jay

i see myself in you - jihoon x mingyu filo au

the one where exes meet backstage.

tags: exes, misunderstandings, hurt/comfort

warnings for: nsfw content, strong language

Fatigue washes over Jericko the moment he steps inside the crowded jeepney. He tucks his bag close to his chest and tries to breath through his nose, ignoring the prickly heat from the car fumes and the general muggy weather of the city. His throat is scratchy, having forgotten to drink water before he left the shop and he curses a little when he realizes it’ll be over another hour before he’ll reach his destination—fuck traffic.

His eye lids droop as he feels the jeepney finally cruise along the highway, thankful for the slight wind that passes through the windows, providing a little bit of relief to his sweaty neck. He’s pressed on both sides, commuters squeezing inside the jeepney with various plastic bags filled with an assortment of vegetables or produce. The air is stale but Jericko continues to ignore his discomfort, he had been in the same trip for years now and there was no use complaining.

Once, he had illusions that he could change the system, break down the walls and do something. But he saw how ugly things got, how rotten and dangerous—there was no use for him if he had a bullet through his head. For him, there were battles that weren’t just worth it when he can barely fight his own.

Someone taps him and hands him a few coins, silently asking for it to be passed to the driver for payment. Jericko complies before rooting in his wallet for his own fare.

“Ay, ‘ne kinse na ‘yung pamasahe. Kulang ‘to ng tatlong piso,” the driver calls from his seat upfront and a collective groan shifts through the commuters along with Jericko’s.

“Pasesnya na ho, mahal na kase ng gasolina,” the driver laments, almost guiltily and Jericko sighs before digging in his pockets for more spare change, dreading the adjustment he has to make for the month’s budget.

It’s during these times where Jericko contemplates if everything was worth it, if leaving home was worth it for a pipe dream that barely pays the rent, if he would be happier if he just listened. Maybe right now he wouldn’t even be battling it out with other commuters for seats in the jeepney, maybe right now he’d be sitting in an air-conditioned car, free to leave his bag hanging and doze off without the fear of being mugged, maybe he wouldn’t even have to worry if he had anything to eat when he gets home.

There are a lot of maybes and what ifs swirling in his head right now, body weak and resolution crumbling by the second.

But he remembers what it’s like to be trapped, remembers how despite the luxuries he’ll never be happy.

Passion will get him nowhere, that much Jericko knows but that doesn’t mean he’s ready to give up, not just yet.

It’s a funny thing how memories work. One second you’re standing in a room swearing you were there to get something, only to forget it in the next. It makes the back of your neck itch, the forgetfulness and it will be hours later when you finally remember what you needed.

A pen, it turns out. What a silly thing to forget. 

A pen, yes, you remember what it was for now. You were supposed to write the address of the new place you were going to move into until you realize you had nothing to write it with and so, the trip to your bedroom cum home office. 

Here is where you forgot the pen but remembered what the address was for. 

It’s a funny thing how memories work. One second you’re standing in a room swearing you were there to get something only to remember: this was the last place you saw your ex. 

An ex, it turns out, is a very hard thing to forget. 

Soonyoung thinks it’s silly. It’s been three years since they broke up. Whatever memory left had long been sent back to its owner or burnt to the ground at Seungcheol-hyung’s backyard–a cleansing of sorts along with a hazy amount of alcohol and tears. It was quite cathartic, in Soonyoung’s opinion. Nothing underlines I want to forget you than burning the polaroids and all the anniversary gifts he had collected over the past two years. 

But that had been three years ago. 

He thinks it’s silly how Jihoon still makes his heart ache. 

Soonyoung decides to call his ex about the dresser he left him with, anyway. 

-

Jihoon picks up on the second ring, Soonyoung wishes he didn’t. 

Was that a horrible thing to wish for? Soonyoung doesn’t know. All he knows is that when he heard Jihoon answer from the other end of the call, Soonyoung thinks he’s still a little bit in love with him.

“–ello? Soonyoung, are you there?” 

The dresser had been a joint-purchase as far as Soonyoung could remember, a kind of housewarming gift to themselves if you could call a one-bedroom studio apartment that had a leaky faucet and a wonky heater a house. But at that time, Soonyoung didn’t mind and neither did Jihoon–or maybe he had, maybe he did mind the dresser and how it didn’t really match any furniture in their apartment or how they could have just bought something else cheaper.

Maybe that was where it started, maybe Soonyoung shouldn’t have insisted on that dresser. Maybe then, he wouldn’t be stuck-frozen in a call with his ex-boyfriend after not seeing each other for three years besides the accidental (occasional, okay he tried to stalk Jihoon once but that was only after month four after the break-up!) social media post in his feed. 

The call was a bad idea, Soonyoung should have just sent the dresser to the curb and be done with it. 

But Soonyoung wasn’t exactly known for his astute sense of judgment, which had been Jihoon’s forte, not his. 

“–ook if this is a prank, I’m gonna hang up–”

“Do you still want the dresser?” Soonyoung blurts out. 

Nice. 

A few tense seconds followed without any response from Jihoon and Soonyoung really couldn’t find it in himself to blame him. He did spring up a weird question without proper context and he was calling after three years of no communication. 

But memories are also some sort of a muscle, repeat a certain action enough times and your body and mind remembers it. 

It had been three years, yes. But Jihoon has known Soonyoung for more than that. 

“The dresser we brought?” 

Soonyoung doesn’t miss how Jihoon wavers at the word we.

Soonyoung once read from a book how the pronoun ‘we’ was like placing two people behind a joint action, as if they became one being, as if things have come full circle, as if everything that this ‘we’ will ever do will always be shared. “We’ll buy this dresser for our apartment”. “We’ll eat together”. “We’ll make things work”. “We should break up”. 

And then we becomes an I. Another pronoun, but it’s just you this time. 

“–yes, that one,” Soonyoung responds, albeit a little too late because Jihoon has once again asked if he’s still there. 

He still is. 

“What about it?” 

Soonyoung wishes Jihoon wouldn’t have asked so many questions.

(Soonyoung wished Jihoon had asked more questions during the break-up and not the stone-cold acceptance he gave him. 

As if Jihoon had seen things coming, as if he had already prepared himself for the inevitable.)

“I’m moving in a few weeks and I’m in the process of packing things up,” Soonyoung replies, looking around at the mostly empty room save for the bed and the dresser. “–and I realized the dresser was too heavy to bring. So I wanted to ask if you’d be interested in taking it back.” 

Another long pause from the end of the line and Soonyoung finds himself regretting the call. Well, he was already regretting it the second his fingers subconsciously remembered how to dial Jihoon’s number, how he still has the one, final muscle memory left. 

He needs to do a better job at this forgetfulness thing. Better for all people involved, including himself. 

“I thought it was yours,” Jihoon whispers from the other end and it leaves Soonyoung feeling like he had picked on a scab. Reopening old wounds. 

“Oh.” 

“I also thought you might have gotten rid of it,” an awkward laugh. Soonyoung can imagine how Jihoon’s eyes must be shifting around now, an uncomfortable smile decorating his features. 

“I’m not exactly made of money,” Soonyoung tries to joke. “Besides, it would be a waste to throw it away. It was a perfectly good dresser.” 

“It was, yes,” Jihoon replies and Soonyoung blinks in surprise.

“It was?” 

“Why? You didn’t think it was?”

“No, I–I thought you didn’t like it.”

A snort, “Why wouldn’t I? I mean we did buy it.” 

There’s that word again, we. But Jihoon says it a little bit easier this time. A little gentler, more of a gentle poke on a wound and less of pulling alcohol directly on it.

“Oh, I just thought…well, I don’t know, you might have just said yes because I insisted on it. I mean, I was a little pushy and we had, well I picked a fight with you about it.”

