?” He shakes his head. “What would we do without you.”

Once again, Jeongin buzzes with the weight of Chan’s praise. “I didn’t do much,” he says, giddily, glancing away before looking back at Chan. Suddenly, he realizes what’s different. “You cut your hair!” he says.

Chan runs a hand through it, scratching the back of his head. “I did, didn’t I.” He laughs. “It was way past due for a trim."

There’s not actually much difference in length, but the edges are neatened up, around his ears. Jeongin knows a lot of middle-aged people dye their hair, especially people of Chan’s status, so he’s delighted that Chan’s grey hairs all remain, like silvery highlights against the dark of the rest of his head. He never used to get the whole silver fox thing, but imagining the way Chan will look when the grey takes over fully is, well. It’s quite the thing to imagine.

“It looks good,” Jeongin says. “You look—yeah. It’s nice.”

Good God. Why does he even open his mouth? Chan only blinks at him, and Jeongin swears he sees the tips of his ears go slightly pink. “Thank you,” he says.

Chan insists that Jeongin take a break for an hour or so while he makes dinner, so Jeongin goes on a walk around the neighborhood, chatting over Facetime with Seungmin, who’s getting ready for his date.

“Where are you guys going?” Jeongin asks.

“Gaming cafe,” Seungmin says, to which Jeongin can’t help but laugh. “Then we’re going to the night market.” He brushes out his blunt bangs, then points the brush at Jeongin through the screen. “The quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

“Yeah,” Jeongin says. He finds his thoughts drifting to Chan, who’s probably hard at work in the kitchen right now. In his apron.

“Don’t forget to do some snooping after the kids are asleep,” Seungmin says. “It’s like a babysitter right of passage.”

“I will do no such thing,” Jeongin says, indignantly.

“Oh, come on,” Seungmin says. “Aren’t you curious what you might find?”

Jeongin is not curious in the slightest, and he tells Seungmin as much. He’s a professional, he reminds him, and quickly ends the call before he can hear any more on the subject. 

“Perfect timing!” Chan exclaims, when Jeongin lets himself back in the house a little while later. He gestures at the dining table, which Nari and Deiji are in the process of setting. “Dinner is just about ready.”

“Wow, this looks amazing,” Jeongin says, eyeing the bubbling pot on the stove and giving the air a sniff. “Kimchi-jjigae?”

Chan beams. “My mother’s recipe,” he says. “All the credit goes to her.”

“He says that about every recipe,” Nari says, which is no surprise to Jeongin at all.

Jeongin figured Chan was a decent cook—he’s been a father for seven years, and clearly a very hands-on one—but he wasn’t expecting him to be this good. The stew is perfectly seasoned, savory and spicy, and it warms Jeongin from the inside out. Chan compliments him on his tolerance for spice, and Jeongin extends the same courtesy to the girls, who are digging in like pros. The whole atmosphere is warm and cheery, much more like a raucous dinner with his roommates than the family dinners of his childhood. Those were always stoic affairs, quiet and serious, an obligation they all had to get through until they were finally relieved of duty and could retreat to the comfort and solitude of their own rooms.

Chan doesn’t eat anything, but as he makes conversation, he circles around the table, putting veggies on the girls’ plates from the last pan he has going on the stove. Before Jeongin can object, he receives a serving as well, Chan’s chopsticks quick and dextrous as he slips a few pieces of broccoli onto Jeongin’s side plate. “Thank you,” Jeongin mumbles, blushing down at his food.

They’re all still eating when, just before 7 o’clock, Chan shrugs into his jacket. “I’ll be off, then,” he says to Jeongin. “Text me or call me if you need anything, alright?”

Jeongin nods, his mouth full of food. Chan hasn’t offered an explanation for what he’s doing tonight, so Jeongin hasn’t asked, but he figures it’s probably a date. It’s a Friday night, after all, and he saved his appetite, so he must have dinner plans. Jeongin wonders who the lucky lady is—and if it’s a first date, or someone he’s been seeing for a while.

“Deiji, Nari,” Chan says, his voice pitching stricter than usual. “As always, Jeongin is in charge. I want you both on your best behavior for him. Are we clear?”

Without looking up from her plate, Nari gives a thumbs up. Deiji bobs her head in agreement. “Bye, Daddy!” she calls, swinging her legs in her chair. 

“Bye, sweetheart,” Chan says, his gaze softening. He plants a kiss on each of their heads, then meets Jeongin’s eyes. “Thank you again, Jeongin. Really. You’ll call? If you need anything?”

Jeongin waves his hand, letting out an exasperated laugh. “Go, you’re going to be late!” he says, shooing Chan towards the door. 

“Alright, alright,” Chan says, laughing to himself. “Girls, you be good now.”

“Bye,” Nari says, loudly, like she thought he left five minutes ago.

“Bye, Daddy!”

“Have fun,” Jeongin says, weakly, and with a last smile, Chan is gone.

* * * * *

Jeongin has never tried putting a four- and seven-year old down for bed before, and he quickly learns what a colossal task it turns out to be. It doesn’t help that he let them have a few pieces of candy each (“Daddy literally bought it for us, we’re allowed”) and now they’re hopped up on sugar. Deiji is literally jumping on her bed, begging for another ten minutes of playtime. Nari is less hyper, but she still insists on finishing another chapter of her book, even when Jeongin is standing at the lightswitch, threatening to turn it off. It takes all he has not to text Chan and ask if he has any tips, but no—he’s determined not to bother him. 

By some miracle, he wrangles both girls into brushing their teeth and getting changed for bed. They share a room, one twin bed in each corner, with a dreamlike array of fairy lights and glow-in-the-dark stars overhead. Jeongin sits at the foot of Deiji’s bed, pulling the covers up to her chin and tucking her in.

“One more story,” Deiji pleads, her big, round eyes looking cartoonishly adorable in the near darkness.

“He already read you both of your books,” Nari says, across the room. She made it clear she could tuck herself in just fine on her own.

“One more,” Deiji says, her voice a shrill whine.

“One more,” Jeongin concedes. He then launches into a terrible, long-winded bedtime story that he’s making up on the spot, about a princess and an alien who travel to Mars together to see some dinosaurs. Nari withholds her criticism about the logical inconsistencies for Deiji’s sake, but Jeongin does hear her heave a loud sigh every time he mentions aliens and dinosaurs in the same sentence.

At some point before he reaches the final act, though, Jeongin registers that both of their running commentaries have ceased—the room gone quiet, save his own voice. “Deiji?” he whispers, into the dark silence. “Nari?”

No response, just two sets of soft, sleepy breaths. Jeongin lets out a deep sigh. He did it. They’re out. He pushes himself up to standing, silently picking his way across the room and closing the door behind him.

Jeongin waits on the stairs, listening for any signs that his leaving might’ve woken one of them up. Once he’s satisfied, he makes his way back down to the first floor, where he can safely make noise without worrying about disturbing them.

As he sets foot in the kitchen, Jeongin is delighted to see—for the first time in this house—a sink full of dirty dishes. Chan left before they were finished eating, so everything from dinner is still piled in and around the kitchen sink. Jeongin rolls up his sleeves, practically glowing, and gets to work washing his and the girls’ plates. Finally, he thinks. Finally, he can clean something before Chan has a chance to get to it.

Once the kitchen is returned to its usual state of spotlessness, Jeongin dries his hands on his pants, feeling accomplished. He pokes around in the pantry for a snack as a little reward, and ends up taking a handful of chips from an open bag, making sure to re-roll it as neatly as he found it. (Chan said he was welcome to anything, but he still feels bad defiling the neatness of the house.)

He glances at his phone. It’s only 9. Chan has barely been gone two hours, and who knows how long his date will go? Jeongin has time to kill, and nothing much left to do with it.

Seungmin’s advice, believe it or not, is gnawing at him. He shouldn’t snoop, though—really, he shouldn’t. But if he did want to, now would be the time—early enough that Chan isn’t expected home soon, and won’t catch Jeongin with his nose anywhere it shouldn’t be. And it’s not like he can have a look around any other day when the girls are awake. If he’s ever going to—this is the opportunity.

He’s never actually been in Chan’s office, for instance. It’s just downstairs, in the basement. and Jeongin admits he is… curious. Just to see the layout. He won’t actually snoop.

He creeps down the stairs, almost expecting the door to be locked—but no, the handle turns, and before Jeongin can stop himself, he’s stepping inside. The room is dark, and flipping a lightswitch he finds on the wall illuminates not an overhead light, but purple light strips lining the walls and the ceiling. It’s unexpected—the aesthetic of a much younger man, like something Jeongin would find in one of his old classmates’ dorms—but it creates a very comforting and unique vibe, Jeongin decides. He likes it.

Chan’s desk is huge—it has to be, to accommodate the three monitors. Jeongin has no idea what all of them could possibly be for, but it must be music-related. In one corner of the room, there’s a keyboard and some recording equipment, even though Chan has insisted his company—or, their company, as he always calls it—does all their recording at the building downtown. Which means the equipment here is for… what? Demos? Chan’s personal projects?

Jeongin absentmindedly moves his hand across Chan’s mousepad. To his horror, all of the screens illuminate. Chan must not have fully powered his computer down before leaving. On one display, his emails are pulled up, which Jeongin carefully averts his eyes from—they could contain sensitive information! The other monitors are both showing some sound mixing app Jeongin has never heard of. The current project is titled “Jisung Track 3”—HAN’s next release, no doubt. Jeongin doesn’t dare touch anything, lest he accidentally change something about the track or otherwise fuck something up. He waits, frozen, until sixty seconds later, to his utter relief, the displays go back to sleep.

Chan’s desk top is littered with framed photos, of course. Jeongin leans in to admire the accordion triptych—one photo of each of the girls, and one of them together, Nari hoisting Deiji up into her arms. Another picture shows an older couple, their arms around each other, who Jeongin has seen in other photos around the house. With the man’s eyes and the woman’s smile, they could only be Chan’s parents.

Jeongin picks up the next photo to study it more closely. It’s a picture of Chan with two men that Jeongin now knows are Hyunjin’s Changbin and HAN—the latter a name Jeongin had of course heard before taking this job, but whose face he now recognizes from the red carpet photo upstairs. They all look slightly less polished in this picture, but no less happy—all piled together on a couch, in casual clothes and with empty beer bottles strewn about. Chan is in the middle in this one, looking maybe five years younger, and smiling harder than Jeongin has ever seen him smile. He runs his thumb over the edge of the picture frame, smiling too, before realizing what a creep he probably looks like and quickly replacing the frame where he found it.

