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still-with-koo · 9 months

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Mission: Park Jimin | PJM

Series: Chapter Three

summary: you’re trying to piece together what you know so far when a strange series of anonymous tips propels you into a sequence of events that is more than you bargained for.

pairing: jimin x reader; some jungkook x reader and taehyung x reader

wc: 5,537

genre/warnings/rating: 17+; angst; some fluff; enemies to still enemies, maybe frenemies; idiots to still idiots; friends to friendlier friends; swearing; references/allusion to violence; mentions of weapons and pistols; some (poor) attempts at humour; the characters in this story are my own and do not reflect on the members of bts or anyone else. this is all made up and just for fun, please don’t take it too seriously!

a/n: it’s heating up. maybe listen to lilith by halsey & suga :)

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four

[unknown]: this message is for the agent looking for park jimin. follow this link and you’ll find him at noon today.

You’ve been staring at this message from the anonymous tip form for the past ten minutes as the taxi winds its way to the spot linked in the message.

It took Seokjin all of five minutes to trace the IP address to a bakery downtown. You will deal with that later. Anonymous tips never remain anonymous.

Right now, you only have fifteen minutes to reach the location before Jimin arrives.

When you told Seokjin you were going alone, he grimaced. Apparently the linked location is nestled behind an abandoned warehouse. Not the safest place.

Be careful, you can almost hear Jungkook say. You know he will scold you for following this tip on your own, like every other time you go off on your own.

But you don’t want to risk Minwoo and Nate tagging along. They’ve been acting really weird lately.

And Kelson has been incommunicado since that day you nearly fell from the cliff behind Central Bank.

He still doesn’t know Park Jimin saved you that day. And you have no intention of telling him.

Spotting the warehouse, you signal the taxi to slow and slip him a twenty.

It’s raining now. You find this out quickly as you step out the vehicle, eyeing the area around you.

It’s noisier than you expected, with food stands littering the road.

Slipping past a couple holding an umbrella, you find yourself at the precipice of the address.

You sneak around the corner, hand hovering over your gun. The sound of men talking throws you off guard. None of them sound like the twinkling voice of Park Jimin.

They are far gruffer. More violent.

You inhale before peering around the corner.

There are three men just beyond the dumpster. None of them fit the description you have in your mind of what Park Jimin likely looks like.

Your shoulders slump a little at this disappointment but you hope the tip hasn’t lead you too far astray. One of them may be Jimin … or they may have some information on where to find him. But you need to find a way to get them to talk first.

You’re much too impatient to seek an arrest warrant for crimes you know they’ve already committed.

Heck, you can spot three Mercedes-Benz hub caps and a shiny new catalytic converter by the bald man’s feet. If you wanted to, you could scrounge together probable cause to bring them in.

But in your five years as a field agent, you have learned one thing. Doing things ‘by the book’ takes far too long. And bureaucratic red tape cost more lives than you can count.

You unhook the safety on your holster and step forward, watching a red haired man spot you and come forward.

“Who are you?”

Fair question, you think. But not one you want to answer truthfully.

“I’m August. Looking for a Park Jimin. I have business with him and my buddy said you knew where to find him.”

His head tilts as he eyes you up and down.

“Business?”

The amused tone of his voice isn’t lost on you.

“Yes. That asshole promised me money and I intend to get it,” you say, rolling your shoulder and cracking your knuckles, “by whatever means necessary.”

The scar on the man’s face twists into an obscene shape as he attempts to smile, although he looks far more like a caricature than a real person.

“Pretty suit. But it’ll need more than a wash if you wanna threaten anybody on our turf.”

“My turf.”

Another man with much darker, long hair speaks, his hand brandishing a blade. He has a shadow of a smile on his face and you stare at him, trying to see if you can place him. Why does he look so familiar?

“Ok, your turf. Wanna tell me where I can find Park? That’ll make it easier for everyone,” you say, and then glance down at your suit momentarily, “and everything involved.”

The dark haired man smiles. It takes a split second for you to realize he is running at you full speed, blade drawn. Your words fall out without warning. “No one ever picks the easy way.”

With a roll of your eyes you rip off your jacket and stand firm, ready for his attack. It comes moments later and you slide to the right, letting his blade pierce air.

You grab his left arm and twist, kneeing him in the ribs. With a yelp he is on the ground.

The red haired man jumps at you and you duck.

The bald man grabs a large crate and hurls it at you. Sliding to the left, you let the crate hit the dark haired man on the ground.

The red haired man tries again and you jump back, kicking him straight in the face.

The bald man grabs you from behind and you jump back, grabbing his arm and twisting away from him. You knee him in the chest and watch him fall to the ground.

With an exhale, you turn around to face them with your pistol in your hand, surveying the crumpled bodies on the ground.

“Ok, now that the formalities are over, how about you tell me what you know about Park?”

Nothing, apparently.

Those hoodlums had no idea whether you were asking about a person or how to park a car.

Just a red herring.

And you’ve locked yourself in your office ever since to figure out anything you can about Park’s whereabouts.

“You’ve been at it all day. Wanna come up for air?”

Jungkook’s leaning against the door, sandwich in hand as he watches you zoom in on a street corner.

You glance back and smile at the dumb look on his face. Seokjin kept his promise. Jungkook has no idea you followed a tip without him.

“Just a few more minutes. I need to figure out which way he went that day behind the bank.”

“Are you really going to go through all that cctv footage. I’m sure Seokjin has a far more efficient—“

“He’s out. Someone took his sandwich and he’s pissed.”

He stares at the sandwich in his hand, gulping hard, and then catches you grinning at him.

“Seriously…? When are you going to stop messing with me,” he asks, rolling his eyes.

You send him a wink before returning your gaze to the screen. “Actually, Jin’s busy helping Yoongi with the Jung case and won’t be able to help me for a few days. A pity, since he’s really the only help I get around here.”

You look at him just in time to catch the kicked puppy look on his face.

You turn away and pinch the bridge of your nose. “This case is driving me nuts. None of the victims want to talk to me, none of the cameras seem to have caught any trace of Park Jimin, and to top it all off, Kelson says I’m stupid for thinking every victim is somehow connected. I mean, I know there is a link there. I can feel it.”

“Since when do you care what Kelson thinks?”

You hum. He’s right, of course. Kelson’s opposition to your various ideas has never stopped you before. But then the words friendly crossfire bring on an uneasiness you can’t explain. You need Kelson onside.

“You remember Park’s warning? I think it’s good to be… careful.”

He nearly spits out his bite. “You’re still thinking about that? I thought we agreed he’s just trying to scare you…” You wonder how he can form those words with his tongue piercing his cheek.

You give him an absentminded nod, realizing you should probably change the subject before he burns a hole in his cheek.

You grab your mug of coffee and take a sip, far too cold by now but you don’t care. “You know what’s weird? Park’s choice of victims all have something big going for them right now. For example, Ahn Heemin. He just won the election for his district, right?”

He just shrugs, taking another bite of his sandwich.

“And then there’s Lee Arin. She won’t answer my calls,” you say, sighing, “but I heard she just got the go ahead to expand her restaurant chain.”

The look on Jungkook’s face tells you you’re losing him.

“You see,” you start, zooming out on your computer and drawing a circle that spreads out within the city limits. “There were far easier and more fruitful targets, but he chose these people,” you continue, setting your cup down and grabbing your binder, the one you always use for your field notes.

Flipping through it, you bring up the page with a list of all the victims. “They’re not even the richest in the city. So why them?”

Jungkook brings his hand to his mouth as he replies between chews, “Maybe these were the easiest targets for him? Didn’t you say he grew up in an orphanage nearby?”

“Kelson said the same the first time I brought this to his attention,” you sigh, putting your face in your hands, “He told me to drop it and focus on finding Park, but I can’t help feeling there’s something else going on.”

“What else could there be… Wait, you don’t mean something going on with Kelson?”

You inhale slowly, and bring up your gaze to meet his. He looks dumbfounded. You sigh, carefully choosing the next few words. “I found out… that Mr. Ahn made a rather large donation to our precinct.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen. “And?”

“Nothing. I’m not saying anything at all. It just seemed strange… and Kelson was absolutely livid when he found out I was searching Mr. Ahn’s name in our database.”

“But that donation… that could mean anything, right? I mean, he could just be a generous guy?”

You scoff, leaning back in your chair as you stare him down. “Politician and generous don’t usually go together.”

“Don’t tell me you think this is what Park was talking about?”

“I really don’t know… I don’t even know what this means, but I’m going to keep looking into it. I just know it will help me figure out how to track down Park.”

“I’m with you, whatever it is.”

“Thanks man. I just need to make sure Kelson doesn’t notice.”

“Notice what?”

Kelson’s voice booms in the corridor next to your office and within seconds he is rounding the corner. You gulp, shutting your binder while Jungkook leans back in his chair.

“Uh… how much we drink at Friday night’s gala,” Jungkook replies nonchalantly, and you give him a small smile.

Kelson’s forehead crinkles and his eyes fall on you. “I don’t want you going to the gala, Y/N. Nor you, Jungkook. We need to keep our men to a low number.”

“What—? There’s no way I’m sitting out the gala, sir,” you reply angrily, hands balling up into fists before Jungkook kicks you under your desk. You throw him an angry look before turning back to Kelson, “I have to go to the gala, sir.”

“I need you here, Y/N. That’s my final decision.”

You attempt to stand and confront him but feel Jungkook pull on your shirt. You sit back down as Kelson turns on his heel, leaving your office as quickly as he entered it.

“I’m going,” you whisper and Jungkook nods. “Ms. Lee will be there. Mr. Ahn too. With some wine in them I might be able to ply some information out of them.”

“You really think they’ll talk?”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure they’ll tell me to talk to their lawyer… again,” you say, sighing. “I don’t get it. What are they hiding?”

“Even Mr. Kim? Isn’t he a family friend or something?”

Your head falls onto your folded arms across the table. Barely audible, you reply, “Yeah… After the first few times, he stopped answering my calls. All of them did.” You sigh into your sleeves.

“Well,” Jungkook hums, setting down his sandwich and wiping his mouth. “They’re all really wealthy business people and politicians. They’re always hiding something.”

Raising your head, you bite your lip. You hate to admit it, but he might be right. Maybe they are hiding something. Like Mr. Kim, he should have no reason to feel uncomfortable giving you information. So why is he holding back?

Your mind wanders to Park’s words that night when he held you at knife-point. More and more, you start to wonder if something weird is going on.

“I think you might be on to something,” you reply, reaching for your binder again. “I did think it was strange Park asked them to set a password for the wire transfers, and more than that, the choice of password was so… odd… hmm, let me just pull up his ransom call so you can see what I mean.”

As you click through the folders on your computer, Jungkook shifts uncomfortably in his seat. The sound draws your attention and you look at him, noticing his leg bouncing up and down. His voice startles you.

“You must be tired of that prick’s voice,” he says finally. When he sees your eyebrow quirk up, he clears his throat, “I can hear you listening to his stupid voice all the way from my own office. Ever heard of headphones?” The way his voice raises at the end makes you laugh and he just pouts at you.

Jeon Jungkook is not the most subtle man in your unit. Hell he’s a bit of an open book but that’s a quality you’ve come to admire. You like knowing where you stand with people.

Staring at his profile, his teeth running over his lip ring, his poorly veiled insult swirling in your head, you can’t help think of the first time you ever heard Park Jimin’s voice.

“Did you have fun ransacking my place? I thought you’d at least take your shoes off first.”

The familiarity with which he says this surprises you more than anything else. He may be mocking you, but there’s something else there.

You had traced this unnamed culprit to a run down apartment building down by the west side of town, an apartment under an obvious alias littered with undone laundry and half eaten pizza. And a few childhood photos. Luckily, you found a somewhat unsteady (and definitely inebriated) man who happened to know the identity of the man living in that apartment: Park Jimin.

Officers are still surveilling his home, ready to alert you if he steps one foot inside the place. But you have received zero alerts on your phone… so how does he already know you searched his place?

“Park Jimin?”

It’s your voice. It’s you.

Perfect.

“So you know my name. Wanna tell me yours, beautiful?”

The word “beautiful” catches you off guard but you try not to show it, glancing to the right to see if Seokjin has traced the call yet. He shakes his head and you swallow, pressing the receiver closer to your ear. Biting back the angry retort that reaches your throat, you take a breath and reply as calmly as you can.

“Agent Y/L/N. And, Mr. Park, I can promise if you turn yourself in along with that diamond necklace we can arrange for a lighter sentence tha—“

“Are you saying you want to cut a deal with me?”

You stop mid sentence and look over at Seokjin, who grins, his hand rising to show you an ok signal. They have his location. With a flick of your wrist, your counterparts are on their feet, rushing to the door on their way to Park Jimin.

You just need to keep him on the phone long enough for them to reach him.

“Yes, I would like to do that, Mr. Park. Tell me wha—“

“Good to know. I hope you have the same mindset in the future. Until next time, Agent.”

When the officers make it to the source of the call, the building is vacant, an old abandoned warehouse with a single phone and a note taped to the receiver: “Better luck next time.”