Another pause, but it feels thoughtful this time on Jihoon’s end. 

“To be honest I didn’t really care for the dresser? I mean, I was gonna be fine with whatever you picked as long as it fit all of our clothes in and I know it’s a little bit silly looking at it now,” Jihoon laughs and this, too, is a little bit easier. “But I think the reason why I was so against it was that I felt a little left out.” 

“Left out? Why?” 

“You already made up your mind about that dresser and the whole moving together thing was also new for me, too,” Jihoon replies and at this point, Soonyoung had found himself sitting on the bed, phone in hand, hanging on to every word. “–and you know me, I’m not really good with change, which I’m trying to work on now but at that time, that dresser seemed like a huge change and well, I should have told you about it but it just–I don’t know…felt a little childish of me especially when I already told you I was fine with whatever.” 

Growing up in the town they grew up in, change was something that only came in handfuls–all the ahjummas knew who was going to end up with who, the uncle sold them milk was the same man who sold the whole town's milk for the last twenty years, even the parks looked the same and going to Seoul for college wasn’t something that happened to a lot of kids from there. 

Jihoon had only gone to Seoul because Soonyoung did and imagining each other far apart was just out of the question. 

In hindsight, Soonyoung wonders if a lot of things they did, Jihoon did because it was Soonyoung. It was Soonyoung pushing and insisting, mind always shifting ahead before the rest of his body can catch up. Maybe that’s why the break-up was inevitable, maybe that’s why Jihoon didn’t ask questions. Maybe he just wanted to finally stop being obliged to always say yes to Soonyoung. 

“I–I’m sorry,” Soonyoung manages to choke out. “I shouldn’t have–I should have asked–” 

“Hey, it’s okay.” 

“It’s not!” 

Soonyoung finds himself abruptly standing from the bed, as if Jihoon was physically in front of him. It’s a sudden reminder of their fight from three years ago. 

“Soonyoung–” 

“If I ask you a question, can you be honest with me?” 

There’s a sharp inhale from the other end of the line and Soonyoung can already see the frown forming on Jihoon’s face, it makes him take a step back. Already hearing how pushy he sounds. 

“I mean, you can choose to not answer of course but–” 

“Soonyoung-ah, breathe.” 

It’s a faint murmur from Jihoon’s end but Soonyoung has his phone pressed tightly against his ear, afraid to miss out on anything that Jihoon is saying. 

This, too, is muscle memory; Soonyoung still wants to hear everything Jihoon has to say. 

“I-wuh?” 

Soonyoung hears Jihoon chuckling from his side and it makes the back of his neck heat up–Jihoon’s laugh is still his favorite, even after all these years. 

“I said, breathe. You’re talking way too fast again,” Jihoon adds and if Soonyoung can press his phone even more closer, he might feel a trace of fondness coating the other man’s words. 

“Just ask me, I’ll answer.” 

“Have you ever said yes to me, just because you felt like you should?”

Jihoon doesn’t miss a beat, “No.” 

“I said be honest-” 

“I am,” Jihoon cuts him off mid-sentence. 

“Then what about the dresser? You said you were having mixed feelings about that.” 

There’s a slight shuffling heard from Jihoon’s end and Soonyoung imagines that the man must have found a place to sit down and it makes him feel horrible again. Again, he pushed Jihoon into a conversation that should have just taken a few minutes and not an entire therapy session. 

“I did have mixed feelings but I didn’t hate the dresser, I liked it.”

“Well, was there ever a time you felt like I was pushing you into things or when I asked you to come to Seoul with me, did you feel like I was forcing–”

“'Young-ah, what is this really about?” 

And like muscle memory, Jihoon knows everything about Soonyoung, too. 

“I just–” Soonyoung sighs, rubbing a hand against his forehead. “The dresser just made me think of how we left things and how we never really talked about it.” 

“I know,” Jihoon sighs. “We should have talked about it, huh?” 

“Did you ever feel like the break-up was inevitable?” Soonyoung asks, none too gently. Like finally pouring alcohol over a fresh wound. 

“No.” 

“No?” 

“No,” Jihoon hums and Soonyoung can also imagine that Jihoon must be looking up at the ceiling now, a habit he does when he’s thinking. “Why would I think it’s inevitable?” 

“I don’t know, maybe you wanted out for a long time?” Soonyoung mutters, absently picking at the stray thread from the blanket underneath him. “Maybe being in a relationship wasn’t something you really wanted. Maybe I pushed on you, again.” 

“How long have we known each other?” Jihoon asks and it’s such a stark contrast to their conversation that Soonyoung pauses for a few seconds to back-paddle for an answer.

“Our whole life, I guess?” 

“So, has it ever occurred to you that if you ever pushed me, as you say, I wouldn’t have said anything?”

“Maybe you just–” 

“Soonyoung-ah, I loved you.” 

Funny how a single letter can mean so much difference: love, loved. 

“–and I think I still do.” 

“But?” 

“But we’re not the same people anymore,” Jihoon replies, voice careful, softer. "I do still love you, that’s not going to change. You’re still the only person who knows me best.” 

“–and you’re still mine, too.” 

“But we grew up, don’t you think?” Jihoon chuckles, a little sadly. “–and that’s alright, maybe it just wasn’t our time.” 

“I know,” Soonyoung whispers a little sadly as well. “At least we tried, though?” 

“At least we tried,” Jihoon agrees and instead of feeling heartbreak all over again, Soonyoung feels like he can breathe easier. 

“Do you still want that dresser?” Soonyoung smiles albeit himself because this, too, is muscle memory. 

Soonyoung and Jihoon had always been best when they were talking to each other. 

“I’ll drive over?” Jihoon asks and Soonyoung finds himself subconsciously patting down his bed hair, and finds it still silly that even after all this time, he still wants to look good for Jihoon. 

Maybe that will never change, too. 

“I’ll make you tea,” Soonyoung replies. 

"Yeah? I'll look forwa–babe you can just put those down."

And despite the fact that Jihoon has moved on, Soonyoung will always love him.

"Sorry, my...uh–"

"It's okay, you don't have to explain," Soonyoung finds himself saying. Finds that the words don't cut as much, finds that the lump in his throat is easier to swallow. "I'm happy for you."

Jihoon doesn't talk for a few seconds and Soonyoung simply lets the conversation be. Like he said, there was no need for an explanation.

It was just how things worked now and yes, at one point life was unimaginable separated but Soonyoung's love for Jihoon will always be greater than whatever that came between them. You can't just unlove someone because it didn't work out.

"Thank you," Jihoon whispers. "I hope you're happy as well, I really mean that Soonyoung."

"Are you getting sappy on me?" Soonyoung laughs, finds that this, too, is easier.

"Shut up," Jihoon grumbles and it makes Soonyoung laugh even harder.

Maybe they can try being friends again.

“See you next week, ‘Young-ah?” 

It’s a funny thing how memories work, you could remember the most awful of things but there is always the good that balances it all out. 

Maybe Soonyoung will stop trying to forget, maybe he’ll just let it be. 

Jihoon will always have a place in his heart, anyway. 

“Sorry ulit ‘di kita nasamahan kanina,” Gino sighs as he bends down to part Mica’s hair, loosely arranging the strands so it doesn’t bother her when she sleeps later.

Mica simply hums as she enjoys Gino’s ministrations, focusing on his boyfriend’s gentle touches and warmth.

“Boring lang talaga kanina, lahat sila may ka-momol tapos ako wala.”

Alcohol had always made Mica loose-lipped, often saying things she isn’t too brave to say without the liquid courage and the sudden confession makes Gino chuckle.

“Inom o momol pinunta mo dun?”

An adorable scrunch of her eyebrows is what Mica answers Gino with, “Pwede sana both if ando’n ka.”

“Pwede naman ngayon eh,” Gino jokes, enjoying his girlfriends antics. “Or bukas na lang pag ‘di ka na lasing.”