Jeongin remembers to get the lights as he steals out of the office and closes the door behind him. He heads slowly back up to the second floor, taking a risk and cracking the door to the girls’ room to make sure they’re both still sleeping—which they are. He should go back downstairs now, where his backpack is waiting, with his laptop and his headphones and his phone charger. He could look at more apartments. He could do something crazy like starting to research master’s programs. He could just fuck around on his computer for the next hour or so. All would be very conventional and appropriate uses of his time here.

Across the hall from Nari and Deiji’s bedroom are two rooms—their bathroom and their playroom. Further down the hall is a closed door, which could only lead to Chan’s bedroom. Chan’s bedroom, which Jeongin has never set foot in. Which it would be weird for him to set foot in, since he’s Chan’s nanny, and he’s just here to watch the girls—watch them, and patiently and obediently wait for Chan to get home.

Chan’s bedroom door isn’t locked either. Jeongin tests the handle, then lets it swing open on its own, as if trying to absolve himself of some of the responsibility of its opening.

He gets the light. It looks to be a pretty normal bedroom. Jeongin doesn’t know what he was expecting, why this felt like it would be such a big deal, but it’s just a bedroom. A nice one, of course—a king-size mattress, two large dressers, what looks to be a walk-in closet next to the door to an en-suite bathroom. Chan must have a lot of clothes, he thinks, before remembering this room recently housed two people’s wardrobes.

Jeongin trails his hand over the top of one of Chan’s dressers. No dust, obviously. The drawers are probably so organized, knowing Chan. Jeongin wraps his fingers around the knob of one, and it slides open easily when he gives it a tug.

Sure enough, this is the neatest dresser drawer Jeongin has ever seen. It’s full of undershirts—whites on the left, darks on the right—all folded with precision and lined up in an orderly row. Jeongin smiles, closing the drawer and opening the next one. This one contains only socks, each pair folded over each other with a method Jeongin has never seen before, where they all look like perfect little squares. 

The third drawer practically opens on its own. Jeongin blinks down at its contents, feeling the flush start to creep up his face. Chan’s underwear, unsurprisingly, is folded and arranged in two neat rows. It’s not weird that Jeongin is looking at it, he insists. It’s just clothing. It’s not like it’s—like it’s dirty underwear or anything. It’s not like it would smell like Chan, or anything.

Jeongin swallows. He doesn’t dare pull a pair of briefs out to look at them. He knows he wouldn’t be able to recreate the precision of the folds, and that Chan would know someone had been in his drawer. He lets himself run his thumb along the edge of one, though, and feels a shiver run through his body at the softness of the gray cotton. Most of the pairs seem to be that same dark gray. That’s probably what Chan is wearing right now, under his clothes. Unless, of course, he wore something special for his date.

The only other thing in this drawer is what looks to be a jewelry box. As if in a daze, Jeongin traces the corners of the box, then presses down on the latch. He’s surprised at how easily the lid pops open.

There’s only one piece of jewelry in here, which is confusing, because Chan’s ears are pierced, and he usually is wearing one of a few different sets of small hoops. Jeongin isn’t exactly sure what he’s looking at, actually. It seems too big to be an earring—he doesn’t think that’d be Chan’s style, anyway, to wear a thick, silver hoop in just one ear. He picks it up, carefully, and turns it over in his hand to get a better look. A very small bracelet, maybe? If it unclasps, somehow? Chan does have slim wrists, but a ring this size would never fit over his large hands. 

Whatever it is, it feels expensive. The metal has a cool smoothness to it, all rounded edges, nothing that could catch uncomfortably against the skin. Jeongin unconsciously spins it around on his fingers. It fits comfortably around three of them, the ring settling loosely at the base of his knuckles. Another finger, or something of a bit wider circumference, and the fit would be rather snug.

Oh. It would be. Snug. If this ring were to. Go on something. Thicker. Than his fingers.

Jeongin wrenches the ring off his fingers so quickly that it flies out of his hand, hitting the floor with a loud clunk and rolling under the bed. “Oh my God,” Jeongin says out loud, grabbing the back of his neck with both hands and trying not to panic.

He’s such a fucking idiot. It was in a secret box in Chan’s underwear drawer. What else could it be? Trembling, Jeongin drops to the ground, flattening himself against the hardwood so he can try and see under the bed.

Sure enough, in the darkness underneath the headboard, he sees a glint of metal. Wincing, Jeongin reaches out an arm, momentarily relieved when his fingers clasp around what he now understands to be a cock ring.

Ring in hand, he scrambles into Chan’s en-suite, turning on the faucet and rinsing it in the sink. He cannot believe he did this. He cannot believe he’s touching one of Chan’s sex toys, one that he’s used, one that’s been around his—

Jeongin stares at himself in the mirror. His entire face is flushed crimson. His chest is heaving, lingering adrenaline and anxiety and everything else, making his heart pound in his ribcage. Gingerly, he sets the cock ring on the edge of the sink.

Chan wears this? he thinks, numbly. Jeongin has never used one himself, but he understands the concept. Chan must like it, he thinks. Chan must like the feeling of cool metal around his cock. He must be into drawing out his orgasms, making himself wait for longer so he’ll come even harder in the end. He’s into that, and now this is something Jeongin knows about him. Definitively. He’s held the proof in his hand.

Fuck. Jeongin’s underwear is starting to feel uncomfortably tight. He didn’t need this visual. He doesn’t need to picture Chan’s cock, hard and swollen, his blood flow so restricted by the tight ring of metal that all his veins start to bulge.

Except now that he’s picturing it, he can’t stop. Jeongin’s own cock throbs in his pants. It’s just an objective truth how hot Chan is. Anyone would be insane to deny it. It’s his hands, and his shoulders, and his mouth, and his fucking ass, and the thick veins in his forearms and the gray in his hair—and it’s also his stern confidence, his way of knowing what’s best and taking charge, taking responsibility—but it’s also his playful teasing, his childish laugh, the way he needles Jeongin and encourages him to tease right back.

Is Chan into orgasm denial? Does he take it further than just using the cock ring? Would he want someone in charge of him, withholding permission, making him wait to come until he’s desperate and begging, until he’s sobbing for it?

Chan’s bathroom sink is at waist level. Jeongin’s hips move of their own accord, nudging forward ever so slightly, so that the sharp corner of the sink digs into his crotch. He gasps at the pressure—shit, he’s hard. He’s really hard.

He could get off right now, he thinks, deliriously. He would be fast, that’s for sure, and he’d be careful, he’d clean up afterwards and no one would know. Unless Chan found out. Unless he let himself back in the house quietly, so as not to wake the girls, and found Jeongin in his bathroom, his pants around his knees, fisting his cock and panting Chan’s name.

Get a grip, Jeongin tells himself. Jesus Christ. Two hands on the sink’s edge, he pushes himself off it, losing that heavenly pressure and crashing painfully back to reality. He can’t do this. He can fantasize about Chan at home. If his thoughts wander to him, and his hands, and his low, teasing voice in the privacy of his own bedroom, it’s one thing. He can not touch himself in Chan’s house, with his daughters asleep in the next room. That would be—inappropriate doesn’t even begin to cover it. He could probably get arrested. 

The faucet is still running. Jeongin shakes his head, splashing a few cold handfuls of water on his face before turning it off. This is fine, he thinks, reluctantly lifting the ring with his thumb and forefinger and returning it to Chan’s drawer, careful to place it exactly as he found it in the box and close the lid tight. Chan won’t know, he tells himself. He won’t, unless Jeongin gives it away somehow, unless he’s unable to act normal around him now.

Before he can catastrophize any further, Jeongin hears a muffled, high-pitched noise from outside the room. He hurries into the hallway, following the sound to its most likely source. Sure enough, it’s coming from the girls’ room. The noise is faint, but it almost sounds like crying.

Jeongin pushes the door open with a soft creak. Immediately, the sound stops. 

“Nari?” Jeongin asks. There’s no answer, but his hunch was right—in the sliver of light from the open door, he can see that Nari’s blanket is pulled all the way over her head, and her breathing isn’t as regular as before.

“Nari,” Jeongin says. “I know you’re awake.”

“Go away,” comes Nari’s muffled voice.

Jeongin sighs, stepping fully inside the room, leaving the door open so he can see as he makes his way over to Nari’s bed. He sends up a quick prayer, thanking God that he did not in fact choose to jerk off in Chan’s bathroom right now.

“What’s wrong?” Jeongin asks, gently, sparing a glance in Deiji’s direction, but Chan did mention that she’s a heavy sleeper. “Were you crying?”

“No,” Nari says.

Jeongin understands the impulse to lie, to hide your most vulnerable feelings, and would probably have said the same. He kneels next to the head of Nari’s bed. “Well,” he says. “Is there anything you want to talk about?”

The blanket rustles, like Nari is shaking her head no.

“Did you have a bad dream?”

She shakes her head again.

“Would you like me to pretend I didn’t hear anything, and leave you alone?”

“Don’t go!” Nari says quickly, throwing the blanket off her head. Her dark eyes are pleading, and wet with tears.

Jeongin offers her a small smile, crossing his arms on the mattress and laying his chin on them. “Tell me what’s going on,” he says, trying to channel Chan’s gentle, comforting authority.

It might have worked. In the smallest voice Jeongin has ever heard from her, Nari says, “I miss my mom.”

Jeongin sighs, his heart aching for this sweet little girl whom he's already grown so fond of. “Yeah,” he says. “I bet it’s really hard when she’s on tour.”

“She said we could Facetime last night,” Nari says. “But then Daddy said we had to do it another night.” She sniffs, wiping the back of her hand across her nose. “I think she cancelled, and he just didn’t want to tell us.”

That does sound like Chan, Jeongin thinks, fondly. Nari’s moodiness after school today is starting to make more sense. “I bet that was really disappointing,” he says. “Music tours are really crazy, especially for someone as successful as your mom. I’m sure she thought she had time to call when she made the plan.” (He isn’t sure about anything, but he tries to think of what Nari might most want to hear.) “Did you reschedule?”

“Yeah,” Nari says, gloomily. “Tomorrow morning.”

“That’s great!” Jeongin says. “That’s so soon. What time?”

“Nine,” Nari mumbles.

“Oh, it’ll be nine before you know it,” Jeongin says. “Seriously. You’ll wake up and it’ll already be time to talk to her. I’m sure your mom is thinking about you, and she can’t wait for it to be tomorrow morning, either.”