You clear your throat and turn your attention back to Jungkook, noticing him adjusting his sleeves, rolling them up just enough to catch the outlines of his tattoos. When did he get the snake tattoo?

He catches you staring and smiles. Actually, it looks more like a grin. You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling yourself before you clear your throat again.

“In Park’s call to Ms. Lee,” you start but are promptly interrupted by Kelson’s assistant.

“Sorry, it’ll just be a minute,” she whispers, and then points at Jungkook, making a “come here” motion with her finger with a smile. Jungkook looks puzzled, vaguely gesturing to himself. She nods and smiles when he slowly rises to his feet.

“Is it Kelson? Does he—“

She grabs his wrist and laughs, whispering something in his ear. At that moment your phone dings, and instead of being annoyed by the interruption, your focus shifts to the message blinking on your phone.

[unknown 3:41] you won’t get anywhere at your desk

Huh? Who would message that?

You look up and see your door slightly ajar. If it’s a practical joke, they’re not doing a very good job.

Maybe it’s a wrong number.

[You 3:42] Who is this?

You’re not one to rely on maybes.

But it dings again.

[unknown 3:43] kelson’s office has what you need. find the red folder

You peer out your door and it’s clear. All you see is Jungkook sitting at his desk with Kelson’s assistant sitting on top of it, playing with his shirt collar. They seem a lot closer than you had thought. Funny, you’ve never really seen them interact much before.

[unknown 3:44] this is the last time. you need to know

Your heart is beating fast. It feels like it might take off.

[You 3:44] Park Jimin?

You stare at the screen, waiting for his message. Or hers. Whoever is on the other end. Seconds turn to minutes and you realize he’s not going to respond.

Seokjin should be able to trace the number quickly enough, no matter how busy he is. You leave your office, glancing once again in Jungkook’s direction. When Jungkook catches you, he straightens up and pushes Nia’s hand from his chest.

“Ah, I’ll be there in a minute, Y/N.”

“Don’t worry about it, I need to talk to Seokjin anyway.”

After leaving your phone with Seokjin you return, only to see Jungkook sitting in your office. He’s playing with the ring on his right hand. When you walk in, he stands up.

“Sorry about earlier, I don’t know—“

You wave your hand dismissively. “I’ve been meaning to pay Kim Taehyung a visit. Wanna join me, Jeon?”

Something doesn’t sit right with you. And one thing you’ve come to learn over the last few years - your instincts are never wrong.

“What are you plan—“ Before he can finish his sentence, you’re already on your phone, the sound of Taehyung’s voice coming through on the other end.

“Perfect. I’ll be over in a few minutes, Tae.”

To Jungkook’s chagrin, you two were now on your way to Jungkook’s second least favourite person’s house.

“I thought you were ignoring me, Y/N. You haven’t been answering any of my texts or calls. You looked so shaken up that day…”

Taehyung reaches for your shoulder but retracts his hand after he notices you flinch slightly. “I just wanted to make sure you were ok.”

“I’m fine, Tae,” you quickly reply, “Don’t worry about me. Actually, I just wanted to see how you and your family are doing since the robbery.”

Taehyung bends a little so he’s eye level, giving you his signature smile that does little to put you at ease. He then peers around you, meeting the gaze of the man hovering behind you.

Jungkook gives him a little wave before stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“And him?”

You glance at Jungkook and then back at Taehyung. “Um, you know Jungkook, my partner…” When Taehyung raises his brow you clear your throat, adding, “Work partner… we work on a lot of cases together.”

“Hmm, I remember. So this is an official visit?”

“I want to talk to your dad. Is he in?”

“Actually,” Taehyung replies, scratching the back of his neck, “he’s in the back meeting with a business associate I think. He shouldn’t be too long though.”

“Good.”

He leads you inside his spacious home, Monets and Basquiats interspersed between a mix of minimalist columns and giant windows. To say his family is rich would be an understatement.

After exchanging pleasantries with Taehyung and his mom, you excuse yourself to use the washroom.

You and Jungkook planned it all out in the car. You just need a few minutes alone in Mr. Kim’s study. And thanks to the years you spent in the Kims’ home as a side effect of your parents’ close friendship with them, you knew exactly where everything was, all the way down to the snug bookcase turned secret corridor where you used to hide whenever your parents had too much to drink and forgot to take you home.

It’s funny how much Taehyung used to terrify you growing up. He was the typical intimidating, rich guy who didn’t seem to want much to do with you. But ever since he came back from his overseas studies, he seems like a new person. Someone much kinder.

You listen for the start of Jungkook’s exaggerated retelling of his first ever arrest and know he should be able to distract Taehyung and his mom just long enough for you to take a quick look around.

While you’re not proud of searching without a warrant, you can’t bring yourself to put Mr. Kim through such a potentially embarrassing ordeal. He’s a kind man and you know he won’t mind if you verify that he doesn’t know more about Park than he’s letting on. If you can find anything that relates to the weird password, that much the better.

Taking a left at the end of the hallway instead of the right, you reach Mr Kim’s study. It’s unlocked as usual.

Sneaking in, you feel a cool breeze hit you. You pull your hair into a bun and start with the desk.

Drat, the drawer is locked.

You feel across some of the ridges underneath, hopeful he, like many others, stores his key beneath a sliver of tape on the underside of the desk. As you reach below, the sound of a familiar voice catches you off guard.

“I appreciate your patience, Sangwoo. You see…”

You pause your ministrations, holding your breath when you recognize the voice.

“… we’re pretty close to nailing him down. No need to worry about—“

“I trusted you to keep him in check, Rick, but I just got another one of those notes. If you can’t handle it I will need to get someone else.”

You recognize the two voices. The first belongs to Kelson. The second to Mr. Kim.

“Sangwoo, please understand. This is a sticky situation for us both. It wouldn’t be helpful for either of us…” Kelson pauses, and you hear some shuffling before he continues in a hushed tone, “to let any of this get out. It won’t be very pleasant either.”

Another scraping sound before you hear Mr. Kim’s booming voice reverberate across the walls. “You… you are not threatening me, are you? Ha,” he scoffs, and the next words send a chill down your spine. “Unpleasant? I see you haven’t been able to make things unpleasant enough. Maybe I’ll do it myself.”

You hear his words echo against your skull. What did he mean by that?

“I do have it under control, Sangwoo. She won’t be in the picture for much longer.”

From the corner of your eye, you notice a flutter at the door but the thought slips away just as quickly as it came while you desperately strain to hear the rest of the conversation.

“We need your cooperation to get—“

You press your ear further against the paper thin wall but soon your vision is clouded by a pair of dark brown trousers.

Caught, you slowly follow the lean line up and nearly flinch when you catch the stern, frowning face of Kim Taehyung, the same intimidating, icy glare you recognize from so many years ago.

“What do you think you’re doing, Y/N?”

You’re zipping up your bag when Namjoon walks into your office, your run-in with Taehyung still buzzing in your head. You need to make sure he doesn’t tell his father about your snooping - and you’re hoping you gave him enough incentive.

“Kelson rejected your search request.”

You look up with a frown.

“Really?”

He nods. “Not enough grounds to search their bank records officially. Sorry,” he says, pushing up his glasses to get a better look at you.

You shrug. It was a long shot anyway.

“Is Seokjin done for the day?”

Namjoon hums, a tiny grin on his lips. “It depends on what you mean by “done”.

When you quirk a brow he laughs. “Never mind, I’m going to head out before Kelson finds something else for me to do.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Has he not left for the day yet?” You were hoping to take a shot at that phantom red folder, assuming it exists.

“Nope. I think he might be in there all night tracking something he won’t tell me about. Every time I try to enter, he just barks at me.”

He grins but you’re too irritated, only managing a half smile.

When he leaves your office, you sigh and check your phone. Seokjin didn’t have any luck tracing the mysterious texts unfortunately.

Jungkook’s text blinks angrily at you.

[Jungkook 7:13] You better show up. I WILL watch this episode without you. Not kidding this time

You can’t help but smile. He’s been trying to cheer you up ever since that day behind the bank.

Now that you think about it, you don’t know how Jungkook figured out you needed cheering up. On the outside, you look perfectly fine. You made sure of it.

But inside, something about that moment triggered something within you that you can’t quite pinpoint.

“Hey, Y/N, I almost forgot...”

You look up to see Namjoon peering into your office, his deep dimple popping as he smiles at you sheepishly.

“I hope you don’t feel down about Kelson re-assigning you to the Jung case. I know you’ve worked so hard on the Park case but they can really use you with Jung—“

“What?”

Namjoon looks puzzled.

“Kelson is re-assigning the Park case to Nate…” When your jaw drops, he scratches his head. “Did he really not talk to you about this?”

You shake your head slowly.

“I’m sure he will tomorrow. I meant to come by earlier to take the file from you but I’ve been busy with these stupid admin things. Oh, like this anonymous tip I got. They’re saying there’s some kind of contraband at this abandoned warehouse.”

You’re only half listening to Namjoon as you try to calm yourself, knowing you are this close to bursting into Kelson’s office to smack him. Then your brain catches on one of Namjoon’s words.

“… something about it being an inside job and the words friendly fire. It’s just the most bizarre thing. I wanted to chuck it but Kelson specifically asked for all—“

“What did you say? What about friendly fire?”

Namjoon scratches his head again. “The tip asks us to check this abandoned warehouse because they believe an underground ring infiltrated the agency or something. They say we should be prepared for friendly fire. Honestly, it seems like someone off their—”

You remember your exchange with Jimin that day at the museum.

“You’re not… Are you suggesting friendly fire?”

“Oh, there’s nothing friendly about it. You’ve caught onto something, something much bigger than me. And I don’t think even you realize it. But Agent Kelson does. And so do your higher ups.”

Namjoon stares at you as the gears turn in your head. It’s a long shot but it’s better than nothing.

You slip your bag over your shoulder and face Namjoon, who is still leaning against your door. “Ok, Joon. Where is the warehouse?”

To your amazement, the coordinates match up with those the anonymous tipster gave you this morning, the ones you thought were meant to send you on a wild goose chase.

But this goose has laid eggs.

“Just give me one hour,” you whisper into your phone as Namjoon groans on the other end. “Let me and Jungkook check it out first, ok?”

He grudgingly agrees, mostly because he would rather go home than face any more barking from Kelson.

Jungkook is pulling on a hoodie as you glance down at the one you’re wearing. Your outfits look nothing like the coveralls the men inside the warehouse are wearing but they will have to do.

“I better get ice cream after this,” Jungkook whispers, pulling the zipper up.

“Anything you want. Just shush.”

“Did you just shush m—“

You put your finger over his lip as you gesture towards the warehouse’s back door.

The area is brightly lit for an abandoned warehouse. Something you didn’t notice this morning.

Truthfully, you expected at least the appearance of neglect but if anything, the road must have been cleared within the last week and the red dots neatly lining up at each entrance indicate a well-tended and highly protected area.

You walk up closer then stop abruptly.

“Ugh, sor—“

Jungkook bumps into you when you stop short but your hand immediately comes up to block the rest of his apology. You sense movement.

You nod towards the far entrance and Jungkook gets the message.

You two double back and out of view. A large man emerges, directing a truck towards the far loading dock door.

A flood light flashes on as the truck enters its proximity. Two more trucks follow it.

You share a wordless look with Jungkook and he seems to understand.

You’ll need to enter along with the next truck.

Slinking along the perimeter, you quickly reach the far end of the warehouse. You watch as another larger truck appears. Now is your chance.

But a flood light flashes on and you two jump back against the fence. A shout erupts from the other side of the truck and you pull Jungkook into you. Hard. His body lands on yours with full force as you two hit the fence. “Y/N, what are yo—“

Grabbing his hoodie collar, his eyes widen as he realizes what you’re about to do. Your lips land on his and your hands tighten as Jungkook’s eyes flutter shut. Any shock melts from his body as he leans into you, his hands cupping your face now.

Your eyes are squinting at this point and when you notice the man walk away with a disgusted expression, you let Jungkook’s collar go.

He’s still kissing you, though.

Politely, you tap on his chest and his eyes snap open, a shy smile on his face as he pulls away. Wiping the corner of lip, he asks quietly, “Did you really think kissing me would help us blend in?”

You bite your lip, gazing over his shoulder.

“I think that’s the last truck. We need to go. Now.”

With another nod, you both rush towards the blindspot of the vehicle and pass in simultaneously.

Inside, you both back into the shadows, noticing the lack of lighting at the edges of the warehouse. There is a very clear focal point.

At the centre of the warehouse, men load large crates onto the trucks that enter. Those must contain the contraband the tip was referring to.

Jungkook points towards the truck near the front. It looks like it has been filled and awaiting final inspection.

Then you spot a bin with coveralls matching those the men are wearing. Jungkook has already noticed it and he is sneaking towards it with the utmost stealth. Within 30 seconds, he is back with two sets.

Slipping into them, you two appear far less conspicuous.

As casually as two undercover agents can manage in the middle of a brightly lit warehouse, you two start strolling towards the truck.

A man nearby glances towards you and you simply nod, pulling your hat lower down. He looks away.