“‘Di nga ako lasing,” Mica argues, opening one eye to glare at Gino with all the strength she can muster but it only makes Gino’s smile even wider, it’s not a very convincing glare. “Nakainom lang.”

“Alright, whatever you say baby—“

Gino feels himself being tugged down, instincts working just in time for him to slam a hand beside Mica’s head to stop himself from completely toppling down on her as he feels himself being kissed.

Heat immediately slithers up on Gino’s spine and for a second, he looses himself in the moment—his free hand begins to caress Mica’s cheeks, thumb rubbing rhythmically on her skin as he lets her take the lead; he lets himself be tugged even closer and when Mica pulls back for air, Gino wastes no time and begins to kiss her neck—small open-mouthed kisses that makes Mica whimper, a broken little sound that does something to Gino’s head and makes him even love drunk as he begins to suck hickeys on his girlfriend’s throat.

“Miss you,” Mica whispers as she cranes her neck upward, giving Gino full access. “Tapos you sent pa that photo kanina.”

“What photo?” Gino whispers into her ear as he tugs it with his teeth, making Mica jolt for a second at the new sensation.

“‘Yung hawak mo si Kkuma.”

“I don’t get it?” Gino asks, pulling back to look at Mica and what he finds is his girlfriend’s half-lidded eyes, pupils blown in arousal.

“The photo,” Mica begins, blush slowly coating her cheeks as her throat works up and down her neck. “‘Yung kamay mo.”

“Ano naman meron sa kamay ko?”

Arousal takes a quick back seat as Mica rolls her eyes much to Gino’s confusion but before he can even react, Mica tugs him even closer and this time, Gino ends up being on top of her.

“Do I need to spell it out pa ba.” Mica sighs as she loops an arm around Gino’s neck, tugging him close. “You already know.”

“Baby, I really don’t.”

A frustrated sigh makes it’s way our of Mica’s mouth before she tugs one of Gino’s free hand and begins to lead it towards her neck.

Understanding immediately dawns on Gino and he feels the heat ratchet even more as his fingers skim the soft column of Mica’s throat.

“Gets?”

“Love, not now.” Gino cautions, “You’re still drunk.”

A frown makes it’s way to Mica’s face but before it can fully form, Gino drops a quick kiss on her forehead to placate her.

“Besides, madaling araw na and you have work in the afternoon.” Gino hums as he slowly maneuvers himself, so that he’s finally lying on the bed while Mica’s head is cushioned on his chest. “And I intend to draw it out as much as I can.”

A tiny hitch of breath is Mica’s reply and if Gino were to be a lesser man, he would not have hesitated when the chance presented itself. But as it stands, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to live with himself if he ends up hurting Mica just because of his greed—this was someone he deeply cared for, someone he doesn’t want to lose.

“But for now, let’s sleep na?”

“Boo.” Mica groans but lets herself be tugged even closer, almost ending halfway on top of his boyfriend who places another kiss on her forehead with a small laugh.

“Love you,” Gino adds, “Good night.”

hoshi loves seeing him on the stage, loves how larger than life changkyun is with his effortless charisma and ability to suck an entire crowd into his axis while he sings. hoshi loves it even more when changkyun just gets lost in his music, eyes trained faraway into something only he and his lyrics can reach, a different plane of existence shared between the maker and the muse.

hoshi will not deny that it also does strange things to his libido, especially when the singer all but spits out his words in anger while his fans holding their breath until the beat drops and the stadium explodes into a flurry of sound.

but for now, hoshi remains as enraptured as the sea of people in front of changkyun—feels his heart thudding in his chest as he hears one of the songs the older had off-handedly sang a few months ago in their cozy little apartment back in seoul where no one existed but them, changkyun's music and hoshi's unopened suitcase from his recent flight to france.

he remembers changkyun gently drumming the begginings of the song on his exposed hip as the black-haired man clung to the younger, a rare occurence when it was usually hoshi who would clung to the rapper like a leech any chance he could get.

"new song?" hoshi had asked as he gently poured milk over a bowl of cereal.

their apartment had always been empty when both of their jobs required them to be away most of the time but thankfully, hoshi had scavenged a box of corn flakes from their poorly-stocked pantry that definitely needed an upkeep and changkyun had already phoned in for a chicken delivery.

to be honest, the place wasn't really much and the only real furniture they owned was the king in the bed room and the dining table with two mismatched chairs, everything else was blank space with the occassional clutter from their work—an errant dress bag, a few pieces of crumpled music sheets, guitar wires, a high-heeled boot that had since lost its pair.

but it didn't matter, home was simply wherever changkyun and hoshi were, wherever it may be in the world.

"mhm," changkyun had hummed as he dipped his head closer to hoshi's neck, scattering a few light kisses on the model's skin, making him giggle. "new album's dropping in two months."

"i feel like you shouldn't be telling me this," hoshi replied, spinning around to face changkyun, looping his arms around the older's broad shoulders. "i have a long history of not being able to keep my mouth shut."

"that you do," changkyun smirks, hazel eyes darkening to chocolate as the innuendo makes itself known.

hoshi had been a fan at first, discreetly following along changkyun's schedules lest someone from the press caught wind and made things...difficult. luckily enough, they met in some industry party a few months later and hit it off like a house on fire.

they had been dating for seven months ever since and no one knows, just yet.

it's not like they don't want anyone to know and besides, a few of changkyun's more eagle-eyed fans had already been noticing especially when hoshi had always been bad at being subtle—a shirt that changkyun definitely wore a few weeks back on hoshi while he walked the streets of milan for fashion week, matching shoes, hoshi getting spotted at changkyun's concert in brazil, a grainy video of them exiting changkyun's car while walking to the muscian's hotel.

it would only be a matter of time before news broke out but until then, they want to enjoy the little bubble of privacy they can still move around in for the time being.

after a few more songs, it was time for encore and hoshi makes sure to walk over to the ramp that would lead changkyun backstage before the bulk of changkyun's touring crew could get there, making sure he was hidden just enough that when the LED doors opened for changkyun to exit into, hoshi could still safely hide in the shadows and wait for him.

hoshi had also wanted to surprise his boyfriend who he hadn't seen in two weeks by being the first person changkyun sees when he ends the show and when the rapper finally does land his eyes on hoshi after the crew had hurriedly stripped him off of his music gear and gave him water to drink, hoshi swears he feels like he was someone divine.

there was a certain weight in the way changkyun eagerly catalogues every bit and part of hoshi he could see as the singer runs towards him and when hoshi finally feels changkyun's arms wrap around him in a crushing hug, he feels his heart soar.

"what are you doing here?" changkyun breathes out, voice full of awe as hoshi lets his boyfriend pepper his face with kisses.

"surprise?" hoshi grins, child-like and carefree as the entire world falls away until the only thing that existed was the two of them, gently swaying side to side as they reacquaint themselves to each other's bodies.

"baby," changkyun sighs as realization dawns upon him, "it's your off week, you should have been resting."

hoshi rolls his eyes as he loops his arms around changkyun's neck, drawing him closer while the older tugged him by belt loops in tandem, hands settling on the swell of hoshi's ass.

"i can rest here," hoshi replies. "besides, i need a vacation away from seoul."

changkyun gets that look on his face when hoshi tells him they can spend more than a day together, in the same continent, without anyone bothering them for the forseeable future.

it's a look of hunger.

"how long do i have you," changkyun whispers into hoshi's skin as he drops another kiss on the model's neck, just a little bit closer to his ear where hoshi likes to be kissed.

"mhm, a week?" hoshi hums as he lets his boyfriend have his way, all too eager to be close and fend off the touch-starved mood he had been plagued with for the last two weeks.

terrible, terrible thing. why did he decide being away from changkyun was a good idea, again?