“Maybe,” Nari says. She sniffs again, wiping her eyes. “Yeah.”

“Do you want to try going back to sleep, then?” Jeongin asks. 

Nari’s lip turns out into a very pathetic little pout. “Daddy always sings to me when I can’t fall asleep.”

Jeongin nods. He’s only now registering that she might be missing her dad just as much as she’s missing her mom right now. “Want me to try?” he asks. “I know I’m no replacement for him, but I know a couple songs.”

Nari watches him carefully, like she’s trying to tell if he’s serious. After a moment, she nods, and shuffles over in her bed, making space on her left side.

Jeongin stands up, carefully climbing onto the bed next to her, and trusts the impulse to gently lay a hand on her head. Nari settles in against him, so he’s pretty sure she’s happy with the contact.

Stroking Nari’s hair, Jeongin starts to sing. A lullaby from his childhood, that he heard his aunt singing to his cousin once and could never shake from his mind. The opening notes are shaky at first, but as he relaxes into it, his voice evens out. The rise and fall of Nari’s chest begins to slow, as she stares up at the glowing stars on the ceiling and listens to him sing.

When the song ends, Jeongin chooses another. It’s nice to sing again, he thinks, pleasantly. Without the structure of college classes, he’s let music fall by the wayside a bit. He thinks of tunes that would make for good lullabies, since he only knows the one—sentimental ballads, anything with a story or a soothing, repetitive lyrical structure. He smiles as he launches into his fourth song of the night, a favorite ballad of his. One verse in, and he notices Nari’s eyes have finally drifted closed. 

Jeongin is so engrossed in his singing that he doesn’t hear the front door open. He doesn’t hear the quiet bustling about the living room, or the creak of footsteps on the stairs. It’s only when he sings the final line, letting his voice trail off sweetly as the last note hangs in the air, that he looks up and sees Chan.

He’s standing in the doorway, statue-still, staring. His bag hangs from one hand, his jacket in the other, and the expression on his face is unreadable.

Jeongin meets his eyes, stunned into silence. He’s a little embarrassed that he overheard him singing, but more importantly, Nari just closed her eyes. There’s no way she’ll stay asleep if he gets up now.

His eyes locked on Chan’s, Jeongin starts up another song. Chan’s eyes twinkle, like he understands, and he gently reaches down to set his bag on the floor, then leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms under his folded jacket. His eyes never leave Jeongin’s for a second.

Jeongin follows the lilting melody of the verses, filling the otherwise deafening silence of the room. He tears his gaze away from Chan to peek at Nari again—eyes still closed, mouth slightly open now, and her breathing has evened out into the deep, steady rise and fall of sleep. Good.

He meets Chan’s eyes again as he starts to sing the chorus—this song has a beautiful progression of notes that crests just at the top of Jeongin’s vocal range. When he lets the high note ring out, quiet but clear, Chan closes his eyes in an almost pained expression, but the smile is bright on his face. Pleased, Jeongin finishes strong, lowering his eyes as he holds the final note, then looking up shyly at Chan in the newfound quiet.

That smile still hangs from Chan’s lips, and he gives his head a soft shake. Reaching a hand in Jeongin’s direction, he beckons him wordlessly, and Jeongin eases himself up from Nari’s bed as gracefully and silently as he can manage. As he approaches the doorway, Chan turns to guide him through it with a hand on the small of his back, and a familiar shiver pulses under Jeongin's skin.

Chan pulls the door closed with a quiet click and looks at Jeongin, his expression full of wonder.

“Sorry,” Jeongin says, though he’s not quite sure why. “Nari was having trouble sleeping, and she said—that usually helps.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you could sing like that,” Chan says.

“Oh, um,” Jeongin says, flushing. “Like what.”

“Your—your voice. It’s amazing. No,” Chan says, when Jeongin starts shaking his head. “Like, it’s really, truly amazing. I listen to talented vocalists every single day, and I’ve never…” He ducks his head, looking seriously into Jeongin’s eyes. “Really, has no one ever told you this?”

“I mean I…” Jeongin’s voice wavers a little, and he tries not to smile in the face of such overwhelming praise. “I don’t usually sing in front of other people. I usually work on my songs in, um. In private.”

“I see,” Chan says. He hasn’t started walking down the stairs yet, so Jeongin hasn’t either—the two of them are still standing outside the girls’ bedroom door, their voices low. They’re close, so as to hear each other. “Jeongin,” he says. “You have a gift.”

It’s getting to be too much. Jeongin unconsciously raises his hands to his cheeks, testing how hot they are with his palms. “Please,” he says, quietly. “Really.”

“Hey,” Chan says, and takes a step even closer. Suddenly, he’s closer than he’s ever been before, his face hovering mere centimeters from Jeongin’s. “Trust me,” he says, with that tender authority that makes Jeongin hang on his every word. “If I say you’re good, you’re good.”

Jeongin’s next inhale is sharp and shaky. “Okay,” he whispers.

The second Jeongin gets back inside his apartment, he stumbles out of his shoes, listening for any sign that Seungmin and Felix are home, relieved beyond measure when it seems they’re still out for the night. He makes it to his bedroom and slams the door shut behind him, fumbling with the zipper on his jeans and thrusting his hand down his pants. Fuck—he throws his head back, and it knocks against the door with a painful thud.

Chan’s breath, so close he can feel it against his blazing cheek. Jeongin. You have a gift. Jeongin squeezes the base of his cock, moaning weakly as he fucks up into his own hand. Chan’s cock, flushed and straining in the confines of that tight, metal ring. Jeongin on his knees, drooling on it, choking as it thrusts against the back of his throat, trying to take it all. Well done. Chan's hand on his shoulder, on the back of his head, guiding him, heavy and comforting like it is every other time Chan touches him, God Jeongin wants him to touch him. He wants him to touch him all the time. What would we do without you? Chan’s deep, gravelly voice, praising Jeongin, telling him just how well he takes his cock, how perfect he looks with his lips stretched around it. If I say you’re good, you’re good.

Jeongin falls on his bed, his jeans in a tangle around his ankles, squeezing his eyes closed and stripping his cock in quick, merciless strokes. It’s like he’s been holding his breath since he met Chan, since he first felt the commanding grip of his handshake, or the soothing touch of his hand at the base of Jeongin’s neck, since he saw his shoulders and his dimples and the ease with which he swung his daughter up onto his hip. And now he’s letting that breath out, and it’s like a port in a storm, an answered prayer—a relief, admitting that this is the most he’s ever been attracted to a person in his life.

He shoves one of his pillows between his legs and rolls over, crying out in relief as he thrusts against it. “Chan-ssi,” he chokes out, his mouth hanging open. “Chan-ssi, please.”

Chan backing him into a corner, his hot breath in Jeongin's ear. If I say you're good, you're good. Chan forcing him down on his sprawling king-size mattress, his lips on every inch of him, lighting him on fire. Chan taking what he needs, using Jeongin for his own pleasure, over and over and over again until Jeongin forgets how to speak. Wanting Jeongin. Wanting Jeongin to be his. Good, you're good. Thank you, Jeongin.

He comes fast, like he knew he would, and it wrecks him—every muscle in his body screaming, spasming, relief like he’s never known it before, the echo of Chan’s name on his lips. It’s all he can think about, before the guilt slowly comes seeping back into his bones. Chan-ssi, he thinks. Please.

Chapter Text

Changbin’s gym opens at 5 o’clock on Mondays. At 4:59, a sleepy-looking employee trudges over to the door, flips the sign from ‘Closed’ to ‘Open’, and turns the key in the lock. He pushes the door open for Changbin, who has been pacing outside for the past fifteen minutes, and who gives him an apologetic nod as he brushes past and beelines for the weight room.

Changbin feels bad, of course. He knows it’s probably annoying how early he’s been showing up. Unfortunately, it can’t be helped. He’s been waking up hours before his alarm every day for the past week, staring at the ceiling, willing himself not to try Hyunjin again—not because he’s getting discouraged, but because he knows Hyunjin won’t be awake at this hour, and the last thing Changbin ever wants is to disturb his beauty sleep.

He’s trying, at least. He’s trying to care about Hyunjin’s beauty sleep. After over a week of radio silence—nine days, now, to be exact—he’s starting to get desperate.

He throws himself into his workout. Lifting is easy—well, it’s hard, but that’s part of the wonderful ease of it. Every rep is a hurdle Changbin knows how to overcome, a challenge with a simple answer. No guessing, no mind games. Just his body and what he knows it can be capable of. He pushes through set after set, using this time to ground himself, preparing his heart for another day of waiting and wondering.

By the time Changbin is home, showered, and dressed, it’s almost 8. Good enough, he thinks, impatiently, and dials Hyunjin’s number—just like he’s done every day for the past nine days. And just like every other day, his phone rings and rings and rings until it goes to voicemail.

“You’ve reached Hwang Hyunjin,” his voice says, coolly, and Changbin feels a pang in his chest, even just from hearing his voice. “Leave a message.”

“Hey, it’s me,” Changbin says. “Just trying your phone again, obviously. Baby, I need you to call me back. If it’s something I did, I’m eternally sorry. If it’s something else…” He sighs, running his hand through his shower-damp hair. “We can fix it. We can figure it out. Just… call me back. Please. I miss you.” He sighs one more time, then reluctantly hangs up.

It’s as if Hyunjin has disappeared off the face of the earth. He’s stopped answering Changbin’s texts. He won’t pick up the phone. If there were warning signs, Changbin completely missed them. He has no idea what happened—what could possibly have driven Hyunjin to cut off all contact with him without so much as a word of explanation—and therefore, he has no idea how he’s going to fix it.

But he is going to. Fix it, that is. Of that much, Changbin is certain. He’s spent his whole life waiting for Hyunjin—he’s not letting him get away that easily.

At thirty-nine years old, Changbin has never been in a serious, long-term relationship. His boyfriends and girlfriends over the years have all been casual arrangements, the longest lasting maybe six months. It never felt fair to get involved with someone looking for more from him, since his heart could never be fully in it, so Changbin has always opted for no-strings-attached liaisons founded on mutual interest and sexual compatibility. While he’s waited to find The One, that is.

Because Changbin has always known. Ever since he was old enough to understand the concept, he’s believed that he had a soulmate waiting for him out in the world, and that he would know them when he found them. He held onto that faith into adulthood, trusting that it would be worth it to wait, to throw himself into his career and let dozens of kind, interesting, attractive people pass him by. Even as the years got away from him, even though he feels like he blinked and one day woke up on the cusp of turning forty, that surety has never waned. And now it’s paid off, because he met Hyunjin.