Inhaling relief, you keep walking. Jungkook is following in step.

As you reach the truck, you pull off the cover.

Wow.

There is enough artillery in here to stage a revolt of some sort. But shockwaves reverberate through your body when you pick up one of the pistols.

It’s government issue. And you recognize the bar code prefix.

This is from your unit.

“Look at this, Jungkook,” you whisper, still surveying the pistols.

When you get no response, you whisper a bit louder, glancing over your shoulder.

But his response is much, much louder.

“I’m a little busy here.”

When you turn towards his voice, you see he is indeed busy, having been surrounded by several armed men. All of whom have their guns drawn and faces covered.

Shit.

#jimin x reader #jimin fanfic #jimin angst #jimin series #jungkook x reader #detective au #jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook series #lilo fics #mission: park jimin #52hertz

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minheelovelee · 3 days

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been lingering in tumblr for epex content and so glad to find you<3 thank you for writing!

was wondering what would epex be as hogwarts students and their houses 🐣

thank you for requesting, sweetheart!!! i haven't been consistent with my posting, but i'm hoping to push out a lot of content this summer. yay!!! feeding the small community of epex ff readers heheh.

epex and their hogwarts houses

my first post in 300 years im so sorry <3

Gryffindor

amin: lonely, lovely minwoo has no other gryffindor friends :( kidding. he's kind of a social butterfly. he is so popular among the other 5th year students. even some 7th year girls have taken notice of him. everyone in his family has belonged to house gryffindor, he was so proud to follow that legacy. he is so interested in muggles! he spends his afternoons leading the muggle arts club and telling donghyun what to do. he's taken quite a liking to the hufflepuff and they're rarely seen without each other these days! bonus: his patronus is a sparrow.

Slytherin

wish: dawit is a natural born leader. he followed the path of his parents, earning a spot in house slytherin. he had an ongoing public rivalry with his older sister in house hufflepuff. after she graduated, he was left to find an identity not related to his family. he earned a spot on the quidditch team and made quite a name for himself. now that he's a 7th year, he's a bit upset to be inevitably leaving his team. bonus: his patronus is an aardvark. he was irate when he discovered this.

mu: this friend was not expecting to find himself dressed in green. he always thought yellow was more of his color. for 3 years, kyungmin questioned how this could possibly be his house placement. during 3rd year, he was able to connect with professors and share his doubts. they taught him what it meant to belong to house slytherin. now in his 5th year at hogwarts, kyungmin couldn't be happier with his situation. dawit is his bestie and they love going to hogsmeade together! bonus: his patronus is a basset hound.

baekseung: there isn't a more slytherin-y slitherin to exist. 4th year hyunwoo prefers to keep to himself. when he is seen with someone, it's usually jeff, dawit, yewang, or minwoo. keeping his circle small is hard work. everyone he comes across wants to be his friend. he has spent the past 3 years creating his cool reputation. everyone is eager to see who he will take to the dance next semester. bonus: his patronus is a beagle. he tells everyone he hates it but he love love loves it.

jeff: every short girl has to have a tall best friend. that's what hyunwoo is to jaeho. these two 4th year kids complement each other so well. this term is jaeho's sister's first year at hogwarts. he's spent countless hours making sure his little sister meets the right people, goes to the right places, and has what she needs. such a good big brother :). jaeho got the opportunity to join the frog choir this year. he LOVES it. he also loves getting to taunt hyunwoo with frogs. bonus: his patronus is a manx cat.

Hufflepuff

keum: you definitely have a mutual friend with donghyun. he is such a social butterfly. he's friends with all of the other hufflepuffs and friendly enough with kids in other houses. his time in house hufflepuff didn't start out so smoothly. everyone in donghyun's family has been sorted into house gryffindor. at first, he was resentful for being a hufflepuff. over time, he was able to create his own meaning for being sorted into houses. now a 6th year, donghyun is super happy to be where he is. he has lots of friends in gryffindor, like minwoo! he even joined his muggle arts club as the secretary. bonus: his patronus is a tigress.

Ravenclaw

ayden: 4th year's class clown. yejun always has something smart to say, and people love him for it. he and yewang are constantly playing pranks. older ravenclaw students are constantly scolding them. they're always surprised to see the frog in their slipper the next morning. he's on the quidditch team with some of the other boys. it's helped him stay out of trouble this year. yejun is the kid who you always run into in the halls. it's like he's in two places at once. this year, his sister has started to crack down on his antics. she's graduating this year and is worried what yejun will act like when she's gone. yejun wants to set her up with dawit to get her off his back. bonus: his patronus is a hedgehog.

yewang: 4th year's second class clown. he and yejun are two peas from the same pod. they share their love for mischief, flying, and attention. yewang and yejun's dynamic has changed a bit their term. the girls are starting to take notice to yewang. when did he get to be so tall? you can typically find him in the library with a different girl looking for his attention each week. his parents have started to take notice of his report cards. they're looking for higher marks at the end of the semester. yewang has struggled to balance relationships, studying, sports, and fun. it's hard being 15. bonus: his patronus is an eagle.

#mhll epex #epex imagines #mhll keum #mhll wish #mhll mu #mhll amin #mhll ayden #mhll baekseung #mhll yewang #mhll jeff

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prbni · 2 years

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I actually never hated Kwon Min Woo. Surely I found him pretty annoying but didn't hate him. People like him exist more in this world. If you look at other characters, all of them seemed to have a soft spot for Youngwoo the instant they got close to her. But life isn't really that easy for people with autism. It's like showing Youngwoo's world with rose tinted glasses.

And while I resented both Hanbada CEO and Tae Su Mi cuz they're people with power treating Young woo like a tool, Minwoo was merely a subordinate looking out for himself.

And while the things he was trying to do were wrong, people like him are quite common. Just because you're in a team doesn't mean everyone in your team will have the same mindset. And his goal was different from that of the others. Same goes for his view towards the world.

And I'd go as far as saying it wasn't his feelings for Suyeon but with the shift from Attorney Jung to Atty Jang as his boss did he realise how important teamwork is. So, all in all I liked to see a character like him spicing things up in the storyline while not losing his vibe.

And a shout out to Joo Jong Hyuk for portraying this character so well. Lmao we all disliked it whenever he came on screen, didn't we?

#extraordinary attorney woo #woo young woo #kwon min woo #tactician #choi suyeon #attorney jung #joo jong hyuk

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sizzlingpatrolfox · 9 months

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jk has been #1 on br *for months* now with like 6m point, jm is never gonna get that #1 spot again

where🤭 only two idols without needing of album or shows be at #1 br, one is jimin and other is his bf cha eunwoo even this month he is #3🤭 this year (i don't remember last year) both are ruling that br lol.

Eunmin or minwoo beautiful married couple kissing on top of the charts. It couple tingz!

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mondstalgia · 2 years

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Minwoo only said one single thing that was true. Youngwoo is not weak, Youngwoo indeed is competition. Just because someone has autism doesn't mean that they shouldn't be taken seriously. That's correct.

Everything else was disgusting. Did she get the job because of her father's connection? Yes. But only because she was discriminated against during her job hunt SOLELY based on her autism. She is a top student, best of her class, if it wasn't for her autism she would have gotten a spot at ANY firm she wanted. That's discrimination. To say that she got her current job unfairly is in this circumstance absolutely incorrect. Had she had ANY change at getting into a law firm without connection then yes, it would have been unfair but she literally did not get another chance in any other form despite her clearly having tried. As her father described she applied to law firms and private practices EVERYWHERE. She probably applied harder than Minwoo ever even had to because I guess he also got good grades plus he is man and doesn't have autism.

I can't believe a grown man is so jealous of someone's abilities that he bullies and brings that someone down who already has to face so much more resistance in just pursuing a career than anyone else does. Also writing an anonymous article online to expose her and the CEO? Are you a fucking teenager???? Actually, I shouldn't be surprised. This is how many career oriented men treat women, with or without disabilities, but that's a different topic.

Genuinely he hasn't even really shown his talent before. Usually he is just slow and too busy appearing competent than actually bringing something to the table. And I don't mean that he has to have photographic memory like Young woo, but literally he should do more than just suck up to clients and manipulate his colleagues to APPEAR competent. What really have you contributed so far Minwoo?

Anyway, I want to punch him in the face.

#extraordinary attorney woo #woo young woo #woo youngwoo #extraordinary attorney woo episode 7 #kdrama #minwoo

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lee-hakhyun · 1 year

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581. WHAT

oh ym god this worldline is so so fucked i had to sleep on this one to think about it and. things are going on

lee hakhyun, identified as someone who killed multiple people through jophiel's [eye of sin], is confronted by killer king! while lhh tries to talk his way out of it, this conversation happens between them

at this point, other than the apostles having a flame war with the ohdokhyup before the scenarios there has been no information on them.. and he's been killing them..?

lee hakhyun prepares for a fight, but as he starts to plan, ☐☐ activates

so, the skill wasn't activated by killer king, then what? lhh looks around, and spots hidden assassins hiding with a skill in the shadows.. he attempts to stop them, but they spread poison gas around, and it hits killer king and literature girl. killer king identifies them as ohdokhyup, and when lee hakhyun attempts to use reader's comments list on them

they're not readers, but character..? how do they know information that only people who have read orv should know..?

using character list, they all share the same constellation sponsor, plague-calling rat, and attribute, ratman they've gone a similar path like the werewolf song minwoo, giving up their humanity for extra power early in the scenarios (actually really happy to see outside species come back again,, it seemed very interesting)

killer king and lhh have a truce to get rid of these ratmen, and a fight ensues

already posted about this but more i am yoo joonghyuk

now how exactly did the characters learn information from orv?

SOME READERS TRANSMIGRATED INTO CONSTELLATIONS. WHAT. is this who the secretive plotter imposter is?? have any of the more major constellations been swapped out with readers? this worldline is going to shit oh my godd

i probably had more things to say but i got distracted halfway through writing this. have some messages from when i reading it

#orv side story #orv #orv spoilers #side story rambles #probably can't read a chapter today i have to go to therapy in a few hours.. sigh...

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mothernatureknows · 10 months

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For so long, Luna really thought that she had no future.

She believed that there was nothing she could do to get out of the rut she had dug with her brother for so many years. That she would probably end up dead soon enough, her body lying cold and forgotten in some alleyway.

And yet, it's been over a decade since that time.

And Luna is still very much alive.

Now, she has long since given up that kind of life. No longer is she running around, trying to escape death at every corner and vandalizing every city she and her brother set foot in. No longer is she fishing for scraps and sleeping with hunger pangs at the end of every night.

No longer is she using her powers to silence the innocent that cross her path.

Now, she's living a quaint life alongside her best friend and her best friend's family, pursuing a healthy career that doesn't involve breaking and entering, but stopping the breaking and entering. Her powers are used for good and for her de facto nieces, providing all the snow days they can imagine.

Plus...she might even be feeling something for someone. Something she didn't think she was capable of feeling. Something that she would only ever see glimpses of on television or in films. Something she never thought she would be alive to see.

But things like this, for her, never last very long.

And that comes with the foreboding ringing of the doorbell.

***

ring! ring!

"I'll get it!" said Maddy, springing up from the couch. Luna watched as the brunette disappeared from the living room, going to answer the door. She didn't think much of it, returning her focus to the film on the screen.

"Um, Luna?" Maddy called from the door. "Can you come here please?"

Luna frowned. Did a package arrive for her? She can only assume as much, since no one visited her at the Po residence, only her boxes and amenities.

Luna left her spot by Minwoo to reach Maddy, padding down the carpeted floor to the front door.

"Was it the console I ordered? Those assholes said it wouldn't take this long to actually get he—"

Luna froze.

Just on the other side of the Po's front door, staring her dead ass in the face, was none other than...than...

"Peter??"

***

AU Synopsis: Just when Luna is about to take the next step and confess her feelings for Minwoo, the shadow of her brother, Peter, shows up at the Po's front door. Peter, now having escaped from prison, pleads with Luna to join him again in their previous heists. Luna, knowing better, is conflicted because, while there is a pang of nostalgia for her brother, that type of life is not one she'd want to pursue again. Nevertheless, seeing her brother at the door just spells out danger for her and the Po family because his jailbreak means, not only police...

But also every monster they've ever encountered is out to get them both.

#amisetxiles #c:Luna;;#c:Maddy;;#c:Peter;;#{ v; Friends with the Monster Inside My Head. }#{ i had this idea stuck in my head for a while DFGDSOUFGOD }#{ hope you like it!! }

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sowearecleariamhere · 2 years

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My disorganised thoughts on Extraordinary Attorney Woo episode 9

"I like you so much that it feels like I'm sick inside."

AND I LOVE THE TWO OF THEM SO MUCH I FEEL LIKE I'M SICK INSIDE AAAAHSDGAKDJHE

i never doubted that jun ho was extremely serious about young woo, but still the pay off was so ... I don't have words, "amazing" seems too little to express how I feel

I'm not even mad at the cliffhanger at all because they DELIVERED this episode. Never knew I needed jealous junho in my life.