"seven days or five?" changkyun asks, lips moving close until hoshi feels a silver of teeth catch on his ear lobe, giving it a sharp tug that has heat slithering down his spine.

"seven," hoshi almost moans when changkyun begins to dip his fingers under the younger's shirt, pinching the skin underneath. "shit, how soon can you leave?"

hoshi can feel the shit-eating smirk on his boyfriend's face as he openly fondles him backstage, at the clear view of any of the crew to walk in and a catch them.

"under an hour, if you behave."

hoshi feels a pout forming on his lips and a following glare when changkyun breaks off from suckling hoshi's neck and faces him, "you're being mean."

"just doing my job," changkyun lies when hoshi had seen enough of changkyun willfully dismissing his schedules in favor of doing whatever he wants to do (often times at the behest of hoshi for alone time.)

"can't you hurry it up?" hoshi widens his eyes, innocent as he grabs changkyun's hand that had been squeezing his ass in the last five minutes and dips it lower until the older's fingers catch on something under hoshi's butt.

"is that—"

hoshi can read changkyun like an open book and he had been in enough concerts to know that the hype never really wore off unless changkyun tired himself to the point of exhaustion and well, hoshi had always been a helpful significant other.

"think you can do it in thirty minutes?" hoshi grins, all wolf-like as he watches changkyun's eyes dilate into something deep and dangerous.

"you little minx," changkyun growls as he lets his fingers push deeper into hoshi's ass, making the younger jolt as the plug nudges deep inside of him, the friction making his spine arch and his throat dry.

but hoshi will his face to remain neutral, schooling his features in an unimpressed glare.

he had been wearing the toy for the last two hours just for the shock-effect when changkyun realizes what his boyfriend had done, hoshi will be damned if he creamed his pants even before he got to the real thing.

"see you in thirty, rock star." hoshi grins devilishly as he backs away from changkyun when the rapper's assistant called him for tonight's meet and greets after the show.

the look changkyun levels him with can only be described as feral.

Minghao does not bow.

It is customary—no, required to do so, especially when in front of him is the man that gets to decide whether he lives or dies for his show of insolence, whether his family will bear the burden, and whether his country will suffer from his pride but Minghao does not bow.

His grandmother's scathing stare nearly makes him—pinpricks of her anger stabbing him in the back despite the layers of silks and fur they had saddled him with, leaving his skin feeling heated but Minghao stubbornly keeps his spine ram-rod straight, years of princely education and strict teachers fortifying his resolve. For a second, he vaguely wonders if his actions of impudence have finally given away his madness, that he had truly gone mad because what rational creature would not curtesy to the tsar? 

Minghao resists the urge to shiver when his brain supplants the word, creature. He tries to roll the word in his tongue, finds that the phantom taste of metal and sin coats his glands. The tsar was not just the ruler of all lands but he was the one who controlled the shadows that ravaged it—wisps of malvolent spirits and beasts hidden under the cloak of the night, twisting and hungry for its next prey. 

There was a reason they bowed when he came, if not for respect then it was for fear.

But then Minghao remembers yesterday, when he had escaped from his wards after overhearing that the negotations for his marriage would be done that morning and his anger manifests into a ten-fold. He knew they were coming, their house and its retainers had been in a flurry ever since seven weeks ago, preparing the castle for guests and if it were to be any guest, Minghao knows that the same grandeur would not be afforded of whoever would step into their gates. But the tsar of all people was coming, together with his cavalry and the famed and fearsome oprichniki, that despite his father's belligrent attitude towards their king on their dining table after he had come home from the battlefront, weary and humiliated, he had ordered all of their men to prepare a feast fit for royalty.

So they made ready and Minghao was not spared.

He was neither ignorant nor was he foolish enough to believe that he will escape such archaic traditions for treaties and strengthening strongholds, despite being the bastard son of his father.

Minghao might be a bastard's son but he is still a prince's bastard son. Mei Lian may have every bit of royal blood coursing in her frail bones but Minghao was also the only son in their family. 

His birth right was both a gift and a curse and in a country ravaged by war and enemies unseen, children were nothing but pawns to their parents to barter for momentary peace or even just the illusion of it.

Sooner or later, war will claim their lands once more despite the flimsy papers that say otherwise and the cycle will repeat for an infinte number of times. Kings may fall while new ones replace them but they will walk the same circles as their predecessor have had.

Such is the nature of human greed and Minghao had come to understand this even at a young age. How else would he have made it to the palace? How else would he have made it to his tutors as they dress him in gold and serve him fresh bread? His mother, a particularly demure town girl who had caught the eye of his inebriated father during a hunting trip had no fantasies or ambitions to replace the princess but she did not want her son to end up as a farm boy, forced to relive her misery. She did not hunger for herself but she made sure Minghao would never know such pain.

Perhaps it was not greed then, perhaps it was something akin to desperation or love.

But as he hears his father negotiate for his hand, sell would be more apt because is it not the truth—Minghao is being sold like a mere lamb in the markets for a few coins? He only feels the cold and calculated execution of human greed.

There is no love found here, never will there be.

So, no. He will not bow.

The man in front of him dressed in resplendent robes, most likely costing more than an entire year's-worth of harvest for their town, more than anything grand that his father wears, appraises him with a silent countenance but does not comment on Minghao's lack of manners.

Minghao should feel grateful that he has not been sent to the guillotine but he finds that he has little to be thankful for, not when he knows that this man treats him no more than an object.

Minghao is not naive to hope that this marriage will remain political, that it will remain to follow what was written on paper, that there are no expectations required of him despite his inability to bear a child. What hold does he have over a ruler who has won wars and fought many battles? To a tyrant who threatens their land with violence if he is not offered his whims and wishes? To a man whose lust and debauchery knows no end?

It was an open-secret that the tsar's preference for men has led him to seek out different beds as soon as he was of age to sit on the throne. Why wouldn't he? There was no danger in accidentally conceiving a child, no brood of bastards to care for nor jealous mothers to appease.

Sooner or later, his paper-marriage will mean nothing and Minghao will become one of the many lambs this wolf has sunk his teeth into and discarded when the tsar has consumed his flesh until there is nothing but bones and rot.

So, no. He will not bow.

“Minghao,” he hears his grandmother's verbal admonishment and he must have truly angered her to sense the acid in her usually solemn voice or for her to speak out of turn in front of the tsar.

Minghao hears his grandmother apologize for him, hears her excuses of his birth, his difficult upbringing and tries not to flinch nor break his unwavering stare against the tsar who only holds a ghost of a smile on his lips.

Very well, let him see how much of a disadvantage Minghao is. Let him see that he made a mistake, Minghao privately sneers. Let him pick someone else. Someone maleable, perhaps. Someone who will agree with him without question, who will turn the other way when he invites other bodies to bed in their chambers, someone who will hold the crown with grace and not the selfish heart that Minghao has grown with.

“Peace, duchess. It is but a small matter I can overlook, for now.”

Minghao has not heard the tsar speak until today, not even when he had spied on them from the hidden room behind the heavy cabinet in his father's war chambers because Seungcheol had caught him with surprising ease before Minghao could hear anything else.

He has not heard him speak until now and Minghao fears that the slight buckling of his knees as he hears the uncharacteristically youthful and mischievous lilt of the tsar's voice is an indication to the decline of his resolve.

No, Minghao still will not bow.

”...after all, perhaps my bride is simply riddled with joy upon seeing me.”

I beg your pardon, Minghao almost shrieks but he catches himself in time.

The tsar might have forgiven his initial act of discourtesy but something tells Minghao he will not be gracious for a second.

So he fumes from where he is standing, hiding his clenched fist behind the robes the maidservants made him wear and tries to keeps his face impassive when all Minghao wishes to do, is to lob the nearest vase to the tsar's still smiling face, completely convinced of his own illusions.