Hyunjin throws his head back when he laughs, which is often, if you know how to play your cards right. Hyunjin doodles on cocktail napkins at five-star restaurants, then pockets them when he thinks Changbin isn’t looking. Hyunjin sweeps into rooms with the swagger and self-possession of someone who’s had to work for everything they have. Hyunjin is a fighter. He’s passionate, indignant, and cares deeply about his friends. Hyunjin is coy and calculated with his affections, high-maintenance in the most endearing way, and Hyunjin is interesting and Hyunjin is committed to his art and Hyunjin is. Beautiful. Hyunjin is the most gorgeous creature Changbin has ever laid eyes on. He knew he wanted him from the moment he first saw him, sweaty and panting and red-faced with embarrassment at the gym where they met, where Changbin got to be the hero and swoop in to help him out from under the leg press. One conversation, and he understood it was much, much more than that. He knew that he’d finally found him.

Hyunjin’s entrance into Changbin’s life has brought everything else to a screeching halt. Things that used to feel important get thrown by the wayside. He’s cancelled plans with friends, given up tickets to shows. He’s thrown his entire workout schedule into chaos. He’s become a man of a one-track mind, and that mind says that if Hyunjin will make time for him, he will be there. And it was all going so well, and Changbin was feeling so unbelievably lucky, and then suddenly—this.

He plays back their last morning together as he drives to work, brows furrowed in concentration, combing his memories for a sign that he could’ve missed. He remembers being shaken awake, opening his eyes to find—for the first time—Hyunjin still in bed with him. Even groggy and sleep-rumpled, he looked like a literal angel, haloed by the golden, early morning sunlight streaming through the bedroom windows. Changbin’s head was throbbing—definitely overdid it the night before—but he still managed to drag himself out of bed to dig out some loaner clothes for Hyunjin’s trip back home. 

Hyunjin giggled at the comically oversized t-shirt Changbin handed him to wear, and nearly bent in half laughing when he actually tried it on.

“You’ve never looked hotter,” Changbin said, a smile breaking out on his face, watching Hyunjin twist back and forth in front of the mirror and laugh, the XXL shirt nearly reaching his knees. 

“I’m never dressing up for you again,” Hyunjin said, wiping tears from his eyes. Swallowing down another laugh, he swayed into Changbin’s space. “Sweats are all you get from now on.”

“Fine by me,” Changbin said, snaking an arm around Hyunjin’s waist, his hand finding the seat of said sweats and giving Hyunjin’s ass a firm squeeze.

Hyunjin yelped, clinging to Changbin’s shoulders, and Changbin ducked his head and kissed him. Even first thing in the morning, Hyunjin’s lips a little dry and his breath a little stale, Changbin had never tasted anything sweeter.

“I have to go,” Hyunjin said when they parted, smiling against Changbin’s mouth.

“I know,” Changbin said, longingly, his headache long-forgotten. He gave Hyunjin one more peck, heaved a dramatic sigh, and released him. “Go on,” he said.

“I’m going,” Hyunjin said. Despite that, he lingered, his eyes flicking briefly back to Changbin’s lips.

“Wait.” Hyunjin raised an eyebrow expectantly. “Just one more thing,” Changbin said. This time, when he dragged him in for another kiss, Hyunjin practically melted against his chest, giggling, kissing back so tenderly that Changbin couldn’t help but open his mouth, tease his tongue inside. 

The answering gasp from Hyunjin did not suggest he wanted to leave anytime soon. Rather, he let Changbin back him up against the dresser, two hands on his waist, and let out the softest, laziest moan the next time their tongues rolled together. They kissed until they needed to breathe, and then a little bit longer than that, until they were both panting from it—their bodies swaying together like branches in the wind, their foreheads knocking together.

“I have to go,” Hyunjin laughed. “Really. Work stuff.”

“Yeah,” Changbin said. “Okay. Go do your work stuff.” He let Hyunjin pull away, waiting until he had his bag in hand and was turning towards the bedroom door before he said, “Wait, don’t forget this!”

Hyunjin spun around, looking confused, and Changbin grabbed his arm and reeled him back in again, surprising another laugh out of Hyunjin before their lips met once more.

“Changbin-ah,” Hyunjin whined in protest, an endearment he’d only taken to saying the past few days. He kissed him, long and sweet, his fingers stroking the nape of Changbin’s neck.

“Okay,” Changbin said, sighing deeply against Hyunjin’s mouth, a wide, self-satisfied smile on his lips. “Okay. Get out of here, hot stuff.”

Hyunjin did manage to leave after that. They texted that afternoon, and nothing seemed off to Changbin. It was a little bold of him to invite him to dinner at Chan’s, but Hyunjin’s last text—have fun with the munchkins—didn’t indicate any lingering weirdness about that. Changbin texted him that night to wish him sweet dreams. When those went unanswered, he figured Hyunjin had just gone to bed early. Even with no responses all day Saturday, Changbin tried not to think too much of it, since Hyunjin had said he’d be really busy that day, and he would surely text back once he had time.

Sunday, Changbin started to get worried. His texts took on a sense of urgency—I’m kind of freaking out, baby. Is everything okay? Call me when you can. He called him five times. He barely slept that night. Monday, he came into work in a panic, telling Chan they needed to call the police and report a missing person. Chan assured him, in a voice he was sure was meant to be soothing, that Jeongin probably would’ve mentioned if one of his friends had gone missing. 

It didn’t feel soothing. It felt like a brush-off. It felt like the response of someone who can’t take seriously the severity of Changbin’s desperation, because he doesn’t actually believe that Hyunjin is the love of Changbin’s life. Chan has never directly said as much, but Changbin has known him for long enough to understand when he has unspoken feelings about something, and only agreeing to be agreeable.

And Jisung is a non-starter. He’s never even pretended to believe Changbin is serious about Hyunjin. Which—Changbin is trying to be understanding, and look at things from Jisung’s point of view. He probably thinks it all happened really fast. He definitely thinks Changbin’s only in it for the sex—which is how boyfriends usually go, for Jisung. He couldn’t be more wrong. It’s never only been about the sex for Changbin. Maybe for Hyunjin it was, at the beginning, and Changbin was fine with that, because he was so down bad that he was happy to take whatever Hyunjin would give him and work on earning the rest later. But recently, up until he cut off contact, it had started to feel… Changbin doesn’t want to jump to any conclusions here, but he’s not stupid. Hyunjin seems to like him an awful lot.

And in terms of it all happening too fast—it doesn’t feel fast for Changbin. Sudden, sure, the way a lightning strike is sudden amidst the thunder of a slow-gathering storm. It feels long-awaited. Well-earned. The inevitable conclusion to a decades-long, lonely pursuit of love.

Every time Changbin has tried to bring up Hyunjin’s disappearance this week, Chan and Jisung have dodged the topic. There’s only so many times Changbin can hear “It’s hard, but if it’s not meant to be, it’s not meant to be” or “Cheer up, buddy, there’s plenty of fish in the sea” before he starts to go insane. They’ve both made it clear, with sympathy that is lukewarm at best, that they think it’s over between Changbin and Hyunjin–which it’s not, it’s not. It can’t be. Changbin won’t accept that.

And so he’s just stopped talking about it. Hyunjin is now the elephant in the recording studio, and Changbin has been left to work through his crisis on his own. The trouble is, he’s never been great at that. Personally and professionally, he’s always talked his problems out, processing through bouncing ideas off trusted friends and collaborators, Chan and Jisung first and foremost among them.

What could’ve made Hyunjin do this? What did Changbin miss? There are too many variables, too many possibilities and uncertainties swirling around his head, that Changbin doesn’t even know where to start.

Was it the sleepover? he thinks, as he pulls into the company garage and parks his SUV. Was it too much too soon? Changbin knows Hyunjin has some walls up. He’s not one for playing games himself, but he understands the gist of it. Hyunjin likes to play a little hard to get, is all. He likes to be chased a little. He has reservations about seeming too eager. All of that is perfectly fine with Changbin—he’s happy to chase, happy to overcompensate with eagerness to make up for Hyunjin’s feigned lack of interest. He would’ve been happy to court Hyunjin for months—years, probably—if that was how long it took to win him over. 

As luck would have it, Hyunjin didn’t make him wait that long. The walls remained, in small ways—never texting first, for instance, and never accepting rides home—but with every hour they spent together, Changbin could feel their foundations weakening. He’s been getting better at seeing them for what they are, too, and hasn’t minded allowing Hyunjin his little self-protections if it means he’ll feel more at ease around him.

This feels different. This isn’t like Hyunjin refusing to give Changbin his number, then pretending to run into him at the gym the next day. It’s been over a week. Something must have happened.

It shouldn’t have been the sleepover, he decides for the hundredth time, because in their text conversation afterwards, Hyunjin was acting completely normal. Changbin has pored over their messages from that day, and the good night texts he sent Hyunjin, and the good morning ones, and can’t pinpoint anything that would’ve offended him to this degree.

(He did get so drunk that he almost confessed his love to Hyunjin, Changbin reminds himself. He remembers that part with crystal clarity, and more than a little embarrassment. He would’ve meant it, of course, but in hindsight, he understands it would’ve been too much, too fast. He’s lucky he didn’t go through with it.)

Changbin takes the elevator up to his office, mustering up perfunctory hellos for every friendly, well-meaning employee he encounters en route. He wants to be able to let this all go during the workday, to be the producer he needs to be and be present for his hard-working artists. That’s what a professional would do. Chan and Jisung are both able to compartmentalize like that, leaving personal stuff at home and locking in with their work. Changbin wishes he was the same.

He’s supposed to be supervising a recording session today. Weeks ago, when his world wasn’t ending, he and Jisung had the idea to feature one of 3RACHA Entertainment’s rising stars on a track on his new album, Phobia. The young rapper’s name is Kyujin, and while her EPs have received critical acclaim, they’re not reaching as wide an audience as Changbin would like—financially, for the company, and also just in terms of recognition for her incredible talent. They agreed that a collaboration with a big name like Jisung’s would be just the exposure Kyujin needs.

The session was scheduled to start five minutes ago. Changbin wills himself to care about being late. It’s disrespectful to his partners, his employees, and his artists, and Changbin likes to think he’s better than that. He should call up, tell them he’s on his way, and take the stairs two at a time to get there faster.