Please, the eyelash scene, they are so gone over each other it gives me life ♡♡♡

Young woo is literally so sweet and I love the dynamic of one person trying to seduce the other, and the seducee just not getting the hint at all while the seducer is like, "Yes. This is going swimmingly 😀" 🐳

Also. There they go again doing a switcheroo on us with tropes (sooyeon seeming like she was going to be the bitchy seccond female lead and young woos rival and minwoo seeming pretty indifferent to and okay with anyone unless they hinder him, and then completely flipping it with minwoo being the bitchy one and soohyeon a wonderful friend), and young woo is doing acts of service that are typically performed by men towards women (as per trope). And not jun ho almost fighting young woo for her side on the sidewalk, both wanting the other to be in the safer spot 🥺💕 I had to stop and take a few deep breaths because they are so cute

And them basically having a couple look going on when he finally confesses to her, still being out of breath after sprinting to her??? 💕💕💕

#extraordinary attorney woo #extraordinary attorney woo episode 9 #like how dare he #how dare she?!#how dare they?!?!!#just... how dare in general

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intoloopin · 1 month

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A CHAPTER: THE SHARP AND THE BLUNT (PART 2/2).

tws: dubious consent (Haruki is still very weird and forward about initiating sex! and sometimes that gets Toxic). alcohol abuse and alcoholism. semi-smut (the driest, most unsexy and robotic blowjob in the world is given). insinuation and one very direct discussion of sexual trauma, abuse by a past partner, abuse of workplace power and stalking. a little hint of body dysmorphia (Hanjae's inner voice is often not very kind about how he looks). internalized homophobia, and a hint of biphobia in between the lines. queer pessimism (it gets a bit Hurtful). as always: if I missed anything, please tell me. starring: Lee Hanjae. Fukunaga Haruki. featuring: Dylan Hwang / Hwang Chihoon. their fellow LOOPiN members (old OT10, no Gyujin, still stuck with a bit of Beomseok). Uhm Junghwa (new manager extraordinarie). the ghost of Choi Sangwon. a brief mention of Night Child / NTCD. timeline: early to the end of mid 2022 | quick flash forward to september 2023 (additional context under the cut). word count: 14,138 words. author's note: lil delay because life has to be life, sometimes, and because the hotel scene from May 26th was way more challenging to get right in tone than i originally expected (it's one of the ones to watch out for), but here we are!!!! the Hanruki end. things get much more heavy, morally grey and blantly sad in this final part, so really, mind the tags, skip if you must. and: music rec moment two. stay safe out there, everyone!

March 13th, 2022.

Hanjae doesn’t shower, or change clothes, or gets to sleep on the couch. He lays on it and spends the whole night awake, on his phone, and on his Nintendo Switch after that, back on his phone. He catches the sun rising through the window’s curtain and maybe he sleeps, briefly.

Was it even real?, he wonders when he finds himself with his eyes wide and restless, staring up at the ceiling; Did it even happen?

He pokes and pokes at the one painful spot over his shoulder, the marking of Haruki’s teeth, and gets consumed by shame at the confirmation that yes, it was real; yes, it did happen.

When Junghwa steps into their apartment to wake everyone up in the morning, Hanjae’s sitting on the couch, breathing into his hands. He still looks like a mess. Hair, clothes, face – a mess.

She gives him a crumbling look, half pity, half exhaustion, and laughs humorless. “Out of everyone, I didn’t expect you to misbehave, Lee Hanjae.”

Hanjae peeks up at her through his clammy fingers. He feels a genuine and terrifying urge to throw up on her shoes and buy her new ones immediately after.

“12 AM to 8 PM for you,” Junghwa tells him, with a sigh. She walks more into the house, close enough to lay a merciful hand on the crown of his head – pat, pat, pat. “Just this one time.”

Haruki hours, he thinks, dazed, because that’s what everyone calls it, because he’s the one stuck with the alternative schedule the most: fails to wake up for practice often, gets shoved at the company until late at night. He’ll probably get the same sentence today. He and Hanjae might have to train alone, together, for hours. His stomach takes another queasy turn.

Hanjae watches the world move around him, for once out of the routine; after hearing his fate, Taesong takes a minute out of washing his face to force Hanjae to gulp down ibuprofen while Haegon shoves a pillow at him. Junghwa goes upstairs to knock on Haruki’s door, phone against her ear as she calls him, and then comes down in record speed, by herself.

She asks everyone, “Shall we go?”

“Can I get Haruki hours, please?” Seungsoo begs from where he’s resting his head against the wall, eyes closed, sipping Gatorade.

Junghwa doesn’t look at him as she firmly says, “No.”

“But I’m dying,” Seungsoo whines. “I’m fucking dying. I can’t work. I’m gonna drop dead, dead.”

Minwoo shoves him angrily out of the way to open the front door, tells him, “Then drop dead, Seungsoo. Drop dead.”

It takes a while for the house to fall back into quiet, after everyone’s gone. Hanjae swears he hears the sound of everything amplified now, gonging inside his head. Maybe it’s the hangover – it’s probably the hangover, but he hasn’t had enough of those to figure all of their symptoms out.

He sleeps again, a miracle, wakes up again, and there’s the faint smell of something being stir fried coming from the kitchen, slowly drowning the whole room.

“I’m making tofu,” Haruki says when Hanjae sits up to check. He’s a slouched thing behind the stove, yet he’s flashing him a grin. “You want some?”

He looks, from a distant inspection – normal, regular, like Haruki always does in the morning: a little wan, with his voice a little deep. They’ve kissed, they’ve made out, and he’s absolutely normal, proposing to make Hanjae breakfast-lunch.

Hanjae says a meek ‘yes’ to tofu, and Haruki tells him, “Five minutes.”

It’s enough time for Hanjae to go brush his teeth, and hyperventilate in privacy: every corner of their bathroom makes him think back to Sunyoung’s, and to being on the floor– being kissed on the floor– being kissed by Haruki on the floor until he wasn’t.

He goes back to the couch, a stiff walk. Haruki comes to sit with him, holding a single bowl of food with two runny eggs on top, and Hanjae jumps back up and three feet away. He bumps his heel bone on the coffee table, and the pain is a shock up his entire leg; serves him well, serves him right.

“I want to apologize for yesterday or earlier today at night,” Hanjae says in a single breath, his voice coming out rough around the edges. His arms are set like wood on his sides, tight, fisted.

In front of him, Haruki’s face goes through a journey: startled, then confused, then amused, smiling. He takes a big bite of food. “Oh, you mean the bathroom? That’s what you mean?” He asks, covering his chewing mouth with a hand, and Hanjae nods once. “Pfff, no need. It’s not your fault a girl had to pee.”

“That’s not what I meant, not, not what I’m apologizing for.”

“So what are you apologizing for?” Haruki asks him, tilting his head, dark hair falling like a cloak over his eyes. He wrinkles his nose. “Didn’t I kiss you? I’m sure I kissed you. I’m sure you kissed me back.”

“Hyung,” Hanjae says, helplessly, and has to turn his face to the side, closing his eyes briefly. “Still, everything– We were drunk, and everything, it wasn’t… appropriate. To happen.”

Haruki has stopped chewing when Hanjae looks back at him, has gone full body still for a moment. When he gulps the food down, it looks like it’s a painful thing for him to do.

“Appropriate,” he repeats, looking down at his own feet, like it’s an odd word, an annoying one. “Just sit down, Hanjae. Sit back down. We’re not done yet.”

“We’re not… What?”

Haruki abandons the bowl and chopsticks, puts them roughly on the table, then motions to the vague spot on his side – come here. Hanjae doesn’t move. He still has some word stuck under his tongue he has to work out.

Haruki doesn’t take his paralyzes at all. He clicks his tongue, walks up and close and puts both hands on Hanjae’s shoulders, maneuvers him and sits him back down not that gently on the couch. He tucks himself close to him, sideways, a bent knee almost on his lap, and stays there.

He eyes Hanjae openly then, a brand new thing. Haruki’s seen him, could have gotten sick of seeing him with how much it happens every day, but now Hanjae knows with certainty that he’s never been evaluated by him, or taken into this much consideration up until this very moment.

He hooks Hanjae’s ear lobe between two fingers and pulls, taps at the hoop earring. “I thought you would be a bad kisser,” Haruki says. “But you’re not.”

Granted, Hanjae wouldn’t call their kiss a good kiss. Both their mouths tasted bitter, he remembers now, and their teeth clunked against each other like two cogs being put in an unfit machine. It happened so quick– everything, so quick.

“Thanks,” he says nonetheless, and again, “Thank– Thank you.”

Haruki laughs at him, wispy, a single ‘ha’, and the air around them grows more tense. Haruki pushes himself close until he's full on Hanjae’s lap, a similar position to some hours ago. Hanjae turns his face a little away, to the side; sets his eyes on a wall, right where a painting Haegon made when he was eight years old hangs, framed.

The cushion of the living room couch smells like an amalgamation of all of them, he notices. There’s a stain on it where Chihoon had once spilled fancy carbonara – a meal everyone saved the whole month to have on their third debut anniversary. Seungsoo had offered him three bucks to lick it clean. The video of Dylan concluding the bet is a blurry 1 minute thing O.z had recorded, still somewhere far down Hanjae’s gallery.

“Hanjae,” Haruki says now, and taps at his nose. “You’re too tense. You’re zooming out. Get out of your head.”

“It’s just–” Hanjae mutters, and can’t stop – just can’t stop: “Here? Wouldn’t it be bad? If someone walks in, if they forgot something and want to come back, and I heard, I think I heard that, isn’t there a camera here, a camera Seo CEO looks through–”

“There’s no camera. Not a single one anywhere. I would know,” Haruki looks right into his eyes to reassure him, or tries to; Hanjae can’t sustain it much. His hands are a constant goosebump on their trail on the back of Hanjae’s neck, up and up and suddenly down, up again. “Do you want to take this to your room?”

But it’s not Hanjae’s room, singular. It’s impossible to look anywhere and not see one of Seungsoo’s too colorful caps, or Minwoo’s notes, scrambled and frantic, the only indication he’s yet to fully move into the studio.

This is LOOPiN’s home, collective. They’re coworkers sharing space at their core, and it’s– It’s all just–

Hanjae makes a whimpering sound, involuntary, not an answer to anything, and with that Haruki’s off him, a sudden rise up and turn around. He walks away with a loud sigh and Hanjae thinks, disappointment and relief an ocean in his stomach, It’s done. It’s over.

It’s not; Haruki just goes to open the fridge’s door, takes something out, pours it somewhere, comes back to the couch with it. He stands it for Hanjae to take – a red plastic cup filled to the brim with some leftover wine.

“One complaint,” Haruki tells him, and goes back to where he was; a stable weight on Hanjae’s lap, both arms hooked around his neck. “One sip.”

“It’s– It’s morning, hyung.”

“No. No ‘hyung’. Stop that,” he says, and Hanjae can’t figure out, either by hearing it or looking him in the face, if Haruki’s being serious or not. He’s still smiling. “I don’t like it.”

“So what,” Hanjae asks, and sinks deeper into the couch when Haruki makes to push himself closer, “Do you like, then? About me if, or this, or–”

It’s all he can get out before Haruki puts a hand over his mouth, firm.

“I’ll blow you,” he says bluntly, and puts his hand away. Another paper thin smile. “Will that shut you up?”

Around a gulp, Hanjae nods, manages to let out a shaky, “Ok–ay.”

Permission granted, it takes a moment for anything to even happen. Haruki grabs the cup out of Hanjae’s hand quickly and downs it, almost fully drains it. He takes a deep and loud breath when he gives it back, eyes closed through it, before he begins to go down on him.

When Haruki kneels in between his legs, Hanjae tries to put a hand on top of his head, a timid and gentle fondling, but Haruki bats it away, says, “Just stay still.”

And Hanjae stays still. He looks up at the ceiling – eggshell white, the same as all the walls, with the faint darkening in a corner where there once was a leak. The kitchen sink hasn’t been closed all the way, and he can hear the drip, drip, drip of the water falling on dirty tableware under the sound of his loose belt being unbuckled, his zipper working open, the downing of his jeans.

What a waste, he thinks, over and over, tells himself that’s all he must think now; what a grandiose waste.

The blowjob’s a not so quick, but fully methodic thing. Hanjae taps Haruki on the shoulder when he’s finally near coming, says so around a pant. And then comes, Haruki swallows, that’s it – that’s the full scope of it, Hanjae has decided. Privately, he calls it efficient instead of emotionless, or confusing, or unsettling.

He zips himself back up as Haruki wipes his mouth and goes to collect the pot, the chopsticks. Hanjae catches him by the wrist before he slips away, asks, “You?”

Haruki laughs – Hanjae’s never seen him laugh so much so quickly, or in such a high pitch. He says, leaning forward, “Me? Me what? What are you even going to do? You look like you’re about to have a panic attack, Hanjae.”

Hanjae’s grip on him goes loose. Haruki breaks free of it and puts his hand on his pocket, rubs it in for a second like he’s trying to get it clean. Or maybe Hanjae’s just seeing things with his blurry hangover vision, his clear hangover discomfort.