It seems like his grandmother does not know what to make of the tsar's words either for she pauses long enough for an awkward silence to follow and Minghao wishes he could just laugh at the hilarity of it all, instead of being mute as his freedom slips away from his fingers like sand.

“Er, well as you say, moi tsar.”

An impish smiles makes its way to the tsar's face and should it have been on any other boy, any other man without connections to the crown, Minghao might almost find it endearing.

Almost.

“Minghao, is it?”

And that was simply unfair, was it not? How Minghao's name rolled off so effortlessly in his tongue, voice caressing the vowels as if Minghao's name is something precious, something dear.

He has not heard his name spoken like that, in a while.

Which is probably why he nods diminutively despite his stubborness from earlier. Whispers a quiet, yes, moi tsar like a lamb baring its neck for slaughter.

Foolish, he admonishes himself but finds it hard to gather his anger and use it as a shield when the tsar suddenly steps down from his makeshift throne and crosses the short distance between him and Minghao in one fluid motion.

Minghao forgets how to breathe.

Molten eyes the color of coal carefully trace Minghao's features, a relaxed smile on the royal's face which quickly morphs into something sharp when he takes stock of Minghao's growing blush.

“You can call me, Junhui.”

Junhui, Junhui, Junhui.

Minghao nods, distrustful of his voice.

“What's your favorite color, Minghao?” The tsar asks and Minghao is acutely aware of the eyes staring at them from all manner of directions. Yet, it seemed like the man in front of him does not notice or simply elects to ignore them all together as he focuses solely on Minghao, waiting for an answer.

Minghao briefly considers lying. This man does not deserve to be privy to his own thoughts and feelings after taking so much already but he finds that dishonesty comes slow when those coal-like eyes are trained on him with such intensity and makes Minghao mumble, “White.”

“White?” Comes the amused tone of the tsar, his eyebrow raised in surprise. “Why is that, lyubimy?“

Minghao almost gasps but he tempers it by angling his head down, hiding his fiery face from the man in front of him.

“No particular reason, moi tsar.” He responds, hands itching to twist together to relieve the tension in his body but Minghao finds that he is unable to move a muscle, pinned by some unknown force from the king's eyes alone.

He doesn't tell Junhui that it was because white was the color of the flowers growing on a small patch in front of his mother's grave.

“Well, it seems like my tailors will not have a hard time making your bridal clothes, then.”

Like an ax, the realization drops swiftly on Minghao as he remembers what he was truly here for.

“Do not worry, solnishka,” and Minghao is helpless to hide his gasp this time as Junhui takes hold of the younger's trembling hands and carefully brings it a hairsbreadth away from his lips. “You shall be a sight to behold in white.”

There was a time when Wonwoo saw nothing but shades of white and gold every single year.

Bands glittering underneath the Tuscan sun or flowers softly swaying under a canopy of red woods, the scent of earth clinging to his shoes at every step. Where the revelry went for hours and hours on end and the wine flowed like a fountain as shrieks of laughter broke the night air and made it warm. He also remembers swaddles of cloth and love held in the arms of his friends, of rosy-cheeked babies and long afternoons rolling on hills and picnics underneath the trees.

And then like the changing of the seasons, of summer bleeding into the cold winds of fall until the harshness of winter surprises him one morning when he least expected it, an ocean of black and somber white was all he could see—of umbrellas held under the rain and cold headstones. The scent of earth clinging to his shoes smells like mourning.

Not everyone lives forever.

The heart, at some point, grows old with weariness and succumbs to resignation as its other half remains lost—a boat untethered to its shore.

Wonwoo will watch friends turn old and grey, skin withering until he gazes into their milky eyes and realize that recognition has long passed and they remember nothing of their nights of revelry when the wine flowed and the laughter went on until morning.

Wonwoo makes sure to attend every funeral as an apology—all sixty-five years worth of it.

The butler had already prepared his suit by the time Wonwoo dropped the call. He does not know if he wishes to praise his efficiency or to worry about how they have established a routine with how often Wonwoo receives calls like he just had these days.

It feels like the grim reaper is also calling for him.

Nevertheless, Wonwoo slips the suit on—he used to have a favorite but as the years passed, the threads began to fray and Wonwoo had to call for a new one. He thinks he likes this one best, it's simple and it will be easier for him to blend with the crowd later.

Wonwoo had never liked drawing attention to himself.

“I'll pick you up after, Sir?” His butler asks, a tall blond man who does not look a day over eighteen but has worked for Wonwoo for over twenty-seven years. He has a silver band on his finger and his hands are smooth and pale—some are lucky to have found their soulmate so young and stay frozen in youth, forever.

And is that not one's ultimate desire?

Countless tomes of literature and reels of films have spoken about humanity's search for the fountain of youth, for the elixer that cures old age and sickness and lets the beholder stay young for all of eternity.

But Wonwoo had come to realize that these are nothing but products of souls who have not found their own souls, the chattering of mad men in the dark or the drunken conversation from one bottle of spirits to another.

A hidden desire, a prayer to the lost gods.

“No need,” Wonwoo replies as he slips inside the back seat of the car, bringing his wrist in front of him to check the time. “I'll be fine.”

His butler steals a look on the rearview mirror for a second, kind understanding in his eyes, before he nods and they drive off.

The funeral this time is quick and only attended by a few friends and family.

Wonwoo sees some familiar faces during the service and he chances upon Seungcheol once the casket had been lowered and Wonwoo had finished offering his respects to the family.

“Leaving already?” Seungcheol greets him, face just as cherubic as Wonwoo remembers when he first met him in college, fourty-three years ago. “You haven't even said hello to the gang, yet.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes at Seungcheol's fatherly tendencies but he supposes it's warranted. Seungcheol is the oldest friend Wonwoo has ever had.

“I'll see all of you at dinner tonight anyway,” Wonwoo replies as they walk side by side on the grassy lawn of the cemetery. It's a shame that most of New York's greeneries are found here.

“Forgive me if I wish to spare myself a few hours of peaceful sanity.”

“Dramatic as always,” Seungcheol scoffs as he folds the umbrella he had been carrying earlier when it started to drizzle. “They're not that bad.”

Wonwoo shrugs as he focuses his gaze on Seungcheol's side profile, “What? Don't they tire you?”

The older is quiet for a minute as they simply walk in companionable silence.

When you have known someone as long as Wonwoo has known Seungcheol, there is no need to fill every meeting with conversation—Wonwoo knows enough as much as Seungcheol knows him enough. Understanding each other was just as inherent as breathing, Wonwoo thinks there was no else in the world that he knew him in the way Seungcheol did.

Eternity is often lonely as Wonwoo had come to realize but he's glad he will always have a familiar face to go back to.

“I think funerals always had a way of shocking me back to reality despite having lived this long,” Seungcheol starts. “It's a cold reminder to me that not everyone has a lot of time, not everyone is like us.”

Immortality was conditional: a person stops aging only if they meet their soul mate. No one knows how this rule came to be, the gods have long refrained from answering prayers and neither history offers any answer. It simply just was and that is how they came to be.

Yet despite such premise, they could still die. Old age will not touch them, not even if they grow as old as the mountains that once were piles of rocks and seas that once were barren with water. But Death has other ways to announce its arrival because after all, the heart is also a fragile, fragile thing.

Heart break was his favorite harbinger.

Sometimes meeting your soulmate does not mean the guarantee of forever. Sometimes differences do not work out even if their destinies have been written in the stars.

Stars after all, no matter how bright they burn, die.

So does love.

Human beings are fickle creatures and love becomes arbitrary when the years stretch long enough for it to simply be not enough.

“Good, now you're reminded to start my funeral preparations.”

Wonwoo gets nothing but a dead-eyed stare in return for his cheek.