Instead, in the privacy of his office, he tries Hyunjin’s cell again. There’s always a small chance he was asleep for his first call, and might answer a second one

Is Hyunjin listening to his messages? Changbin thinks, the line ringing and ringing and ringing, until—“You’ve reached Hwang Hyunjin.” Is he deleting them as soon as they arrive? Could he be keeping them? Is there a chance that Changbin’s words are having some effect, and might be slowly working to convince him to pick up the phone next time

‘Hyunjinnie,” Changbin pleads, after the voicemail message ends with a beep. “It’s me again. Call me, okay? I’m not mad. Really, I’m not upset at all. I just need to talk to you. I don’t care what happened. Call me, please. You know my number.”

He ends the call, dropping his phone on his desk, and buries his face in his hands. He doesn’t care how pathetic he sounds. He’ll say whatever—do whatever—if it means getting Hyunjin back.

As expected, Changbin is the last one to enter the recording studio. Chan and Jisung are set up at the sound board, laptops and notebooks and iced coffees littering every available surface. Chan is in the middle of giving some direction to Kyujin, who is already in the sound booth—as Changbin quietly tucks into the last open chair, Chan meets his eyes and nods.

“Nice of you to join us,” Jisung whispers, passing Changbin one of the two coffees in front of him. Changbin takes it, gratefully, fairly certain those were both intended for Jisung to drink.

“Traffic,” he mumbles.

“Right,” Jisung says. He takes the mic from Chan, speaking into it. “What he said, Kyujin. You’re killing it. One more time, and then we can move onto the rap. Changbin-ssi is here.”

Kyujin tucks her hair behind her ear, beaming. “I’ll take it from the top, then,” she says.

“Go ahead,” Chan says, waiting until she situates her headphones and gives him a thumbs up before he plays back the track. As the CEO, Chan isn’t expected to personally supervise every recording session, and yet he somehow always manages to make time to. “He’s a very hands-on producer,” Changbin always tells people—a nicer way of saying that he’s a bit of a control freak, which is how Chan always describes himself. Changbin will admit that control is a big part of it, that it comes from the same deep-rooted perfectionism that Chan brings to every aspect of his life—but he also understands it as just Chan’s commitment to making great music, and his willingness to personally put in the work to get good results.

Thank God he’s here today, because Changbin is not. Kyujin starts in on her rap verse, and Changbin is supposed to be listening closely, giving her feedback and direction for her next take. He keeps getting distracted. He thinks he hears his phone buzz in his pocket, quickly fishing it out to find, no, he has no new notifications. What time is it—9:30? Hyunjin could be doing anything. He could be in a class. He could be with his agent, the one he refuses to shit talk, but who it’s obvious he can’t stand. He could be with his best friend—Minho, Changbin remembers. Maybe they’re talking about him. If he’s a good friend, maybe he’ll talk Hyunjin into calling him back. Unless, of course, he’s the one who talked him into cutting him off. Changbin sighs, putting his phone face-down on the table, then turning it face-up. Just in case it vibrates and he doesn’t hear it.

Changbin doesn’t even notice that Kyujin has finished until he hears Jisung clear his throat, and realizes that everyone is looking expectantly at him. “Um,” he says, flailing for something to say. “That was great. Good, uh. Good stuff.”

“We loved it, Kyujin,” Chan says, not quite cutting Changbin off, but jumping in before there can be even a moment of silence afterwards. “The energy is perfect. Can we try the second two lines again, with a bit of a lazier vibe? It would complement Jisung’s first verse nicely.”

Kyujin nods, making a note with her pencil. “Ready,” she says, eagerly, and they go again.

As soon as she starts recording, Jisung kicks Changbin under the table. “Can you focus, please?”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Changbin whispers. Jisung is the most distractible person he’s ever met. He can’t even watch a movie without going on his phone.

“I have an attention disorder!” Jisung huffs. “What’s your excuse? Somewhere you’d rather be?”

“Guys,” Chan says, and nods in Kyujin’s direction.

“Sorry,” Changbin says. He taps his phone to illuminate the screen—still nothing—then turns it back over. 

“Do you need us to take your phone?” Jisung says, with a forced laugh. Changbin is about to respond when he hears the track stop again.

Kyujin has finished rerecording her lines, and is standing there, patiently waiting for their feedback. “That was great,” Chan says, and she nods, happily. “I think we got it. Let’s take five, and then we’ll do the ad libs for the last chorus.”

While Kyujin drinks her water and checks her notes, Chan turns off the mic so they have some privacy. He doesn’t say anything, just raises his eyebrows expectantly.

“What?” Jisung says, raising his in return.

Chan looks between the two of them. “I’d like to get this done right. Do we need to take a pause?”

“No,” Changbin says, gruffly. He shoves his phone back in his pocket. Hyunjin isn’t going to call him in the next hour, he tells himself. That would be too cruel a twist of fate. “I’m ready. Let’s, uh… Let’s have her run the last couple lines again, before we do the ad libs. I think the diction could be cleaner.”

Jisung claps him on the back. “Thank you, Producer-nim,” he says, and Changbin breathes out slowly through his nose, trying to exhale his tension along with his breath. Jisung doesn’t get it, he reminds himself. He couldn’t get it. No one who doesn’t know Hyunjin could possibly get it.

Chan offers Changbin an approving smile, and nudges the mic in his direction. “Sounds good. Want to let her know?”

* * * * *

The three of them bring their lunches to Chan’s office, where they usually convene to eat. Changbin and Chan take the couch today, while Jisung leans back in Chan’s desk chair and makes himself comfortable. Changbin buries his phone deep at the bottom of his bag and tries to focus on his noodles—he did go pretty hard at the gym this morning, and he’s starving.

“So,” Jisung says. “Turning work brain off, switching friend brain on. Hyung,” he says, pointing emphatically at Chan with a sushi roll caught between his chopsticks. “Your date! Tell us!!”

“Oh,” Chan says, and laughs awkwardly. “That?”

“Good grief,” Jisung says. “Yes, that. How’d it go?!”

“It was… nice?” Chan makes a high-pitched, uncertain noise and shrugs. “Yeah, it was good,” he says, scratching the back of his neck, studying the ceiling of his office. “I think… I think it went well. Really, I’m so lucky that Jeongin was available on such short notice.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jisung says, rolling his eyes. “Jeongin’s a saint, Jeongin’s perfect, Jeongin’s the best nanny in the entire world. I don’t care—come on, spill!! Did you do the deed? Have we broken our post-Sana dry spell?”

“Jisung,” Chan says, his cheeks pinkening. “It was a first date.”

Jisung pops a piece of sushi into his mouth. “That’s not a no,” he says. He glances at Changbin, like he’s expecting him to jump in, but Changbin… Changbin isn’t really listening. He’s focusing on eating. One bite at a time. He’s being present, having lunch with his partners. Not checking his phone.

Chan sighs, looking back up at the ceiling with a shy smile. “I don’t kiss and tell,” he says, eventually.

“Aha!” Jisung slams his palm down on Chan’s desk. “So there was a kiss??”

Chan shrugs, fiddling with the upholstery of his sofa. He casts an uncertain glance in Changbin’s direction, which Changbin ignores. “There was some much needed… stress relief. Let’s leave it there.”

“Hyung!!” Jisung yells, indignantly. “Ugh.” He shoves a few more sushi rolls into his cheek, grumbling as he chews. “Well, fine. As long as your ‘stress’ is ‘relieved.’ Keep this guy close—sex is great for focus, apparently. And sleep. You’re seeing him again?”

Changbin wonders if that’s true, about sex. Probably. Right now, his focus and his sleep schedule are the worst they’ve been in his entire life. He wonders, vaguely, how Hyunjin is sleeping these days.

“I don’t know,” Chan is saying. “It’s a lot to ask of Jeongin, to stay late on a Friday night when he should be out with his friends.”

“Who cares,” Jisung says. “I bet you pay him handsomely for it.”

“I mean, of course,” Chan says. “Naturally. Sorry, did you—” He pauses, tugging absentmindedly on one of his earlobes. “Did you know that he can sing?”

“I did not know that,” Jisung says. Once again, he looks to Changbin for some sort of reaction.

“When I came home, he was singing the girls to sleep,” Chan says. His whole face is a soft blush now, pink to the tips of his ears. “He should—he really could do it professionally. I don’t know how to describe the quality of his voice, it’s so unique, it’s like—” He shakes his head. “No, I can’t do it justice. You’ll have to hear it for yourself.”

Jisung is quiet for a moment. “Ookay…” he says. “And my voice is what, common trash?”

Changbin stands up abruptly, his bowl in one hand. “You know, my head is killing me,” he says. “I’m just gonna finish this in my office.”

“Oh—Bin, are you sure?” Chan says, his brows furrowing.

“Yup,” Changbin says, and grabs his bag in his free hand. “I’ll catch you later.”

“Good talk,” Jisung says, under his breath, as Changbin all but sprints out of the room. He can’t do it today. He can’t pretend to be in less pain than he is. He—

His door closed and locked, his half-eaten noodles long-forgotten, Changbin sinks into his desk chair. He digs his phone out of his bag, opens his conversation with Hyunjin—a string of unanswered messages that grows longer and more pitiful with every passing day. Dutifully, Changbin sends a few more. 

changbin
I’m thinking about you
Honestly I’m never not thinking about you
Call me. Please.
Yours, Changbin

* * * * *

Changbin never knew how many dance studios there were in the Seoul metropolitan area until he started looking for a specific one. That’s his current strategy for reconnecting with Hyunjin, besides all the calling and pleading and waiting—to find out where he dances, and catch him there in person. The end of the work day is a relief, because it means he can get in his car and beeline for the next location on his list—an actionable task, which at least makes him feel like he’s making some progress

He’s been able to narrow it down in some ways. Hyunjin’s studio only offers adult classes, Changbin remembers—his friend Minho does teach children’s classes, but somewhere else in the city—and it has to have mixed levels, because Hyunjin has complained about the beginner classes being at more convenient times for him than the advanced ones. So that’s… most dance studios. But it’s okay, Changbin tells himself. He has nothing but time.

Today’s target is a local studio, smaller than some of the big-name dance academies he’s already scouted out. Changbin pulls into an open spot at the far end of the studio’s tightly-packed parking lot. He parks, cuts the engine, and checks his phone. It’s just about half past 5. 

Hyunjin takes evening dance classes almost every day, unless he has a modeling engagement—although he can be lured away by the prospect of dinner plans. Changbin thinks his chances are good that, if he stakes out Hyunjin’s studio for an entire evening, he’ll see him coming or going. He just has to find the right studio.