“Right,” he mutters, and feels like he’s coming down from somewhere. His hold on the cup had faltered through their whole endeavor, and the spilled wine made a new damp on the couch’s arm. A story. He locks eyes with it.

“Don’t worry about me,” Haruki’s saying, back turned to him, halfway across the room already. The pot of leftover tofu clanks where he drops it, careless. “I’ll just shower.”

“You’re sure…?” Hanjae asks.

“Uh-huh.”

“Really?”

“Really. Now stop talking, alright? It’s not going to make me put my mouth on you a second time.”

Hanjae blinks once, and then too many times to even count. “Okay,” he says, quietly. “I’m– Okay.”

Haruki flees the scene before he notices, goes upstairs; comes back down and looks around for a long beat as if he’s forgotten where he is, where he’s headed.

He goes to the bathroom and closes the door loudly, then soon opens it again, peeks his torso out. He’s got a towel thrown over his shoulder and a smile that’s blinding when he says, looking back at Hanjae: “But next time. Make it up to me next time.”

April 14th, 2022.

‘Next time’, in industry lingo, as Hanjae has learned over the years, is the vaguest time scheduling there is. So Haruki said ‘But next time. Make it up to me next time’, and a day later LOOPiN released the final teasers for the ‘Punch’ EP, and things got hectic – music shows, variety content, a fanmeet, a fansign.

And then Seungsoo made everything come to a halt by jumping Kwon Dongwook and half of NTCD at Rewind K-Pop Fest on the 8th, getting them all thrown out of the event four hours earlier.

They missed the SHINee tribute they were set to be on. Hanjae even got handed Key’s bandana and the same blue shorts he used in the dance scenes in the ‘View’ MV, taken directly out of SM Entertainment’s archive. He had just stepped out of a makeup chair when he got the news, and was made to sit back down immediately to dismantle the whole look.

“Pussy didn’t even fight back,” Seungsoo grumbled, in their kitchen: icing his face where it hit a pole after Code pushed him off Hyunbin’s neck. He wouldn’t stop talking about Dongwook – it had been five hours, and everything that came out of his mouth was soon followed by ‘Kwon Dongwook that bastard’ this, ‘Kwon Dongwook that fucker’ that. “He made me look like an asshole.”

Hanjae ignored him. All he wanted was to drink a glass of water in silence and not look a single person in the eye that wasn’t Mijoo, his guitar instructor, in six hours time.

“You made yourself look like an asshole,” Taesong corrected him, pointing a spatula around from behind the aisle, and he sounded and looked angry in a way Hanjae hadn’t seen him in years. “You made all of us look like assholes, and now Minwoo’s going to kill you. He’s going to kill you because I’ll allow him to kill you. I will help him kill you. You deserve to be assassinated.”

“You deserve to be assassinated, you snake! You’re talking with Joseph Song, Taeng! Night Child’s Joseph Song, behind my back, about him, about me! Fuck you!”

Taesong dropped the spatula, put both hands on his hips, and looked up at the ceiling: his ‘Lord, give me strength’ pose. “I don’t talk with Joseph Song about Dongwook, or about you, Seungsoo. All we do is exchange schedule information to know when we all might meet, to try to keep peace between us and them because you’re all insane. All you, insane.”

“I’m not insane!” Seungsoo said, rising up from his chair, and Hanjae escaped the kitchen then, didn’t want to hear his bullshit claim to be functional.

He spent half an hour tuning and running his fingers over his electric guitar’s strings, and did the same with Dylan’s old acoustic one, and pressed random notes on Zhiming’s keyboard in their improvised music space, which was just a vacant corner in Heagon and Beomseok’s room.

On his phone, he got one message, and had to read it once and twice and a third time even, just to figure out what to say:

[haruhyung]: are you free ?

Hanjae sent, fingers flying over the keyboard:

[You]: Guitar pravtice with Mijoo nim sun

[You]: *practice

[You]: **soon

And shortly after, an afterthought:

[You]: Sorry

On his screen Haruki typed, deleted, typed again – the speech bubble looked like a glitch. Somewhere down on the first floor someone snorted, loud and mean, and Hanjae shuddered.

After five minutes, Haruki sent:

[haruhyung]: ok .

More texts came after those, spaced out between days or just hours, sometimes full sentences or just direct question marks, one time with a photo attached in the morning. Hanjae didn’t see it right away, went back to check during lunch break and found nothing but a short trail of deleted messages.

It’s all the interaction they have behind the scenes lately. No more idle talk in the practice room, no more shared space in the house, just ‘free?’ and ‘no’ and ‘sorry’ and ‘ok.’

Now: a live session for the english version of ‘You Can’t Hold My Heart’ that they managed to film in one single take. Jooheon PD promises to treat them to something for it, and everyone’s saying suggestions on top of suggestions at the speed of light. Hanjae’s trying to gather up courage to ask for hot pot again, preparing for the complaining it’ll cause, when his phone dings.

[haruhyung]: ditch with me .

[haruhyung]: discreetly .

Hanjae takes a wild look across the studio until he finds Haruki: set against a wall in a corner, waiting to be looked at, tapping one foot on the ground. After what feels like a minute of unstable eye contact, but couldn’t be more than a second or so, Haruki ducks his head down and goes back to typing.

[haruhyng]: im really not going to ask again .

It takes little to no excuse to ditch dinner – barbecue, they have decided, and Hanjae’s trying to cut off red meat, doesn’t want to go somewhere so crowded after seeing so many people all day, he says, and Haruki interveins to ask Jooheon if he can pay their cab home. No one asks why he’s not going; no one was expecting Haruki to want to go.

They don’t take the free cab home. They’re instead back at Deh’s apartment complex, taking the stairs quietly.

“I’ll be coming three times a week to feed her cats this month,” Haruki says, unlocking and holding the door open for Hanjae so he can step inside. “She’s traveling out of town.”

“Hm,” is Hanjae’s shaky answer.

The inside of Deh’s apartment looks very much like what he would assume it would: neat, colorful, synthetic fur coats everywhere – really, everywhere.

While Haruki gathers up the cats, two small and loud things, Hanjae sits down on the printed loveseat and makes direct eye contact with a wigged mannequin head next to the TV, plastic lips shiny with lipstick.

When Haruki comes back to the living room, duties all done, he opens the big window on the far left and sits on the cushioned frame, one elegant leg over the other.

He says, with a cig materialized between his teeth somehow, “Deh’s got a lighter on the second drawer– Second drawer, Hanjae– Yeah, that one, the green one. Come here. Bring it over.”

Hanjae brings it over, and Haruki tilts his head up, points to his cigarette, still hanging from his mouth. Hanjae lights it up for him after a couple of clumsy tries, and flees – bolts away with the lighter at the center of his fisted palm, goes to sit back on the couch, grows uncomfortable, slides down to the floor.

Haruki watches him move with an enerved smile on his face. “How funny,” he says, dryly, and then no one says a thing. He smokes, and Hanjae can’t stand the smell, coffs into his hand once. He sees Haruki move even closer to the window, peeking outside.

“So,” Hanjae tries, when it all turns into too much – the smoke, the quiet. He’s tracing a pattern with his finger on the carpet; a circle on top of a circle on top of a circle. “Do you– You come by often? To see her?”

Haruki makes a choking sound. His eyes are very narrow when he looks at Hanjae. “What are you trying to ask?”

Hanjae forces a shrug that he knows falls very flat.

“Deh’s a woman, Hanjae,” Haruki says after a beat, with a strong emphasis on ‘woman’, and Hanjae turns bright red and hot on his face, immediately responds with ‘Yes, I know’ – would rather shoot his own foot than insinuate she’s not. “And I’m not interested in women, so no, I don’t see her.”

“But you– You never told,” Hanjae stammers, and Haruki tilts his head at him, frown easing. “You never told any of us you’re not straight.”

“None of you ever just asked me,” Haruki counters, and there’s a little humor in him, somewhere – a bit of pride at that, maybe, until he recalls, “Except for Zhiming once, but he doesn’t count. Zhiming somehow always knows. Side effects of having a gay mom, I guess.”

“Did you know before? Before your… Your whole relationship, with– was your relationship what made you…” Hanjae stops talking. Haruki’s eyebrows have darted up and they stay up, waiting, challenging; ‘go on, finish the sentence’.

Hanjae sheepishly goes back to the mannequin head. It has a pink rhinestone hot glued on its nose, mimicking a piercing.

“Alright,” Haruki says, giving in. He rearranges himself on the window, puts his two feet steady on the floor, manspreading. “This again– Alright. You get three questions. Just three. Then we’ll never talk about it again, so be wise. If it’s something stupid I won’t answer.”

Hanjae accepts this, tonguing his cheek while he thinks. He has a billion questions, too many, all build up in these two months, but they’ve all escaped him somehow. He settles for an hesitant, “‘This again?’”

“I know you know Chihoon’s aware. And now Jiahang is, too,” Haruki says, and Hanjae patiently waits for more information. A whole minute goes by and Haruki, smoke coming in and out of his mouth, doesn’t offer him anything else.

“Since when?”

“Dylan? L.A. After the beach with you, he caught the… aftermath,” he grims, humorless. “And J.J knows since last week, after the festival. The day you ditched me for guitar practice with Mijoo nim.”

“That’s not,” Hanjae offers, alternating between looking at him and not looking at him; peeking instead at the shape he made on the green carpet, there still. “Not what I meant.”

“Of course not,” Haruki agrees, and his smile turns tiny, tinier, up until it no longer exists.

He takes a big drag of the cigarette, the last one; tosses the bug right out of the window without putting the flame out. Behind him, the world looks pink, green, warm yellow. It’s the sort of spring that makes you feel like it’ll never leave you.

“Look, Hanjae, you don’t want to know everything. Not very pretty, with him being married and a dad and my boss and all. Bottom line is he casted me, he made me into a trainee, and that might have saved my life. I understood the way he looked at me and decided to just– let him have it. So I asked him out, kind of. He said yes, kind of. Next thing I knew, it had been going on for years.”

“Years?” Hanjae lets out, a little scandalized, too blunt, and Haruki gives him a look – ‘last question’. He rushes to amend it with, “Why?”

Haruki, with a hint of afternoon sun contouring his falling face, says, “I don’t know. I don’t know why,” and it’s the one thing Hanjae didn’t want to hear.

He wished for: because he loved me, or because it made me happy. But he knew it wouldn’t be that, felt it like a hollow in his stomach. From that day in the rain, he knew.

“I have a question for you, now. Just one,” Haruki says, turning his face back inside. Hanjae hums, letting him go on. “Are you dragging it out on purpose? Fucking me, I mean. Are you trying to make it some grand thing?”

Hanjae takes a beat to respond because he knows he should. He thinks about it deeply, eyes stuck in a corner, and shakes his head ‘no’. It’s the truth; he’s not trying to turn it into a grand thing – he understands now, with a tang of sadness, that he can’t make any of it special.

“Good,” Haruki says, and nods too. “You shouldn’t. I know marketing wants everyone to think I’m some sex god, but I’m not. I’m really not. You should just get me out of your system already. Quick and nice. It’s not like there’s a point in waiting, or… courting. We’re never going to date, Hanjae. You know that.”

“Yes. I know.”

“So…?” Haruki looks around, to all the space, and Hanjae does too. There’s very little of it, it’s a little room, but still, it looks so lived in. It looks like a place that’s loved.

Hanjae lowers his head down, eyes his small circle, fading. “Would Deh mind?” He asks, a whisper.

“Hanjae, she won’t know. No one will know,” Haruki says, and he’s grown annoyed now, shifty in his seat. “No one cares to know. No one gives that much of a fuck, or– It’s fine. It’s really fine.”

“I just– the thing is–,” Hanjae stutters, and tries to push through even when Haruki makes a discontent noise. “I never planned to do anything about it, or act– really act on liking you. This,” he motions to the drift between them, the awkward air: this, “Is not just me thinking you’re attractive, or– I really respect you, hyung, as my bandmate, as my colleague. If anything, what I always wanted was just for you to trust me with who you are, someday, because I think you’re– I just want us to be closer. Any way goes. That’s what I feel.”

He takes a peek up, over his own bangs, and sees Haruki’s eyes flickering. He widens his stance, knees more apart, and his voice sounds very low when he says, “You can grow real close to me now.”

Hanjae sighs at him, because he can’t help it. He tries to think of words, better words. Tries to build some sort of bridge out of them.

“Is it a good time?” It’s what he asks. “It’s been– It’s been a really long week, and you just… Aren’t you tired? I’m tired. You look like you’re tired.”

Haruki’s face clouds, gets taken over by something very cold. “I am tired. I’m tired of you rejecting me.”

“I’m not. I’m not rejecting you. I just don’t want to feel like I’m making a mistake. I don’t want to make a mistake, and I think, neither do you, right? Again?” Hanjae asks, and immediately regrets it when he catches the effect of the word ‘again’. It makes Haruki close his legs shut, makes his jaw tense. Hanjae says, quicker, “I’ve lost a team one time, hyung, by being impulsive – and it looked like this, it felt just like this.”