“Do you still honestly believe you haven't found him?"

Him.

How was Seungcheol so sure?

“Of course,” Wonwoo scoffs, shrugging away the disbelief in Seungcheol's eyes. “I have been feeling old age in my bones lately, my joints hurt when it rains.”

Now, it's Seungcheol's turn to roll his eyes.

“You do not look like you've aged since the year we met,” Seungcheol replies, sounding like he's trying to explain a basic concept to a five year-old (Wonwoo knows, he's been around Seungcheol's kids for dinner long enough) when he had already explained it earlier but has to do it again.

Wonwoo does not think he appreciates the sentiment.

“Maybe you're the one getting old,” Wonwoo squints. “Don't you see my wrinkles?”

Seungcheol throws his hands up in the air in a whatever gesture and simply walks away with his back turned against Wonwoo, the picture of defeat. There's a car waiting for him at the curb and Wonwoo does not have to guess that Jeonghan is the one behind the wheel.

Late for every single thing unless it involved Seungcheol.

Mingyu as the eternal host of honor had figured that if he wanted their dinner parties to start on time, Seungcheol was the one to ask and not Jeonghan if they were going to make it.

“Don't forget dinner, grand pa!” Wonwoo calls after him and Seungcheol simply shoots Wonwoo the bird as his figure retreats even further until Seungcheol finally fades out of sight.

Despite Seungcheol's frustrations, Wonwoo still finds a reason to laugh at his old friend's antics. He know understands where Hyunbin got her moody tendencies.

"Well," Wonwoo sighs as he fishes for his phone, "Looks like I don't have a ride home after all."

"Why? Too old to walk home, old man?"

Wonwoo spins around, phone halfway raised to his ear as another (unfortunately) familiar face comes into view.

Wonwoo's mood immediately dampens.

“What are you doing here.”

“I'm attending a wedding,” Soonyoung hums, his tone adopting the sarcastic one he always has when he's within the hearing vicinity of Wonwoo's.

“Hope it's not yours, I fear for the groom,” Wonwoo fires back with the same ease of banter and dose of acidity.

“Aww. Jealous, darling?” Soonyoung grins mockingly as he shrugs a black jean-jacket over a frayed band shirt, horribly under-dressed as per usual.

“Don't flatter yourself, I'm merely concerned for the poor man that has to spend eternity with you.” Wonwoo mutters as he pockets his phone and begins to resume his walk towards the cemetery's exit.

Uncaring if Soonyoung follows.

But like a fly that annoyingly buzzes in one's ear, Wonwoo hears the rush of hurried footsteps.

Great.

“Shouldn't you be more concered about those wrinkles, old man?” Soonyoung replies, easily falling into step with him despite the younger's obvious disdain, which he has made very clear every time Wonwoo was present.

"Shouldn't you start dressing in warmer clothes? Those jeans can't be too good for your blood circulation."

Wonwoo doesn't remember when he first met Soonyoung but he distinctly remembers the wave of white-hot anger that came crashing down when the younger clumsily crashed against him and consequently, the diorama Wonwoo had spent weeks building for class.

To his credit, Soonyoung had tried to help Wonwoo and even going as far as offering to come with him to class to explain what happened to Wonwoo's professor. But patience was not (yet) a virtue Wonwoo had come to cultivate and he was too proud for his own good to accept Soonyoung's apologies despite the younger's insistence.

And thus began a war that spanned all through out college as Wonwoo had retaliated by sneaking into Soonyoung's frat house (courtesy of a once-impressionble Chan) and putting powdered chalk all over his clothes and beddings and well, his laptop was just lying there and Wonwoo had a year of computer engineering before he shifted to creative writing and got, well, creative.

Soonyoung not one to take such insult lying down, had proceeded to egg every inch and crevice of Wonwoo's newly-washed car so much that it had to take three more washes for the older to get the smell off.

In hindsight, Wonwoo thinks they could have just talked it out like proper and civilized human beings. But pride was on the line and Wonwoo had spent way too much money on balloons that he had blown up and snuck in Soonyoung's car to bake under the heat and pop simultaneously the moment the Dance major attempted to open the car doors.

As such, it just became a thing to both their eternal thirst for revenge to one-up the other and their friend's amusement.

("I've never seen Wonwoo exert so much effort until he meet Soonyoung," Mingyu mutters in quiet awe as he watched two of his friends chase each other down the lawn with a can of whipped cream. "You couldn't even pay him to attend sports day."

Jeonghan simply hums as he grabs the can of beer from the still-frozen man and leans back on the beach chair he had comandeered from one of the frat houses for No-Beach-Beach Day.

"Sometimes your soul mate makes you crazy.")

"Don't worry, I'll still out live you." Soonyoung replies as he twirls his car keys over a finger. "Now, does the senior citizen need a ride?"

There's a scathing reply at the tip of Wonwoo's tongue but it gets cut off as a gust of wind billows around them, making the both of them shiver and goose bumps to errupt on their exposed skin.

Freezing to (possible) death just to wait for Desmond to arrive will save his pride but Wonwoo had just come from a funeral and he's just about ready to call it a night with a glass of wine to lull him to sleep.

Getting stuck in an awkward car ride with Soonyoung seems like the lesser of two evils and he wants Desmond to come home to his own family on time for dinner, for once.

"Fine," Wonwoo mutters as he walks towards the direction of the car park, "Get me home."

"Oh, is that a please I hear?"

"Fuck off," Wonwoo mutters as Soonyoung grins manically beside him as he rushes to his car.

Once they're both inside with much less fanfare than Wonwoo had come to expect, Wonwoo presses himself against the car door as close as possible to at least create a line of separation between him and Soonyoung.

Wonwoo will find a way to keep his dignity intact.

To his chagrin, Soonyoung doesn't even comment on it and simply drives.

The ride is silent for a few minutes save for the constant stream of whistling from Soonyoung's end after he had turned on the radio to some pop station that he knows will annoy Wonwoo to death. Wonwoo having no other desire to exert any unnecessary effort to interact with Soonyoung, simply keeps his mouth shut despite the headache throbbing in his temples at the repetitive lyrics.

"Hey, you think you'll die soon?" Comes the sudden question from Soonyoung as they drive out of the cemetery property and into the highway.

Wonwoo furrows his eyebrow for a second before he shrugs and decides there would be no harm to entertain Soonyoung's answer.

"If you still keep that smoking habit, you might." Wonwoo mutters as he eyes the pack of Malboros on Soonyoung's dashboard and the accompanying lighter beside it.

One of Wonwoo's eternal ticks was the smell of nicotine and Soonyoung was a walking cigarette pack ever since he met him. It was just natural for Wonwoo to add that to the long list of things he found annoying about Soonyoung.

"I stopped!" Soonyoung whines, petulant as if Wonwoo has greatly wronged him. "Why do you always think the worst?"

Wonwoo rolls his eyes at the younger's petty tears, "You've been smoking since college, how was I to know you stopped?"

But, Wonwoo did know.

He knew because the car was strangely absent of the scent of nicotine that used to line the leather over the years and he had seen Soonyoung stay on his seat the entire time during dinner last week, when the black-haired man would usually excuse himself during dessert for a smoke break.

"Well, I'm stopping now." Soonyoung mutters as he rubs a finger against his nose, body bowed in a self-conscious curve.

"Congrats? Is that what you want me to say?" Wonwoo wonders out loud and it only serves to make the hunch on Soonyoung's shoulders more pronounced.

"You don't know have to be such a dick about it," Soonyoung sniffs as he manuevers the car in the free way. "Asshole."

"Well, what did you want me to say then?" Wonwoo sighs as he rubs a tired hand against the space between his eyebrows.

"Nothing, forget it." Soonyoung replies tersely and his sudden closed-offness just serves to make Wonwoo's headache worse.