The hours tick by. Changbin sits in his car, tapping along to his music—the volume turned way down, so it won’t be distracting. He has a good view of the front doors, and scans the faces of all the young people who pass between them. They come in waves, as classes inevitably begin and end, and are often bunched up in friendly little huddles as they walk. Changbin keeps a closer eye on the people at the margins of the crowds, walking alone with their headphones on. That’s where he’s most likely to spot Hyunjin.

He wonders what Chan and Jisung would think if they knew he was doing this. Chan would probably give him a pitying frown and warn him about the legal ramifications of what could definitely be considered stalking. Jisung would teasingly call his behavior “jobless” and say those are some crazy lengths to go to for a little ass. Obviously, he hasn’t told them.

The setting sun is hanging low in the orangey-pink city sky when Changbin sees him. For a moment, he doesn’t believe it—he’s imagined seeing him enough times this week that he’s convinced this must be another wishful fantasy. He silences his music and sits up straighter in his seat, leaning forward to peer over the steering wheel.

Hyunjin is walking briskly down the sidewalk, coming from what Changbin figures must be the bus stop. He has his earbuds in, and his beautiful, long hair swept up in a messy bun. He’s in joggers and an oversized hoodie, and looks so cozy and comfortable that Changbin can’t help but think of him the last night they spent together—sprawled out on Changbin’s chest, making soft, sleepy noises as he nuzzled his face against Changbin’s neck and insisted he’d get up in five minutes to shower. Changbin had known it was a lie at the time, and the warm, full-body rush of happiness he felt made his recent orgasm feel dull by comparison.

He’s getting closer, approaching the walkway that leads up to the studio entrance—eyes forward, gaze serious and intense. Changbin freezes. He should roll down the window and call out to him—right? Or should he sink down lower in his seat, hiding, making sure that Hyunjin doesn’t see him? Should he follow him inside? See what class he’s taking, and pretend to enroll? Wait until class is over, and follow him home? Changbin hadn’t planned any further than finding Hyunjin, and in the head rush of doing so, is letting him get away. 

No, Changbin decides, gripping the steering wheel tightly. He’ll wait. It’s almost 8 o’clock—this has to be the last class of the night. There will be fewer people around afterwards, and he can catch him on his way out, and just… ask to have a conversation. Beg if he has to. Hyunjin can’t ignore him if he’s standing right in front of him. 

With a pang of loss, desperation, longing, he watches Hyunjin pull the door open and disappear inside. As soon as he’s out of sight, Changbin feels his hands relax on the steering wheel, and he drops back in his seat with a heavy sigh. All he has to do now is wait.

The next two hours feel like the longest of Changbin’s life. Finally—finally—the first few students start to trickle out into the night. Changbin perks up, eyes trained on the double doors with laser focus so he won’t blink and accidentally miss Hyunjin. Not that he thinks he could, but—just in case.

Changbin counts maybe twenty-five people leaving the studio, waving to each other as they walk off in various directions, or getting into their cars and pulling out of the parking lot. Hyunjin isn’t among them. He’s probably just chatting with the instructor after class, Changbin thinks. Unless he’s just taking a while to get changed. Who knows, maybe he has plans after class, drinks with a friend, or—or a date, Changbin tries not to think. 

Twenty minutes pass. The stragglers have all left, none of them Hyunjin. Changbin is sure of it. Suddenly, one last figure pushes open the door, and Changbin leans forward, his heart in his throat.

It’s a woman. A total stranger to Changbin. She pulls something out of her bag and turns back to the door. A key—she’s locking up. Changbin doesn’t understand. She can’t lock the doors. Hyunjin hasn’t come out yet.

As soon as the woman hurries off down the sidewalk, Changbin leaps out of his car. He walks in a circle around the parking lot, around the building. All the windows are dark. He tries the door—no, it’s definitely locked. 

Did he miss him? Changbin tries to peer inside, but he can’t see anything in the darkness. There’s no way Hyunjin is still in there. Could he possibly have missed him?

The bright flood of headlights as a car drives by takes Changbin by surprise, and reminds him that despite the hour, there are plenty of people out. Anyone could see him snooping around the dance studio and think it suspicious enough to call the police. He needs to go.

Driving back home, Changbin is a live wire—pent up confusion and frustration crackling inside him, fighting for which one is going to drive him crazy first. Hyunjin was there, wasn’t he? Changbin hasn’t started actually seeing things?

He was there, his mind insists. He was there, in the flesh, and you let him get away.

Fuck. Changbin slams a fist down on the dash, gunning the gas pedal as he speeds through a yellow light. How could he have been so stupid? Why didn’t he call out to Hyunjin when he had the chance?

* * * * *

He goes back the next day. And the next. Straight from work, rushing out of the office without so much as a goodbye for anyone, he parks at that same studio and stays until long after dark. After the first time, he stays in his car—a black, fairly nondescript SUV, which doesn’t yet seem to have attracted any unwanted attention.

Changbin doesn’t see Hyunjin again. Three nights in a row, he’s watched the building get locked up by one staff member or another, without so much as a trace of Hyunjin, excepting that first time he saw him going inside. He’s trying so hard, harder than he’s ever tried at anything in his life, not to feel discouraged when it comes time Wednesday night to drive home—once again—alone and defeated. He’s not going to give up, but—not seeing Hyunjin these past few nights, after so, so briefly catching a glimpse of him, after letting him slip through his fingers, is—

It’s getting to him. He barely sleeps that night. Tossing and turning, staring at the ceiling, all Changbin’s thoughts lead back to Hyunjin. Is he sleeping peacefully, in his bed that Changbin has never seen, the same way he slept in Changbin’s arms? Has he moved on already, the way Changbin will never be able to? The few hours of sleep he catches are fitful, dreamless. He finds himself jolting awake for no reason at all, with no memory of what woke him, and every time, he fumbles for his phone, peering at the screen through bleary eyes and finding, of course, no new notifications.

At one point, Changbin slips a hand down his pants in a moment of desperation. Jerking off always puts him right to sleep, and he would give anything for the blissful oblivion of unconsciousness right now. However, the moment he starts to feel good, his mind is invaded with images, sounds, memories of Hyunjin—seated on top of him, rolling his perfect hips with the grace and drive of a professional dancer—on his knees for him, fingers splayed out on Changbin’s bare thighs, milking so much pleasure from him that Changbin can’t see. Laid out beneath him, his hands looped possessively around Changbin’s neck, soft and vulnerable and gasping Changbin’s name, kissing him like he loves him back.

Changbin wrenches his hand away, fighting back tears. He stumbles to his shower, turning the water as cold as he can get it, and stands under the stream until he’s soft. Not like this, he thinks, miserably. He won’t taint such precious memories for the temporary relief of a cheap orgasm. Not when he’s feeling this wretched.

The next day, Changbin is so full of tension that he’s ready to snap. He goes so hard at the gym that he’s worried he pulled something in his shoulder. He brushes past everyone he sees on the way in, barrelling straight into his office and sitting down hard at his desk. 

“You’ve reached Hwang Hyunjin. Leave a message.”

“Hyunjin. Baby. It’s me again. In your mailbox. Do you listen to these? I hope you do. Or maybe I hope you don’t, I don’t know. I probably sound pretty pathetic at this point, right?” Changbin laughs bitterly, rubbing his hand against the back of his head, completely ruining his slicked-back hairdo. “I think I’m starting to lose it a little. Fuck. Hyunjinnie…” I love you. I need you. I can’t live without you. Changbin bites the back of his knuckles, swallowing the words back down. “Listen, if your plan is to wait me out, it’s already failed. I’m not—I’m not going anywhere. I’m gonna be here when you decide to speak to me again, okay? Just call me. Any time. Okay. Bye.”

White-knuckled, Changbin powers down his phone, then throws it in his bottom desk drawer and slams it shut so hard that he puts a dent in the wood. He cancels his morning meetings, holing up in his office ostensibly to work on a track for one of their artists, but he couldn’t say which one, and he doesn’t get further than opening the file. He really should’ve stayed home, he thinks. If he thought he’d been distracted before—now, Changbin is just trying not to snap at everyone who has the misfortune of crossing his path.

Chan and Jisung steer clear of him all morning, but they show up together around lunchtime, a couple of quiet, hesitant knocks at his office door. “What,” Changbin says, as uninvitingly as possible. The door opens to reveal Jisung with a tray of iced coffees, and Chan carting a large bag of takeout—Italian, Changbin’s favorite. He can smell the pasta sauce and garlic bread from here.

“Hey,” Chan says. “Hungry?”

“I’m fine,” Changbin says. No matter how tempting the smell, he doesn’t care to eat right now. The gesture feels hollow, too—like they think they can placate Changbin with his favorite foods, like they’ll be able to cure his moodiness without actually talking about his problems.

“Come on,” Jisung says. He takes the bag from Chan and starts unpacking it on Changbin’s desk, holding up each takeout container under Changbin’s nose as he does so, like he can entice him that way.

“I’m not five,” Changbin says, stony and expressionless. Maybe they’ll take the hint and leave him alone. 

“Baby Binnie has to eat,” Jisung says, in a very cutesy baby voice that Changbin does not find particularly funny. Holding one particularly-good-smelling container between both hands, he dances it back and forth in Changbin’s face. “Baby Binnie needs nourishment to remember how to do his job!”

“Jisung,” Chan says, his voice a warning.

It’s too late. Changin’s nostrils flare, latent irritation spiking into a surge of anger under his skin. “Subtle, Jisung,” he snaps. 

“Was I being subtle?” Jisung says. “Oops. Let me try again: Can you please, for the love of God, pull your head out of your ass and at least pretend you care about this album?”

“You said you weren’t going to do this,” Chan says, quietly.

“Yeah, well,” Jisung says, setting down the food and gesturing wildly in Changbin’s direction. “He said he was going to come over and work on lyrics with me a week ago, and now when I schedule an actual meeting for it, he blows it off!”

Changbin has no memory of agreeing to do that, or what the purpose of either of the meetings he cancelled today were. “What do you need my help for,” he says. “You’re the world’s greatest lyricist, isn’t that what the critics are always saying?”

“Oh, fuck off. I need your help because you’re my partner and my producer, and believe it or not, I respect your opinions as an artist and think they’d be valuable tools for making this album the very best it can be! And it’s a little, um, what’s the word, fucked, that this is how you act when I need you the most. Look at you, you’ve been completely checked out all week!”

“I’m not ‘checked out,’” Changbin practically growls. “I’m… distracted.”

“This is still over that fucking kid, right?” Jisung says.