The silence that gets in between them is loud, almost sticky. Hanjae fights an inner battle to not fill it up with, ‘Please let’s talk, can you talk to me, really talk to me, just talk to me, and tell me what is it that you actually want.’

In a room away, the cats scratch a door, begging to be let out, and Haruki’s new phone goes off – a familiar ringtone, a lack of surprise or urge to pick up Hanjae’s seen before.

Haruki rests his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. His chest visibly rises and falls when he breathes. “Ah, this is funny,” he says. “So not today, then, but soon? When I look better, not tired, is that it?”

“If you still want to.”

“If I still want to…” Haruki repeats, like he’s testing out the words, like he wants to figure out how they sound all together. And then rising up, out of the window, splinting behind the couch, behind Hanjae, “Okay. Alright, okay. If that’s what it takes– It’s on.”

“It’s… on?”

Over his shoulder, Hanjae catches the hint of a big grin being thrown at him. “It’s on.”

April 29th to May 6th, 2022.

After Deh’s apartment and the sex that didn’t, Haruki turns into someone else for a week.

It’s impossible to not take immediate notice; when Hanjae and Dylan sit down on Friday to play Fifa at night he catches the whole thing, even though he’s not a fan of sports, or video games, or hanging out. Hanjae scores two goals and Haruki cheers him on, in an enthusiasm that makes it seem like he’s winning the real World Cup.

When he excuses himself to use the bathroom, Hanjae and Chihoon share a quick, tense glance.

‘What’s happening?’, Dylan mouths, putting the game on pause, and Hanjae mouths back, ‘I don’t know’, pressing for it to go on.

Later, they order takeout food for everyone, and Haruki doesn’t drink anything with his pizza except for a Sprite Zero. He gathers up everyone’s scattered plates after dinner and takes them to the kitchen, where Hanjae has just begun to do the dishes.

He circles him around the room, then leans on the counter, close, says, “Hanhan, what did you do with my KidSuper jacket? I can’t find it anywhere. Come help me look when you’re done with that. I’m in the laundry room, come help me, don’t forget to help me look, yeah?”

It’s an excuse. There’s no KidSuper jacket that needs to be found in the laundry room. Hanjae goes in, Haruki closes the door shut and immediately kisses him against it, suddenly.

They break apart, and Haruki taps Hanjae’s chin up, making Hanjae’s hang open mouth fall shut. He breathes into his face, mutters, “Cute– You look cute surprised,” and leaves – just leaves, vaporizes in thin air.

Six entire days of this: playing cat and mouse at odd hours, being shoved and kissed by Haruki somewhere, catching no sleep, having anxiety all night, wondering if anyone saw it, if anyone has catched on to this whole… energy.

“You look like a zombie,” Haruki tells him, once – a direct whisper into his ear, with the slightest press of teeth. “Is it because of me? Are you not sleeping well because of me?”

It all comes to a halt on Friday, just as suddenly as it began, because Haruki snaps over something in the afternoon, and he won’t tell anyone what it is.

He locks Dylan out earlier than he’s ever done it, skips dinner, ignores calls; gets fully trashed somewhere between midnight and 4AM, alone. Beomseok had bought fancy imported dry sake for his older brother, a wedding gift he was keeping in the dorms, and the whole thing’s gone, drained.

Beomseok made a big commotion about it, went on to bang on his room door until the entire house was awake at 6 in the morning on a day off, soured everyone’s moods, split them into two: people pissed off at him and people pissed off at Haruki for pissing him off.

It’s tense through the whole day, with no one seeing eye to eye quite right, and when schedule breaks go this south Hanjae knows to expect an empty house after the sun sets.

Soon enough: at 6PM a voice message from Jiahang on their group chat, saying, ‘I’m going clubbing! I’m going clubbing and everyone can come with me! I refuse to not have a nice night tonight, I refuse it!’

Hanjae’s the first one to answer him, off the shower:

[You]: Pass

[jayjayjiji]: 🍅🍅🍅🖕🙄🖕🍅🍅🍅

Hanjae’s midway through sliding his shirt over his head when Haruki barges in without knocking. He stands there, arms up and tangled with the fabric, in his pajama bottoms, short hair wet. Haruki’s a figure that flops on his bed, face and stomach first.

He’s the only one who didn’t get a haircut for ‘Punch’. The hair stylist had run a hand through his hair, moved Haruki’s bangs one side and the other, said, like a joke, “But he’s perfect! He looks perfect already, Junghwa, what do you want me to do?!” It’s a wild thing now, at the back.

“I will sleep with you,” he announces, voice coming off hoarse and loud; drunk again, but mildly.

Hanjae, fully clothed, says, “Seungsoo–”

“Going out. Not a problem. And Minwoo, he is out.”

Hanjae takes small strides to get the burst open door shut. He takes a long peek at the two sides of the corridor: empty.

Behind him, he hears Haruki grumble, “These days, they’ve been so time waste. A waste. Why are you not caring?”

“What do you mean?” Hanjae asks, and comes back near, not too much. He’s still standing up in the crack diving his bed from Minwoo and Seunsgoo’s bunk one.

“I’m trying,” Haruki stresses. “To appeal to you. With my all, to get you to. Start something. You never do. Do something,” he commands at Hanjae, less angry, just agitated. “I am right here, so just– anything.”

Hanjae sits down on the edge of the bed, then. A calculated descent over the sheets.

“But hyung,” He stutters, and Haruki grunts something incomprehensible under his breath. It doesn’t sound like korean, it doesn’t sound like japanese, it doesn’t sound like anything. “Haruki, there’s people at home. No one’s left yet, we don’t know– Don’t know if everyone will.”

“So what? You were all always– So what?”

Hanjae hesitates, worrying his mouth. He takes one of his hands and slowly places it on Haruki’s hair, trying to somewhat pet it, but Haruki isn’t satisfied with that, and turns his face to the side, looks at him with a strong frown. Hanjae puts his hand back where it first laid on his lap, goes back to picking at the hem of his shirt.

And then Haruki reaches out a hand himself, and places it on Hanjae’s exposed knee, squeezes, sinks nails on it. Hanjae pushes himself further back, startled, and the hand follows, leaving a scratch; he almost falls off the bed trying to sneak away from it, and the hand stills, lifeless, not that far away.

“It is like,” Haruki says, and stops for a moment, gulps spit and something else down. “Like when you touch me is all so nothing. Like you do not… You do not really want me. Like you are not trying to make me remember. How can I remember. That you want me. I can not know if you are, just… Not leaving something behind. Like haunting.”

“Haunting?”

Haruki stops moving completely. “I really miss the way, really…” a breath. “The way you looked at me before.”

“And how,” Hanjae prompts, leaning closer, eager to hear it, “How did I look at you before?”

Haruki ignores him. “It is gone,” he laments, and Haruki actively looks like he’s grieving the death of it, whatever it might be. “You have not even fucked me yet, and– gone.”

It’s a quiet, long minute. Hanjae sees Haruki’s eyes go glossy in real time, catches the whole process up until Haruki turns his face away, presses it on the mattress again, hides it.

Haruki pushes his upper body up with his elbows, covers his face with his hands, inhales. Looks at Hanjae again, his eyes peeking through his fingers, dark.

“Ah, you are so nice, Hanjae. Very, very nice, you,” he says, voice still. He stands an arm out, matches every single word with an absent tap on Hanjae’s shoulder. “And all worried, all in your head. It is so annoying. So weird how you–” And he doesn’t say; doesn’t tell Hanjae what’s weird about him.

The hand on his shoulder goes up, scoops his jaw for a tiny moment, then yanks him forward by the back of his neck – Hanjae has to put a knee on the bed frame to not fully stumble. It’s a grip locking him in place, now, as Haruki drags his face near.

“Pick a fucking date. Pick a date,” Haruki tells him, and his voice almost doesn’t sound like his own; is a pure growl. “I am tired. Tired.”

He leaves the same way he came: a door meeting the lock loudly.

Before going to bed, Hanjae selects another shirt to sleep on, a clean one, red like blood in the water.

May 26th, 2022.

“I think I just– Hyung, I think it all comes down to the fact that I don’t understand what you’re asking, because you’re not– you’re not asking. We’re not communicating.”

Haruki’s long pace back and forth in the hotel room comes to a halt. He’s only in underwear under the bath robe he’s got on, black and with an embroidered logo on the chest and back – they both were, up until Hanjae put his shorts back on.

It didn’t take long for Hanjae to pick a date for them to officially have sex: the pre-Camp Camp filming days are the calmest, with the ease of certain success making everyone better to work with, smoothing all the nerves, and a day before they start shooting LOOPiN always have the liberty to do whatever they want. Most staff are too busy setting up cameras around the park, testing the traps, and putting the winning team barracks up to keep them all in check.

Hanjae brought it up to Haruki a couple of days before they traveled to Jeollabuk over their stale text messages, and promptly got an ‘yes’ and nothing further; Haruki kept his distance like a bride on a wedding day over the weeks, barely a blur on the corner of Hanjae’s vision.

So here they are, a day away from being shoved in a park to pretend it’s a jungle. Hanjae walked around with a condom in his short’s pocket since morning and he’s been trying to look forward to it, trying to rationalize the hollow in his stomach as positive anxiety.

By mid afternoon, everyone was leaving the hotel – absolutely everyone. Hanjae couldn’t put a finger on it, but he felt like Haruki had something to do with it. They were sorted into their dorm roommate arrangements by Junghwa, all in the same corridor, both of their rooms at the extreme ends. Hanjae waited for his text to come over Haruki and Dylan’s suite, then made his way in a quiet and dragged on zig-zag – tapped a little song on a vase with a single flower on the hallway table just to bite time.

Dylan was still there when he got in, angrily tying his hiking shoes, and he refused to look at them as he made his way out. He stopped at the door, turned, looked like he was about to say something.

Haruki went to shove him off the room with a tight, “No, Chihoon, I don’t want to hear you, not today, no one wants to hear you, leave, get out.”

Things happened at a weird pace from there. They made out for a long minute, came close to fully undressing then froze awkwardly in the middle of Haruki’s bed, paused it.

“What do you want to do?” Hanjae asked from where he was set on top of him.

“Whatever you want,” Haruki answered, absently tugging at one of Hanjae’s red ears.

So he tried to work with whatever, since he didn’t know what he wanted – he tried to remember some guilty ridden fantasy of his which Haruki had starred in and use that as a guide, but the search came out blank. Hanjae wasn’t getting them anymore, funnily enough, ever since he had been kissed by him a second time.

But no matter what he tried, be it a kiss on the neck or a firm hold on his tight, Haruki barely made a sound, barely seemed to engage and, the most defeating of all, he wouldn’t get hard. It took Hanjae a long moment to notice, too long, and he did so by accident; went to push him by the waist closer but his hand slipped down, and he noticed how limp he felt under his underwear.

That wouldn't do; he asked Haruki again he wanted him to do, what he shouldn’t do, and under the scrutiny Haruki only blurted out dismissively, “Stop, no one fucks to get comfortable, anyway”, and Hanjae’s hand fell from his shoulders.

He said, “What?” and Haruki, “What what?”

“What do you mean?”

“Mean by what?” Haruki asked, an uneasy sound, and Hanjae could almost feel him growing cold under him, losing body heat, so he stepped away.

That was a whole hour ago. They’ve been trying to recover, but the mood has gone sour. Hanjae has put his shorts back on a couple minutes after his boner fully died and Haruki seemed to take that as a personal offense, hence the walking.

Hanjae reiterates: “I just can’t know if you like anything if you don’t tell me or… respond. Physically.”

Haruki rubs a hand over his face. He’s annoyed but he’s trying to mask it, says like a tease, “What’s with the language? Did you do research?”

Hanjae sighs. He’s tired of hearing this tone on him. He’s tired of one too many things at once, a Russian doll of exhaustion. A block; the everyday chaos of work, another; the weight of lying to everyone, the effort of keeping it up, and the core one: Haruki not wanting him, pretending to do so, going about it like a chore, like something he must cross off a list.

“What am I doing wrong?” Hanjae asks. “Can you tell me?”

“No, not– You’re not doing things wrong, it just doesn’t happen, okay?” Haruki lets out. “I don’t really get hard, or anything.”

Hanjae processes the phrase word by word. “You mean, you mean never? Or–”

“Not never, just not always. Not a lot.”

“Hyung. Shouldn’t you get that checked?”

“‘Get that checked’,” Haruki parrots, half heartedly, and then quieter, to himself, “I need a fucking drink. ‘Should have sneaked something, should have– Got something.”

Seeing him stuck in place, an unpleased thing, Hanjae can’t help but think back to his snaggletooth days, the pre-rhinoplasty times, that one White Day in seventh grade where his deskmate pity gave him half a chocolate, and wonders if he’s lying, if he’s making something up to make him feel better, if he noticed that Hanjae’s not feeling great, nowhere close to nice.

He’s been hiding his right hand under the cover, trying to not let Haruki hold it, not that he’s tried to do that yet, nor does it seem like he’ll want to.