"Just spit it out, Soonyoung." Wonwoo mutters as he leans back on his seat and gazes out the window, "Or you'll end up holding it against me, again."

"I said it's nothing!" Soonyoung suddenly shouts and it makes Wonwoo jump on his seat with surprise.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Wonwoo hisses as he tries to calm his heart beat down, "Do you want to get us into an accident?"

"Oh so now I'm a horrible driver?"

"I did not say that you dip shit," Wonwoo fires back.

"You were implying it, dickhead."

"I really was not but if you're going to insist on it, fine. You're a horrible driver and I will fucking kill you if you get us in an accident."

The car grows quiet after that with nothing but Wonwoo's still-harsh breathing and Soonyoung's god-awful radio station to puncture the silence from time to time.

"I'm not," Soonyoung whispers after a while, strangely subdued after his sudden outburst.

"You're not what."

Wonwoo watches him drive the car to the outermost lane before Soonyoung kills the engine and parks the car by the sidewalk in silence.

"What are you doing, some of us has to get home."

"I told you, I'm not gonna get us killed."

Wonwoo raises his eyebrow, slowly growing concerned over Soonyoung's unsual behavior, "Okay? Now drive?"

"Just..." Soonyoung sighs, a harsh sound escaping his teeth before he unbuckles his seatbelt but makes no move to get out of the car.

"Have you been drinking?" Wonwoo asks, "What is wrong with you, today?"

Wonwoo can feel the headache consuming his whole skull as his skin burns with impatience.

He has no time to deal with whatever brand of crazy Soonyoung has decided to dish out today and just wants to get home, take off his suit and wash the scent of flowers and burnt candle wicks out of his body and then drown himself with alcohol until he feels numb and he forgets the image of his hand throwing a rose at a dugged-out pocket of land as he watched its petals touch the solid wood of the casket being lowered to the ground.

He just wants to go home and forget that he lost another friend.

"Nothing's wrong, why do you always assume something's wrong with me?"

God, why now?

"Soonyoung, I'm not in the fucking mood to deal with your bullshit right now." Wonwoo breathes harshly through his teeth as he tries to will the headache away, "So you either drive me home or I can get out of this car and walk."

"Do you really hate being with me?"

It's said so quietly that Wonwoo could just miss it but they're alone and the highway is silent that Wonwoo hears every word.

He's about to reply when something glints on Soonyoung's cheek and Wonwoo realizes with aborted surprise that the younger is crying.

"Shit," Soonyoung swears once he (too) realizes that he was crying, "Shit, why the fuck am I crying?"

"Soon–" Wonwoo doesn't know what to do with his hands as Soonyoung keeps crying, tears stubbornly falling on his cheeks even if the younger tries so hard to wipe it off.

It's the first time Wonwoo has seen Soonyoung cry.

He has known him for fourty-one years.

Soonyoung's tears evolve into full-on sobs, shoulders hunching as his body is wrecked with the force of his cries and Wonwoo doesn't know what to do.

He doesn't know what to do, he has never had to take care of Soonyoung before.

The younger was always so bright and full of life even in the face of the worst of Wonwoo's pranks. The worst of his emotions was only limited to being pissed off after Wonwoo one-ups him or to bursts of annoyance that came when he couldn't get the choreography right for a dance recital or when his unreasonable boss piles another job on him which usually ended up on Soonyoung taking it out on Wonwoo in the dorms when they were still in college or after their dinner parties in his apartment.

Yes, they slept together.

Their petty rivalry had to rear it's ugly head at some point and it happened a few months after they started when they got into one of those arguments that had everyone fleeing the room to avoid the inevitable car crash.

Wonwoo doesn't remember who kissed who but he remembers ending up in Seokmin's bedroom with his pants halfway down his thighs and the feeling of his teeth clamping on his own fist as he tried to hide his moans as Soonyoung sucked him off.

Then he jerked the younger off to near passing out until they collapsed on their friend's bed with a tired sigh.

They still hated each other even after that but instead of ludicrous pranks, Soonyoung can leave mean bites on Wonwoo's shoulders where his shirt will hide them and Wonwoo can edge Soonyoung for hours if he pissed Wonwoo off that day.

It didn't have to mean anything else but another way to get revenege against each other.

Wonwoo could still see the bite he had left on Soonyoung three days ago peeking through the collar of the younger's shirt and if Wonwoo could concetrate enough, he can still feel the phantom throb from where Soonyoung had pressed his fingers deep into Wonwoo's shoulder as he fucked him from behind last week.

There's an entire constellation of themselves on each other's skin—pressed, bitten, kissed.

A reminder, a claim, a promise.

Wonwoo suddenly feels so, so tired all of a sudden.

He's so tired of having to pretend that all this time, from college up until this very moment where he's watching Soonyoung cry, he doesn't want to hold his hand.

"You are not going to die," Wonwoo starts, not knowing where he'll end up after this. "Not even in the nearest future or even after then."

A waterly laugh errupts from Soonyoung's mouth from where he's leaning on the steering wheel, "How sure are you?"

"I just am, Soonyoung." Wonwoo sighs as he looks ahead of him, through the window of the car and into the long and silent road.

"I could die anytime now," Soonyoung mutters. "I could die anytime."

"Why do you think you'll die, why are you so sure?"

Soonyoung scoffs as he lifts his head off from the steering wheel, "C'mon genius, you and I both know why."

Wonwoo turns his head and looks at Soonyoung straight in the eye.

He has known Soonyoung for fourty-one years.

"I really don't."

Soonyoung sighs as he wipes the last of his tears off before looking away and staring at his own side of the window, "I don't have a soulmate. There. Happy now, asshole?"

Wonwoo is not.

"You really had to make me say it, don't you?" Soonyoung scoffs as he begins to start the car up, "You're really an asshole."

Wonwoo closes his eyes and thinks that he has known Soonyoung for fourty-one years.

Fourty-one years, Wonwoo should be over sixty now and yet he still looks like he's still twenty-three.

He met Soonyoung at twenty-three.

"What am I, then?" Wonwoo whispers, quiet.

A confession, albeit fourty-one years late.

"What are you what?" Soonyoung asks, tone confused as Wonwoo opens his eyes and stares back again at Soonyoung.

Fourty-one years.

He has been in love with Soonyoung for fourty-one years.

“At least he's got your hands,” Jun comments lightly as the tinkle of piano keys dance around the class room in a stacatto rhythm.

“At least he's got your enthusiasm,” Jihoon replies in a mumble as another piercing off-key reverbrates across the room and straight into the keen ears of the two musicians.

Jihoon has at least the patience for a gritted smile, it's their kid after all—badly playing the one instrument the two have intimately known all their lives and hoped to pass down to him yes, but their kid nonetheless.

Jun is mentally preparing for the inevitability of them having to move the Baby Grand out of Daehyun's room (Jun knows he's five but hey, his parents started him young!) and having to shelve all of their music notes and books instead of letting them lie around the house for Daehyun to pick up when the inspiration strikes.

Judging by the grimace on the piano teacher's face at the side, it may never come at all.

“Well, there's always baseball,” Jun replies as he throws a wave into the air while beaming once he catches Daehyun looking their way with a toothy grin. “You're good at it, right?”

“Barely passable,” Jihoon shrugs as he continues to take a video for all of Daehyun's aunts and uncles to watch. “We might have to ask Mingyu.”

Jun snorts out a laugh, “Babe, you can't keep relying on Mingyu for everything. Even if he loves Daehyun very much.”

“But he's so, good with him, though,” Jihoon sighs as he leans back on his seat while keeping the phone steady in his other hand. “I don't know how Mingyu does it, I can barely keep myself sane when you leave me with him.”