“Jisung,” Chan says. Changbin sees red. He loves Jisung, God he loves Jisung but he really might kill him right now.

“Bro,” Jisung says, ignoring both of them, plopping down on Changbin’s sofa. “Look, I’m sure being ghosted sucks and all. No one’s saying it’s not a bad break. But how long did you even know the guy—a month? There comes a time when you have to let it go.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you??” Changbin shouts, standing up from his chair so quickly it rolls back and hits the wall behind him. Jisung’s mouth freezes in a small ‘o’, his eyes going wide. 

“Bin,” Chan says, weakly.

“No, seriously, what is wrong with you?” Changbin says. “Are you really that big of an egotistical prick that your album is all you care about? I’ve been going through something—really, seriously going through something—and you’re treating it like a big joke!”

Jisung swallows, frozen in his seat. His knees are angled slightly inward, his arms wrapped protectively around them as he hugs them to his chest. Good, Changbin thinks, coldly. If he’s that freaked out, maybe he’ll actually shut up and listen.

“We know it’s not a joke,” Chan says, stepping closer to put a hand on Changbin’s shoulder, but Changbin shrugs him off.

“Yeah, you’ve been a real help too, by the way,” Changbin snaps at him. “Let’s just not talk about it, and it’ll all sort itself out nicely, right?”

“I… Bin…” Chan’s pathetic, sorrowful face instantly makes Changbin feel guilty. He looks between the two of them, into Chan’s crestfallen eyes and Jisung’s startled ones. 

“Sorry,” Changbin mutters. “Sorry, fuck, I—I haven’t slept. Forget it.” He drops back down into his chair. “Just go.”

“It’s not all I care about,” Jisung says, but there’s no fight in his voice anymore—it’s quiet and meek, as small as his posture makes him appear. “I didn’t know this was that serious for you.”

Changbin has to laugh at that, a strained, exhausted laugh. “But I told you,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “I told you when I met Hyunjin that I’d never felt anything like this before. I told you he was different, he was special. Is special. And you didn’t fucking believe me, which is fine, I could handle the jokes—ha ha ha, isn’t it hilarious that Changbin is hallucinating his dream guy—ha ha ha, he fell for him so fast, he must be losing his marbles. I didn’t care! I let you have your fun, and it was fine that you weren’t taking it seriously, because I didn’t need you to, because I had Hyunjin, and being with him makes me feel…” Changbin can feel a lump in his throat, his voice catching on his words. He really doesn’t want to cry right now, but he fears it might be beyond him at this point. “It makes me feel like I can do anything. Like he’s all I need, and as long as I have him, the rest of the world will fall into place around us. Except now he’s—he’s gone, and I didn’t see it coming, and—and—”

“Hyung,” Jisung says, frantically, when Changbin can’t hold back anymore and his voice dissolves into sobs. “No, come here, fuck, I’m sorry,” he says, and rushes over to wrap his arms around Changbin, kneeling down so he can reach him without Changbin having to get up. “Don’t cry, Binnie-hyung, It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Changbin says, through his tears, everything spilling out in a flood of emotion that there’s no stopping now. “It’s not okay. It feels like the—the ground fell out from under me. And instead of having my best friends to catch me, I have no one. It sucks. It fucking sucks.”

“We’ll catch you,” Jisung says, tightening his arms around Changbin, furiously rubbing his back through his shirt. “We’ll catch you, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’ve been such a massive dick about it, I just don’t get it, I really don’t, but I believe you and I’m sorry and I can’t believe I made you cry.”

He pulls back, and Changbin can see Jisung’s own eyes have welled with tears, which are now spilling over and down his cheeks. His sensitive Jisungie, who’s always cried easily, who feels feelings too big for his body and only knows how to express them through song. The last of Changbin’s anger at him melts away.

“I’m sorry too.” Changbin feels a hand on his shoulder, and looks up to see Chan gazing down at him with sad, serious eyes. “I really am. That sounds horrible. I never meant to make you feel alone like that.”

“Yeah,” Changbin says, sniffing, rubbing the back of his hand against his nose. He could never actually be mad at Chan. He’s the most loving, selfless person Changbin knows, and he’s always so hard on himself already. “I know. I know you didn’t. It’s okay. I know I’m like, not normal about him.”

“Yes you are,” Jisung says, squeezing Changbin’s upper arm. 

Changbin laughs, and it’s lighter this time, easier. “No, I’m not. It’s okay, we can say it. He makes me go completely insane.”

“Right, but insane in a good way,” Jisung says. “A normal way. Right, Channie-hyung?”

Chan nods, absentmindedly massaging the back of Changbin’s neck. “Right,” he says.

“Guys,” Changbin says. “I don’t like bottling up my feelings. I’m not good at it—clearly.”

“Let’s talk about them, then!” Jisung says, and takes one of Changbin’s hands. “Let’s talk. I’ll start. I was hurt because I thought you were just blowing off Phobia because I don’t get how anyone could be this obsessed with another person. But clearly that’s a me problem.”

“He’s in love with him,” Chan explains, gently.

Changbin meets Chan’s eyes, and almost starts tearing up anew at the fondness that awaits him there. “I am,” he says.

“Right, but,” Jisung says. “How does that work. Like, we’re not in a movie, or a drama. How do you know you’re in love with him?”

“I just am,” Changbin says. “I just know. I knew right away. I’m sorry, I—I wish I could explain it better. It’s just something that is.”

Jisung lets out a long, hard sigh. “That’s okay,” he says. “That’s fine. I mean you know I’ve never… felt that kind of stuff. With the guys I’ve hooked up with. You know this, right? This isn’t like, news?”

“I know,” Changbin says. Somehow, given his talent for writing heart-stopping love songs, Jisung has never been a romantic person. “I’m sorry for not taking that into account. I could’ve explained myself better.”

“No, fuck off, you don’t get to apologize,” Jisung says, which makes Changbin laugh. “I just want you to know that was my only hang-up. But I get it—these are storybook romance, life-or-death stakes for you. And I’m so fully on board now. I want you to talk to me about him. I promise I won’t be an asshole again.”

Changbin gives Jisung a half-hearted eyeroll. “Thank you,” he says, earnestly. 

“Okay, Channie-hyung, your turn,” Jisung says. “Why weren’t you invested in Binnie and his man?”

“Oh,” Chan says, and looks quickly at Changbin, then away. “I mean, I guess it’s just what Jisung said. I didn’t understand how big it was for you.”

“Really?” Changbin says. Chan is emotionally intelligent in all the ways that Jisung is not, so that doesn’t seem likely. “It kind of felt like you did understand, though. It more felt like you were just… unsurprised by Hyunjin’s actions, and resigned to the fact that that was going to be it for us.”

“Oh,” Chan says again. “I mean, not really.” He looks like he wants to say something else.

“What?” Changbin asks. He looks up at Chan, pleadingly. “Come on, hyung, let’s lay it all out in the open. I can’t read minds today. I wasn’t kidding when I said I haven’t slept.”

“It just…” Chan swallows. “It makes me nervous, I think. For you. For what Hyunjin might think he wants now, versus what he’ll want in the future. Does it not…” He shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “Does it not complicate things, him being so young?”

Changbin hadn’t thought about that being a hang-up of Chan’s, but it makes perfect sense. He’s such a dad, and cares a lot about protecting the innocence of young people. Changbin remembers how he freaked out when they insinuated he was into his hot nanny.

“It doesn’t,” Changbin says. “Not for me anyway. He’s not that young. He’s twenty-five, and a mature twenty-five. He had to grow up quick, you know? He has a lot of lived experience in the professional world, and a lot of relationship experience as well. Probably more than I do, in some ways,” he adds, with a laugh, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “He’s not some sheltered, barely-legal kid. Obviously I would have no interest in someone like that.”

“Right,” Chan says, a little stiffly. “Right, I mean. Who would?”

Changbin shakes his head. When he considers the attractiveness of Hyunjin’s youth, it’s not even physical. Of course, he’s a young, active dancer and model, and has the body to show for it—toned muscles and supple skin, products of a carefully regimented workout and skincare routine—but Changbin doesn’t think you can put an expiration date on the attractiveness of someone’s body. He, for example, has never liked the way he’s looked more than he does now, and he only started his lifting journey in his mid-thirties, and has bulked up significantly since then. He feels infinitely more attractive today than he did as a skinny twenty-five-year-old, and in some ways, he feels younger too.

No, the things that draw Changbin to Hyunjin are more conceptual—his passion, his pride, his self-righteous indignation that he is, in fact, a mature adult. He’s cherishing that as a youthful quality that will probably fade over time, and he wants more than anything to be there when it does, so he can remind Hyunjin—“Hey, remember how grown-up you used to think you were when we met?”—and Hyunjin can throw his head back and laugh, and then turn right around and tease Changbin over his failing eyesight and graying hair.

“As long as you’re not worried about it,” Chan says. “Then I’m not worried about it. I trust your judgment, Changbin.”

“Thank you,” Changbin says, with a sigh of relief. “Because clearly, our age gap is the least of our problems right now.”

“Yeah, okay, start at the beginning,” Jisung says. He moves back towards the couch, catching Chan by the hand and dragging him along until he settles in next to him. “I mean, I remember the meet-cute. And all the hotel sex. When did he ghost?”

So Changbin tells them. He recounts the events of his and Hyunjin’s last date, and that night at Changbin’s place, and the next morning. He tells them how he invited Hyunjin to Chan’s without even asking first, which puts a huge smile on Chan’s face. (“The girls would’ve been surprised, for sure, but he would’ve been more than welcome.”) Changbin then explains how that text conversation was the last time Hyunjin acknowledged his existence.

“Let me see the texts,” Jisung says, holding out his palm. Changbin lets go of his last shred of pride and tosses his phone over to him, watching Jisung punch in his password from memory.

“It’s the most recent chat,” Changbin says, bashfully.

“Found it. Oh,” Jisung says. “Oh, baby, this is a lot of texts. Oh my God, you poor thing.”

“Yeah,” Changbin mutters. “Just… just scroll up, or whatever. You don’t have to read them all. I don’t even know if he does.”

“Sure does, he left you on read,” Jisung says.

Changbin frowns, puzzled. “What does that mean?” he says.

Jisung snorts, then covers his mouth to stifle his laugh, his eyes widening. “Sorry! Sorry. Fuck, that’s funny.”

“Shut up,” Changbin says, but there’s no malice in it. “Explain, please.”