“We can just not do anything,” Hanjae reminds him. It’s his fourth time saying it, and it gets the exact same reaction out of Haruki each time: an annoyed huff, a roll of eyes. “Not have sex, if it’s not what you want. If I’m not– Not attractive to you.”

“You are, you are. Very attractive,” Haruki says. “Happy?”

“And if I am,” Hanjae prompts. “It’s okay, right? You think it’s okay?”

Haruki’s mouth hangs semi open, his eyes semi shut, when he shoots him a look. “What? I– What?” It’s almost a hiss.

“Can you just tell me why?” Hanjae presses. It’s the right wrong question; it sends Haruki back to pacing, his back turned to him. “Why do you want us to have sex?”

“You want this to happen,” Haruki tells him. “You always wanted it to happen, everyone knows, you made this happen, with all– everything.”

“And you want it too?”

“That’s such a stupid question! Am I not here? Didn’t I tell you to be here?”

“You’re not just,” Hanjae takes in air, sharp through his teeth. “Looking and understanding and– letting me have it, like–”

He can’t fully say it, Haruki doesn’t allow him, shuts it down with a sharp, “Are you my therapist? You’re my therapist now? Fuck off, shut up, be quiet for just a fucking a minute, will you?”

Hanjae withers. From a place inside him, he recalls, he had hoped. He had cultivated hope the size of a grain of sand that maybe, just maybe, the hesitation ment care – that perhaps Haruki liked him, and didn’t know what to do about it, how to go about it. A nice piece of fiction to cling to. But no. It’s clear now: no.

“I really don’t want to pressure you,” Hanjae says, and tries to make his voice louder as the phrase goes on, less miserable, but fails at it.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, Hanjae, I understand korean, I understand what you’re saying, I’m not fucking stupid–”

“I didn’t say– I didn’t say you are,” Hanjae tries to reason, but all the sound gets drowned out; there’s only Haruki talking quickly, loudly.

“–So you can stop repeating all these good phrases now, these made up phrases. No one speaks like that. In the real world, no one says that–”

“I mean it.”

“–You’re not pressuring me, Hanjae, trust me, you can’t do that, no one– There’s no pressure, or urgency, or anything. I don’t feel any of that coming from you, so,” Haruki flashes him a smile, thin, ironic, sharp. It looks like something that would be carved out with a pocket knife somewhere.

“Then why,” Hanjae breaths. “Why don’t we end this here? Can we end this here?”

“Again?” Haruki asks, with a laugh. It’s a mean sounding one. “Are you serious?”

“No,” Hanjae says, and swallows. “All of it.”

He almost regrets saying it, given how hard Haruki’s face crumbles. It takes a full minute for him to recover, and Hanjae watches him try to piece an expression back together until he can no longer look.

“Bullshit,” he hears Haruki say, and then again, “Bullshit. C’mon, just. Give me a minute, alright?”

He moves very close, very soon, back on the bed. Their knees are touching again, and they both feel icy.

Haruki says, “I can do better, I promise,” and there’s a hint of a plea there. Hanjae hates to catch it.

“Haruki, it’s okay. It’s okay–”

“No, just, if you just,” His hands hover over Hanjae’s chest, unfocused, trying to be everywhere and nowhere at the same time. “I can do this, I can, really, if you just try to be more horrible, if you– if you force me, then–” and Haruki shuts his mouth very tight, looks down at the tangle of sheets between them, about to fall off the mattress.

Hanjae at him once and again, forces his eyes to stay open even though. He takes hold of both of Haruki’s wrists feather light, puts them away from him, pushes them to be on Haruki’s own chest. They fall limply on his sides once he lets go.

“Haruki,” Hanjae begins to say, and then stops, has no idea how to proceed. He puts his hands on his forehead, digging. He presses the heel of them over his eyes, hard. “I’m not… I’m not going to do that to you. I don’t want to do that, so can we not? Please? Can we not?”

He takes his hands off his face to try to look him in the eyes, to tell him with them to: I’m not doing that.

Haruki stags up, seems to tense from the heel off his feet to the top of his head. “This is so– awful, awful. What is it, your face is– It looks so–”

Hanjae takes notice of his frown, his quirked down mouth, his eyes – watery, blinking. It’s a sad face, an about-to-burst-into-tears face.

“I can’t stand this, I’m not– Not going to stand here, and be looked at like–” Haruki swallows dry, goes back into motion; picks his shirt back up from the floor, puts it on in a hurry. “I’m going to the pool. I’ll be in the pool, away from you. The whole trip, away from you.”

He stops abruptly at the door, a shaky hand on the handle. Haruki says without looking back at him, exasperated, “You’re gonna let me walk out? I’m leaving, I’m walking out.”

Hanjae says nothing, and experiences what might be the heaviest silence of his life. He feels it from within, taking the form of a bone crushing pressure.

Haruki is even quiet when he leaves, making the door fall shut with almost no sound; a complete dissonance.

June 2nd and 3rd, 2022.

Hanjae lays down, once he’s alone. He spends the rest of the day checking the door, checking his phone – a wild expectation followed by nothing, nothing, except for a tense engulfment of sleep.

Summer comes and Hanjae sees more rain clouds then he sees of just Haruki. It’s voluntary and it isn’t; they’re both avoiding each other.

But promotions are not done, yet, so it’s not as intense as it could be. Just yesterday they got sorted out to film a Heart To Heart episode, and had to scrap it midway because it was heavy, horrible, quiet. Their prompt was: Beach, and they couldn’t hold even a one minute conversation about it.

He got an email from Seo CEO in the morning: ‘Let’s all keep a serene work environment free of misunderstandings and intrigue’, he wrote, underlined and in bold.

Hanjae presses the cold bottle of energy drink against his face, the back of his neck – pure sweat after filming another music show performance. He’s by the vending machine, catching some air, seeing Idols come and go, staff hushing from one side to the other. Some of them bow their heads at him, and Hanjae greets them back with an enthusiasm he knows falls short.

There’s a small commotion in front of their dressing room when he gets there, and he could spot it from a distance. A girl group or at very least a group of around twelve girls, Beomseok and Seungsoo supporting their exposed arms on the doorframe when they talk to them, smiles warm and easy, so he knows exactly what it's all about.

Haruki’s the odd one out, in the middle of them, the center of all attention. He’s always been popular in the hallways, no stranger to little pieces of paper sneaked into his cafeteria orders, someone coming up to him and asking if they can take a selfie, if he’s got a minute – he’s known for dismissing all requests politely.

Hanjae tries to walk by them meekly, without touching anyone, just muttering polite ‘Excuse me’s until he’s allowed through; he isn’t allowed through. Haruki’s got one warm over his shoulder before he can get even a foot inside, before he can even process how, locking him in a clumsy armlock, turning him around, pushing him close.

“And what about him?” He asks the girls, and he’s close enough to press his cheek against Hanjae’s; they’re the exact same height, and their bones fall perfectly aligned. Someone laughs about it, someone woos. “What do we think of him?”

A girl, the closest to them, wearing the sparkliest makeup Hanjae’s ever seen says, joking, “Oh, him? Hmmmmmm, let’s see…”

At his back, Hanjae feels a lingering over and soon can hear Dylan say, a sharp whisper, “Haruki, stop that. Stop.”

Haruki ignores him. His hold on Hanjae’s neck gets tighter, turns into an one armed hug. “Hanjae’s very very shy, but he’s also very very nice. A proper gentleman.”

“Really?” Another girl asks – long curled hair, jet black, dimples showing. “I thought all gentlemen had gone extinct.”

“Noona, so did I! But not Hanjae. He’s proper old school.”

“If that’s true, then he’s cute,” she says, and comes boldly forward to pinch Hanjae’s cheek. Haruki watches her do so with an enthusiastic nod of approval, and Hanjae can feel his sharp sideways grin form in real time. “It makes him the cutest out of all of you.”

“It’s all true, trust me, trust me. He is the cutest out of all of us, yes. Can you believe he’s single? I think it’s so sad, how single he is, how alone he is all the time, always too lonely. We should solve that, no?”

The girl smiles back at him – amused, having fun, flirting with Hanjae, with Haruki, with the two of them at once in front of everyone when she says, “We really should.”

Around them, everyone’s gone into a frenzy over the situation. Seungsoo is slapping Haruki on his free shoulder, screeching ‘You’re so crazy today, Haruki, what’s gotten into you, you crazy man!’, and Hanjae can’t tell if he’s breathing. Then he can feel his lungs moving and nothing else. There’s a small turmoil under them, right where his heart should be, an agitation – fight or flight, and he fails both. He freezes, throat tight and dry.

And then: the enerved click of Junghwa’s heeled shoes, her voice loud when she says, exasperated, “No, no no no, out, out, out! All of you girls out of here right now, what is this?! Where are your managers?!”

The girls scatter in a hurry, all waving goodbye and giggling. Seungsoo puts his hand on his heart and makes a show out of sighing, looking sad, makes a couple of them laugh louder.

Door shut, Junghwa slaps him and Beomseok naked arms with her papers, half joking, half actually slapping them. “I leave for five minutes! Five minutes! What is wrong with you men!”

“We were filming Tiktoks! Innocent little Tiktoks!” Seungsoo says, but he’s laughing, proudly taking his beating. Beomseok simply steps out of her reach, shrugging.

Junghwa stags when she’s in front of Haruki, papers down. She looks for a long moment at his face, searching for something and Hanjae knows what it is: a sign of winter coming earlier.

She’s gentle with him in a different, more impersonal way. He’s the only one out of all of them Junghwa doesn’t call by the first name; she doesn’t use ‘kid’ or ‘boy’ or ‘son’ either.

‘Fukunaga-ssi’ is what she says now, asking if they can have a word in private, and Haruki complies, follows her out, mute.

Hanjae slides his earphones in and tries to not watch them – doesn’t want to look him in the eyes, and thinks he means it forever, feels like it’s a vow being made.

Everyone’s getting more or less undressed by the time he looks up again, falling back into their usual clothes, and the small glimpses of everyone’s torsos at the corner of his eyes are depressing, being back an old discomfort. He sinks into his seat, blinks something off his eyes, looks at the floor. Counts to ten, scratches at his marked hand.

Jiahang comes to sit by his side, gingerly tapping his face with a makeup wipe, a question on his frowned brow, a deep concern. He’s wearing one of Minwoo’s ancient black hoodies, the one with the falling apart NASA logo that fits him too short at the arms.

Hanjae has no idea why his mouth tastes so sour, seeing it; why the next breath he takes through his nose is so sharp.

Junghwa and Haruki come back soon enough, and he and Hanjae are the only ones left to change. She hurries everyone else out, says, “Boys, grab your things– and make sure you have all your things, please– Yes, Kim Haegon, I am talking directly to you, kiddo.”

In a blink there’s only a fan in a corner, making noise, and Haruki in pristine white performance clothes in front of Hanjae, wearing an overshirt with a cascade of thin chains on the back.

“We’re alone,” he says, suddenly, while staring at the floor. “If you want to you can–”

Hanjae stands quickly up, puts a wall and a door between them, turns the lock shut in the small bathroom attached to the room. He’s only sharing space with a shitter and a sink, a little mirror, and he doesn’t want to see even an inch of himself in it.

When he steps out, jeans and an white shirt, Haruki’s gone. His stage jacket lies abandoned on the floor, a tear on the shoulder, a loose chain on the opposite side of the room.

Hanjae staggers at the door, and sees himself walking back to pick it up without thinking. He’s very cautious when he folds it, very gentle when he tucks it under one arm.

[...]

On the ride home Hanjae lingers on the backseat, blearing some song loud enough to not think – pure instrumental, a booming bass.

When they stop in front of the dorm, he stays planted where he is; unties his seatbelt and then thinks better of it, clicks it back shut.

“I’ll go to the company,” he tells no one, just says it out loud, and no one bothers to object. He rides with Junghwa to the New Wave building, even quieter, almost one with the silence.

He doesn’t give her a chance to speak to him when they park, just hops off and goes straight through the reception to practice room #A2, the one with a bunch of old instruments tucked into the lockers, mostly hand-me-downs, some of them broke beyond repair.

He’s aiming for the one drum kit that’s probably around the same age Hanjae is, nothing fancy: it was some staff's son's, someone else’s teenage dream, and he said Hanjae could have it – it’s what his kid would want. It has million pieces of old stickers glued on it and Hanjae never felt like fully peeling them out.

His mind gets lost in the long choreography of setting it up piece by piece. When he finally sits behind the seat, his hands move on their own, just making noise.

And then he finds his way into a rock song through muscle memory. By the end of it, Haruki is a long silhouette in the corner of his eyes, dressed from head to toe in funeral black, and Hanjae almost loses the hold he has on his sticks.

Hanjae’s sweatier than before, breathing slightly through his mouth, still upset with him.

Haruki has a very firm walk when he comes deeper into the room. He stands a paper out in front of Hanjae, his face turned away.

“Phone number,” he explains, waving it even closer to Hanjae like a treat, a gift. “From the girl, earlier. The one that liked you.”