For the longest time, Jun had always known Jihoon wanted kids. Even before they got married and were still dating, Jihoon had already laid it out on the table that if Jun wasn't someone who was dating to marry and didn't want kids, they could just save themselves the disappointment and break up.

Granted, Jihoon dropped the bomb while Jun was balls-deep inside the younger and could barely think straight. If Jihoon asked him in another time with all of their clothes and dignity on, Jun would still have said yes anyway.

He was too in love to ever think otherwise (still is!)

And when Daehyun came into their lives a year after they got married and after six months of waiting for the adoption center to call them, Jun thinks he wouldn't have it any other way.

Daehyun brought a certain kind of lightness in their lives, a kind of lightness where their hypercompetitive peers didn't mean anything and where accolades and invitations for conservatories were now placed second in their priorities. Jun would drop an event if Daehyun suddenly got sick and he doesn't doubt that Jihoon would do the same for their kid.

It's something that seemed so far-fetched when they were still in college, to just drop everything for their kid's doctor's appointment while still being at the height of their careers playing all across the world for some very important people. But that's what being a parent does to you–it's never I and you anymore, it's we.

Jun still has the same passion for music and still has his own greed, sure but he thinks that Daehyun trying his very hardest to play Chopin with all the enthusiasm in the world, would still make them the happiest.

“You know,” Jun starts as he reaches over to clasp his hand on top of Jihoon's over the arm rest. “Daehyun doesn't need you to be perfect all the time, he just needs you to listen to his rambles about Peppa Pig and pretend to make airplane noises for him during meal time.”

Jun knows Jihoon is often the hardest with himself, a product of the kind of childhood they grew up in and they'd never wish on their own. Jun also knows that Jihoon has a very hard time recognizing his own efforts and would rather focus on the details he missed instead of looking at the bigger picture and it's Jun's job to remind him that he's doing just fine.

Jihoon turns his head to face Jun and despite the crowds of parents surrounding them, Jun doesn't hesitate to cup Jihoon's cheek, thumb slowly moving in circles.

“You're okay, Daehyun loves you,” and I love you, too.

“Sap,” Jihoon mutters but there's a small smile playing on his lips and Jun can't help but let out another laugh.

Trust his husband to always ruin the moment.

“We'll be okay, Daehyun can pick up a new thing tomorrow or he can just be a dinosaur like he kept saying at breakfast earlier,” Jun continues as they both turn their eyes back to their son who had just finished his recital with the biggest smile on their faces.

“You're alright too,” Jihoon whispers as he finds Jun's hand beside him, intertwining their fingers together. “We'll be okay.”

Daehyun ends up meeting them after the recital with a huge grin and looking very cute in his mini-tuxedo that Minghao had insisted he had lying around (Jun thinks he spoils their kid too much) as he eagerly tells them he wants to play piano again and again.

“You sure, sweetie?” Jun asks as he and Daehyun's teacher share a look.

“Yep!” Daehyung says matter-of-factly before he rushes past them to meet with his friends on the other side of the room.

“Well, I believe we'll be seeing you next school year.” Jihoon says as he shakes the hand of Daehyun's teacher after thanking her profusely for her patience during the times Daehyun would throw a tantrum because he didn't want to attend class.

It's a miracle they even made it past recitals.

“He'll be fine, don't worry.” She replies with an assuring smile before walking off to entertain the other parents in the room.

“Guess we don't have to move the Baby Grand after all,” Jun chuckles as they watch Daehyun animatedly gesture something to a group of kids in front of him.

Daehyun could tell them he doesn't want piano by next week (like he always does before he asks Jihoon if he'll be playing piano the day before his class and then throw another tantrum during the drive) and it will be all alright.

There's a boxed-cupcake sitting innocently at the edge of Seungkwan's desk one Monday morning with nothing but a smiley written on the office-standard sticky note.

Now, weirder things have shown up on Seungkwan's desk considering he's employed in a very eccentric start-up where its CEOs show up to work in Hawaiian shirts and pastel pink khaki shorts and actually bonds with their employees (Seungkwan got caught in an impromptu Pilates class with the CFO last week and wow he's never looking the guy the same way ever again.) Needless to say, a cupcake with no sender is no big deal.

Seungkwan doesn't have to guess who sent it, though.

The blond gingerly picks up the pilfered stationery and despite having to work on the first day of the week at a god forsaken hour with only coffee as a breakfast substitute, a smile worms its way out of Seungkwan's face.

“Ooooh, got an admirer?”

Jihyo sidles up beside Seungkwan while carrying a box's worth of paper work in her arms which she unceremoniously dumps on her desk.

“I don't know,” Seungkwan lies. “Might just be a prank by the founders.”

Jihyo shrugs as she grabs her swivel chair and plops on it with the ease of a five-year old office worker that's so close to being promoted into the top leagues. Seungkwan can feel it, Jihyo's going to get that promotion and as her desk mate for two years, Seungkwan will milk her joy for what its worth through copious amounts of jokbal and beer.

Seungkwan listened enough to her woes, he thinks it's high time for some consolation.

“Just don't forget to keep it under wraps, the higher-ups don't like fraternizing.”

And of course like Mondays are known for its proverbial character of being shitty as fuck, Seungkwan's mood dampens.

“This is nothing,” he laughs awkwardly and slips the sticky note at the back pocket of his pants away from Jihyo's hawk-like eyes, “It's probably just a prank.”

Seungkwan goes back to the paper work he left last Friday with a sigh.

The cupcake still in its kraft box, burns a hole in Seungkwan's desk.

-

“Did you like the cup–” Is how Mingyu greets him when they chance upon each other on the printing room.

Which is a lie when the two of them had meticulously studied their shifts and breaks to find a window of time where they can be in a room together and still look inconspicuous. They found out that Mondays at 2:30 PM while Seungkwan is off to printer duty for Jihyo and Mingyu is on his way to collect the reports he had printed earlier at 8:20 AM for his boss was their best shot if they ever want this dating thing to work without risking a flag from HR.

Out of all the things this company could ban, like maybe vaping in the damn cafeteria, they decided that their employees cannot live happy and fulfilled lives. Which, is to be expected from corporate but Seungkwan was hinging on the fact that they'd be different when he first got in for an interview and received a complimentary glass of Pinot Grigio afterwards.

Like what company does that besides theirs?

But as it stands, the dating-ban had been stated as early as when their company's first founder took out a loan from his Mom and built the company up with his bare hands and sleep deprivation and it seemed like it was going to stay.

Now, it's not like everyone follows the rule since Seungkwan knows a couple of employees fucking like rabbits in one of the conference rooms in the seventh floor but its pretty understood to keep things clandestine.

Which means absolutely no mystery cupcakes in Seungkwan's desk.

“Did you like them at least?” Mingyu asks, tall frame drooping like he's one of Seungkwan's dramatic houseplants he sometimes forgets to water. “I baked them myself.”

Now, if you put it like that it's quite hard to be mad at Mingyu especially when his metaphorical dog ears are pinned at the back of his head.

Seungkwan feels like he kicked a puppy, god damn it.

“I–” he sighs before looking around and when he sees that no one's actually paying attention to them, grabs Mingyu's hand and laces them together. “I loved it, thank you.”

The joy is instant on Mingyu's face and despite earlier's hiccup, Seungkwan finds himself smiling back.

“I'm sorry I wasn't discreet,” Mingyu mumbles as he tightens his hold on Seungkwan's hand. They're standing far apart to make it look like they're just a pair of employees talking but close enough to touch, “I'll leave the cupcakes at your door, next time.”

“Woah, getting bold now are we?” Seungkwan laughs as he squeezes Mingyu's hand back, “At least take me out on a date first!”

“Tomorrow after work?” Mingyu asks as they break apart when someone starts walking in the room.

Seungkwan, still feeling the warmth of Mingyu's hand on his own, mirrors the younger's smile.