“I’ll show you,” Jisung says, motioning for Changbin to come over and squeeze between them on the couch. He points at the very small line of text under his most recent message, the one that says “Read” followed by a time stamp. “That means that’s when Hyunjin opened the text. If it says that, it means he’s reading them. It also means he knows you know he’s reading them, ‘cause you can turn it off, see?” He pulls out his own phone, showing him their text conversation, where the “Read” line isn’t there. “So he definitely has them on on purpose. And he knows that you know that he knows… that you know… wait. You get it. It’s all very calculated, trust me.”

Changbin’s head is spinning from all this new information. “So… okay. That means he does want me to keep texting? Or he doesn’t?”

Jisung shrugs, helplessly. “No clue. So he hasn’t answered once?”

“No,” Changbin says. “I call every day, too. I leave him voicemails.”

“You are so old, God bless,” Jisung says, winding his arm through Changbin’s. “Channie-hyung? Help. What do we do.”

“Um,” Chan says. “Alright. Was there anything that happened the last time that was… different from previous times? Anything that stands out?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to think of,” Changbin says. “I mean, the fact that he slept over. He always used to leave after, you know. After we finished.”

“It’s okay, hyung, you can call it fucking.”

“After we finished fucking,” Changbin says, elbowing Jisung in the side. It’s not that talking about his sex life makes him shy, or anything. It just feels private, with Hyunjin. He doesn’t want to share their intimate moments with anyone else without Hyunjin’s permission.

“Okay, so he stayed,” Chan says. He smiles at Changbin. “That’s really sweet.”

“It was the best night of my entire life,” Changbin says, dead serious. “But also, um. This is something. We didn’t use protection.”

Chan’s eyebrows shoot up. “Ah. And you did before?”

“Always,” Changbin says. “Every time.”

Jisung clucks his tongue. “You kids,” he says. “Do you think he’s knocked up?” 

Changbin tries to elbow him again, but Jisung dodges out of the way. “Ow!!” he yelps anyway.

“Jokes aside,” Chan says. “That experience can certainly be. Um.” He laughs nervously, the tips of his ears turning pink, his eyes clouding over. “Emotional. Emotionally charged, rather. That could be something.”

It was all Hyunjin, Changbin almost says. Obviously I was fine with it, obviously I wanted it too, but he never even gave me the chance to grab a condom. He holds his tongue, though—that definitely feels too private to share.

“Right,” he says, instead. “But then we were texting just fine afterwards, so… Okay, although he did say something about his agent not wanting him to go out. This guy is like, weirdly controlling about a lot of stuff. What if he… What if he told Hyunjin he’s not allowed to see me?”

“Hmm,” Chan says. “Maybe. I don’t see how he could actually enforce that.”

“Maybe he’s reading Hyunjin’s texts or something! Or screening his calls! You never know. I just—I have to see him in person. If there’s a chance he can’t explain himself fully over the phone, I need to know. Who knows, maybe his agent took it.”

“Jeongin says he’s been active on his phone this week,” Chan reminds him with a sigh.

Changbin knows what the answer is, but he asks anyway. “And you can’t ask Jeongin to talk to Hyunjin for me?”

Chan shakes his head resolutely. “I already bothered him enough last time, when I checked for you to make sure Hyunjin wasn’t missing. I won’t bring him into this, I’m sorry, Bin.”

“No, it’s okay,” Changbin says. “It’s not his business, anyway. God, what a mess.”

“Anything else, though,” Chan says, with a tight frown. “If there’s anyone else you want me to talk to, or—or you need time off work. Just keep me in the loop, and we’ll get it sorted, okay?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Jisung says, leaning his head on Changbin’s shoulder and squeezing his arm reassuringly. “Whatever we can do, hyungie—all you have to do is ask.”

Changbin rests his head against Jisung’s. He feels Chan’s hand on his other shoulder, rubbing the back of it in steady, comforting circles. For the first time in almost two weeks, he feels like he has at least one foot back on solid ground.

“Thanks, guys,” he says. “If I think of anything, I’ll let you know.”

* * * * *

Despite his criminal lack of sleep, Changbin goes back to the dance studio that evening. He can’t not. He’s feeling… calmer, though. Less pent up. He kind of feels invigorated actually—brimming with renewed patience and determination. Hyunjin will show himself again eventually, he thinks. He was probably just extra busy with modeling stuff this week, and not able to make it to any classes. 

He told Chan and Jisung what he’s been doing. He might’ve softened the news a little—claiming the studio is on his way home anyway—avoiding disclosing just how many hours he sits in his car, watching and waiting. They were much kinder than he expects they would’ve been yesterday, before their conversation. Chan did tell him to be careful.

It’s the same as the past few days. Students trickle in, students trickle out. Changbin watches their passing faces hopefully, but not expectantly. Long after dark, after the flow of people has stopped, he once again sees a final figure exit the studio and turn to lock it up behind them.

Changbin refastens his seatbelt, accepting this has been another unsuccessful night. That’s alright. It’s what he expected. He’s just about to put the car into gear and drive off when he realizes—the person who locked the door is walking towards him. Directly towards him, cutting across the parking lot in a straight, purposeful line.

Changbin freezes. Their hood is up, and he didn’t get a good look at their face. It’s not… it couldn’t be.

It’s not. It’s a man Changbin has never seen before. He’s able to see him clearly, now that he’s reached the car and is standing unsettlingly close to the driver's side door. He has some of the craziest eyes Changbin has ever seen, wide and dark and penetrating. Very intense. He’s beautiful, but he’s not his Hyunjin.

The man points downward, gesturing for Changbin to roll down his window. Changbin complies, half in a daze.

“Hi,” the man says—his voice is high-pitched, almost dainty, but he still makes it sound like a threat. “He’s not here.”

“I… What?” Changbin scrambles for words. “He… Who…?”

“Hyunjin. Don’t play dumb.” He leans one arm on the open window, peering inside Changbin’s car. “Nice ride.”

“Where… Where is he?” Changbin asks.

“Oh, he was here,” the man says, matter-of-factly, like the words don’t make Changbin’s chest tighten to the point of pain.

“He was?” He asks, hoarsely.

“He knows you wait around for him. He saw you on Monday.”

Changbin’s heart is pounding. He’s sure the desperation is evident on his face. “He did? He does? What’d he… What’d he say? Does he talk to you about me? Are you…” He studies the man’s face. He looks like he could be around Hyunjin’s age. “Are you Minho?”

The man snorts out a light laugh. “Detective Changbin,” he says.

“You’re Minho,” Changbin says, certain now. “You’re his friend. Please, can you—” He has so many messages he wants conveyed to Hyunjin. Can you ask him what happened? Can you convince him I can fix whatever went wrong? Can you just make him answer his fucking phone? Now, though, given the opportunity, none of those questions seem as important as the one he finds himself asking. “Can you tell me how he’s doing?”

Minho looks at him for a long, quiet moment, the mirth slowly leaving his eyes. “He’s been better,” he says.

Changbin wasn’t ready for how painful those words would be to hear. Not that he assumed Hyunjin is ignoring him because his life is all sunshine and rainbows right now, but—getting confirmation that he’s not doing well hurts more than Changbin can bear.

“What can I do,” Changbin says. “Please, I—I don’t know what he’s told you about me, but I really, really care about him.”

Minho stares into Changbin’s eyes like he’s trying to peel back his layers and see through to the core of him, to his true intentions. “He’s told me enough,” he says, finally.

“Okay…” Changbin really doesn’t have the patience for cryptic answers right now. He’s had a really, really long day. “I don’t know what that means.”

“It’s not my place to say,” Minho says, removing his arm from Changbin’s window and straightening up. “I just thought you should know that this”—he gestures all around Changbin’s car—“is not working. He knows what you drive. Most buildings have a back entrance, you know.”

“He’s avoiding me, then,” Changbin says. Obviously, it’s not a question.

Minho lets out a deep, exhausted sigh, like he’s been over this a hundred times. “He’s avoiding you,” he says. “But you already know that.”

“Why?” Changbin says. “Can you just—no, can you just tell me why?”

Minho is shaking his head, though, glancing over his shoulder at the studio building before looking back at Changbin. “Not my place,” he says again.

“Oh, come on,” Changbin says. “I’m drowning here. Please. Give me something to go on.”

“You know him,” Minho says. “You know how stubborn he can be.”

“I do,” Changbin says. God, does he.

Minho sighs again. “I can’t make him do anything. I can’t control what advice of mine he does or does not take,” he says, and gives Changbin a very pointed look. “Or what people he does or does not call back. Okay?”

“Okay,” Changbin says, rubbing his hands up and down his face. That at least makes it sound like Minho might be on his side in this. “Well. If the subject does come up, you can let him know that I don’t care, okay? I don’t care that he’s avoiding me. I’m gonna find a way to see him. Whatever it takes.”

Minho’s smile is back. “Just don’t follow him inside the studio, okay? I heard some talk about your car today. The front desk staff aren’t as understanding as I am—you might find yourself in handcuffs.”

“I’ll do whatever I have to do,” Changbin says, and he means it.

“And I figured you would say that,” Minho says, huffing out a little laugh. “Well. Good luck with everything. Let’s not meet like this again.” He sticks his hands in his pockets and turns to go, leaving Changbin watching helplessly from the window of his car. Before he’s gotten more than a few steps, though, Minho pivots back around. “Goddamn,” he says. “He wasn’t kidding. You are hot in person.”

Changbin is so taken aback that he bursts out laughing. Minho smirks, turning on his heels, and throws up a parting hand as he saunters towards the only other car left in the parking lot. “Goodnight, Changbin-ah,” he calls.

Changbin gives a weak wave to Minho’s retreating back. At the very least, he has new information—a welcome reprieve from the same well-worn, confusing facts that have been driving him mad for the past two weeks. He’s been better. Hyunjin is not happy right now. He’s avoiding Changbin, but his best friend doesn’t think he should be. The controlling manager theory can probably be scrapped, if Minho thinks Hyunjin’s stubbornness is relevant.

He told Minho you’re hot, a small, unhelpful part of Changbin’s brain chimes in, smugly.

It’s not much information to go on, but it’s more than Changbin had this morning. It’s something new to chew on, and something to keep Chan and Jisung apprised of.

First and foremost, though—he needs to address the one thing Minho told him that Changbin can actually do something about.

He knows what you drive.

Changbin pulls out his phone, navigating to his text thread with Jisung.

changbin
Okay. I thought of a favor.

Jisung’s response comes almost immediately.

jisung
whatever u need big boy

changbin
Are you free this weekend to help me with something?
I need a ride somewhere.