Hanjae lowers his drumsticks as he stares at it, letting his hands fall to his tights. He has no idea what his face is doing, but he knows that if he says I don’t want it, that won’t be all that he’ll say. He might cry; he might fail himself and cry from exhaustion, maybe. Probably something worse, uglier.

“It’s better if you start seeing someone, now. Really seeing someone. This whole thing, it’s so much bullshit. It’s bullshit, Hanjae, it’s like you said. So let’s end this here, like you asked,” Haruki says, and when Hanjae doesn’t move to take up his offer he shoves it in his pocket, walks away, goes to one of the side bars. He puts an extended leg there, a perfect stretch, as he keeps up, carrying an echo: “We’re not compatible, anyway. There was never anything really happening.”

Hanjae’s acting before he knows it. He puts the sticks on their case, tries to get the zipper shut with a hard push that doesn’t do anything. He tries again, harder, and the dent gets stuck on fabric, almost breaks.

“So don’t get sad, Hanhan,” Haruki concludes, turning around, crossing his arms in front of his chest, and his posture is perfect, fully straightened out – a wall again. “It’ll make me upset.”

Hanjae looks at him, as straight in the eyes as he can from a distance – keeps looking even when Haruki dips his chin down, offering only the top of his head.

“It was fun for a day, right? You had one fun day, got your dick sucked,” he says, and he sounds like he’s smiling, like he’s trying to make it sound light, to paint it as something funny. Trying to be intimate, a bit they did. “I don’t mind that we never really– It’s not important to me. I didn’t even want to have sex with you, so– who cares?”

Hanjae closes his eyes tight shut, tries to take a steading inhale. He hears Haruki say, as if from underwater, “But I did want to like you. That week, with all the kissing, all that– I tried to like you. ‘Just didn’t work. Didn’t work.”

“You tried,” Hanjae says, a breath. “You tried to like me.”

From the opposite corner of the room, Haruki puts his face back into view, and the smile he has grows more forced, more visibly sad. It reminds Hanjae of a chalk line drawn on a black board, crooked.

“I told you.”

“What? What did you tell me?”

“Hanjae,” Haruki warns him. “Let’s not make it awkward. I understand you had your ideas, all these expectations–”

“I didn’t. I didn’t have any expectations I didn’t tell you. Everything– I told you. I tried to be honest. At Deh noona’s. That was really all I had to say.”

“Sure,” Haruki says, with a tiny laugh, the hint of a sneer.

‘Sure’. Hanjae’s up from the seat, can’t no longer sit down, can’t barely stand being here.

Haruki keeps eying him like he’s expecting Hanjae to walk straight out of the door, and grows startled when he doesn’t, when he walks near him instead, at half an arm’s distance.

“Why do you think I didn’t mean it? That I was lying?” Hanjae asks the shrunken figure of him. “What sort of person do you think I am? What sort of person do you think being interested in you makes me?”

He’s close enough to see how tightly Haruki’s jaw sets when he looks away, at a nothing point on the far left. His hair falls on his eyes, a curtain. “What sort of question–”

“Every time,” Hanjae speaks over him, and it hurts to do so, because Haruki reacts badly to it, flinching. But someone has to say it; he has to say it, he can’t keep on not saying it. “Every time I wanted to talk to you, hyung, just talk to you, to make sure you were enjoying anything in any way, you looked at me like I disgusted you, like you hated me. Do you hate me? Why? What’s so wrong about all the things, all the things I've done? What’s not correct? I tried being close, and it didn't work. I tried to give you space, and it didn’t work. I still don’t understand, so can you tell me? Can you make it clear to me now?”

Hanjae’s out of air, when he closes his mouth shut. The whole room – sucked out of air.

Very quietly, Haruki says, “I asked for one thing, one thing, and you didn’t do the one thing–”

“You just said– You said you didn’t want to have sex with me. Then why? Why ask? Just because you could? You just asked because you could?”

“Stop,” Haruki tells him, voice rigid. His arms have unfolded and are now holding on to the side bar with all they have. “Stop with the whole why, why, why, just drop it. I’m not saying. Not saying.”

“You can say. I want to listen. I want the answer,” Hanjae says. “I still– I want to be your friend, now. I want you well. To think you’re not– To think you’re hurting, it’s painful. It’s painful.”

“Oh, you’re in pain– You’re in pain, you,” Haruki spits, and laughs, and sniffs, all at once. “Give me a fucking break! Go care about people that care about you, Hanjae, this is so pathetic, everything you always say is– Quit wasting your time with all of this, when you can get a nice girl, someone nice like you and have a nice, normal thing that’s not– Not this. You can choose to not have this, so I don’t understand, I don’t understand why– And you, you won’t understand why, so fuck off, just fuck off! That’s what I want, what I always wanted! For you to fuck off.”

It’s said like an ultimatum, and it sounds harsh enough for Hanjae to feel it more on his chest than on his ears. He tries to take another look at his face, to match the tone to an expression, but can’t – Haruki won’t let him, and Hanaje won’t insist. It’s not his place to insist, and it’s been made clear now.

He leaves him alone, carrying himself very tightly out the door, out the corridor, out the entryway.

Out on the outside world, it’s already close to being night, and Hanjae takes in the stale air, looking up. He sits on the New Wave front steps despite himself, and the concrete’s warmth is a faint discomfort about to leave him.

The drum was still set there, in the room. Hanjae had wanted it, and promised to care for it, and still: left it there. He’ll have to go back for it, be back and fix it, put it back in place.

He should clean it first, and the floor, maybe the mirrors – not all, just some of them, the ones that look worse. Everything that looks bad, everything not quite right.

When he walks back into the practice room, there’s no sound, no lights on, and Haruki is no longer anywhere to be found.

The drum set is back on the case, compact inside the locker, exactly where it should be, exactly what it should be – as if it had never been touched at all.

[…]

Food tastes bland during dinner, and Hanjae doesn’t have it in him to pretend to have an appetite for Taesong’s sake.

He's been testing out recipes lately. He wants to impress his mother in law because he knows he wants to marry Yunhee, now. Not even two years together and he knows he wants to be with her forever, is sure that it’s mutual, it’s certain they’re in love.

He wants to show it to everyone; he gets to show it to everyone.

“Are you okay, Hanjae?” Taesong asks, over and over again – at the dinner table, on the couch during a drama commercial break, while they’re sharing space in front of the bathroom sink, brushing their teeth.

And each time Hanjae answers “Yes”, a tight “Yes”, and none of them sounds convincing enough, not even one of them he can get right.

Later, in his room: Seungsoo out, Minwoo out, and Hanjae all alone. Typical. Routine. Things as they’ve always been; as they’ve never stopped being, not even once. Haruki’s voice rings on his head when he lays it on the pillow: so alone, all the time, so sad, all lonely.

He checks the time on his phone: 8:03PM. Too early. Hanjae drops it, closes his eyes for a long time, checks it again: 8:16PM, and the pop up notification of receiving two messages from Dylan six minutes ago.

[dylari]: r things w/ haruki done?

[dylari]: plz answer quick

[You]: What do you mean?

[dylari]: idk how else to read this

Chihoon sends him a cropped screenshot showing a single lengthy Kakao message. ‘i don t know whyy is so hard’, the first line reads, ‘f or anyone ti just on ce do what i avsk and n ot sometind ellse like hsnaje he is sp–’

Hanjae stops reading it. He enters his phone’s gallery and deletes it, goes back to the chat and Dylan’s text now shows up as a blurry gray square, only says ‘media not found’.

[You]: Did he send you this?

[dylari]: yeah

[dylari]: our chat is his diary ig

[dylari]: when talking irl gets hard he blows my phone

[dylari]: i thought you knew

[You]: I didnt know

[You]: Sorry to hear you have to deal with that

There’s a long pause from Dylan’s side. When he resumes typing, Hanjae has long deleted both messages, regretted them – is sitting up on the bed with a hand on his face, a hard press, and regretting that too.

[dylari]: dude i dont mind knowing

[dylari]: look dont worry hanjae this is fine

[dylari]: im his roomie im on it i can take care of this

[dylari]: ill keep an eye on him now

[dylari]: im sure you tried your best your own way so thank you

[dylari]: telling you that now because he wont say it even if he wants to say it he wont so let me do that for you

[dylari]: good job

[dylari]: go breath

Hanjae falls asleep with his phone held tight, tight to his chest: 11:49 PM. He dreams of it ringing, ringing, ringing, and not being surprised, just being afraid.

[...]

It’s way past 1AM when Hanjae’s mattress sinks to the weight of Haruki sitting at the far end corner, some few inches away from his feet.

He had heard him unlock the door and come in, Seungsoo with him, making the most amount of noise – slurring more than singing some old pop ballad.

Minwoo had jumped awake out of bed, angry; threw a pillow at them, and then a shoe, told them both to fuck off, and disappeared.

Seungsoo began snoring as soon as his body hit the bed, loudly, which only happens when he’s exhausted; they must have danced all night, must have club hopped all night, trying to be too shifty to get caught.

Haruki stayed for a long moment in the middle of the room after tucking him in, silent. And then he sat there, in Hanjae’s bed, not moving, not breathing, Hanjae even thought, until he took a long inhale through his nose just now.

Hanjae won’t look; he can’t look at him. He promised he wouldn’t.

“I’m gonna leave you alone, now,” Haruki tells him – tells him directly, because Hanjae can almost make out the shape of his stare on his back, right at the shoulder. He bit very close to there once and meant nothing by it, thought nothing of it. “You’ll never have to talk to me when we are away from a camera, Hanjae. I promise. You’re gonna look around and I’m not gonna be there. Not an inch of me. I’m not gonna be there.”

He sounds so clear when he says it – slow, but still sober in a way Hanjae doesn’t hear from him much. He keeps on looking ahead into the dark, a hand gripping this pillow; his eyes won’t close.

Haruki swallows, resumes: “The thing is, you’re too nice, Hanjae, so, so nice, you’ve been so nice, so it’s not– It’s not you, it’s not. It’s me. I can’t– I can’t have that. Doesn’t work. I know it, for a long time. So with you, I was just… Lying. To you, not to me. I know that’s wrong, and I know what’s wrong and I just, still– I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Hanjae, I’m sorry, I shouldn't have– I’m sorry. I’ll stop. I’ll stop, I promise, I’ll stop. I’ll stop everything, everything, so don’t cry, alright? Why are you crying? Don’t do that– Over me? Don’t do that. I’m sorry. Don’t cry, Hanjae, don’t cry, please, I’m sorry, I’m very sorry, I– I didn’t want to make you cry. I didn’t want–”

September 26th, 2023.

He can see Haruki clearly now, the stark shape of him. He’s still wearing the outfit intended for the airport – a sleeveless designer shirt, blue overcoat, and a wine purple trouser with an abstract David Bowie painted on the right leg.

Hanjae observes him from a small distance, catching his breath. He had run there, trying the piece the way back together from memory, growing a little desperate everytime he turned left and it wasn’t the right left; every time he saw an abandoned lot and it wasn’t the right lot.

But he was the one to find him in the end, sitting right on the floor, tense but not so small. He has a moment now to think of the right thing to say.

Hanjae wants to go with the essential: your sister’s at home, she’s looking for you, she wants to know you’re well. As does everyone; as does everything.

He opens his mouth: can’t make it. Opens his mouth again and takes another breath, a hissy breath, through the teeth.

Hanjae isn’t looking at the ground, this time, as he walks forward; he steps over a twig and it breaks loudly in half, disrupts his equilibrium lightly, and Haruki takes a slow look behind his shoulders. Their eyes meet then – and Haruki’s have grown tiny on his face, swollen. They quickly look down, at himself, to the ground.

“Someone found my spot,” he says hoarsely, with a single laugh. He picks one of the bottle pieces on the floor near him, raw glass, and throws it down the hill. It doesn’t make a sound. Hanjae keeps waiting for the glass to break and make a sound, and doesn’t hear it, never hears it. “They got rid of all my chairs– that sucks. That just sucks.”

It’s been a long, long year – 2023, that is. The oddest one yet, their busiest. Hanjae’s half an actor now, goes to TV and gives magazine interviews alone now, and Haruki models often, editorials and campaigns and a whole outdoor, once.

Hanjae squats near him, some inches behind; he’s still scared of how big the drop is. He waits, and waits, and waits more.

Haruki leans a bit on his back, tells him, “You can see his house from here. That's why I liked it, it’s why I came.”

Hanjae squints, looks ahead, trying to spot it even though he has no idea what to look for. He’s never been to Choi Sangwon’s. He knows some of the others have, back when they were Boy Of The Week trainees. Their reports were mixed: he had a big pitbull, a bathroom wall painted in a horrible shade of red, and all the carpets somehow smelled like they were brand new, like no one ever stepped on them.

Haruki laughs, meek, and points ahead; right at the only house with no light coming from the windows, empty.

“That one,” he says. “I had a key copy, front and back door. I had a floor mattress, mine. I got clothes there, still– mostly underwear, sleep clothes. And my favorite necklace pin, family heirloom, in a drawer, there.”

Hanjae gulps something acid down his throat. “I see,” he says. “I– I see it.”

Haruki turns his whole face at him, suddenly. Looks sad, and tries to not appear sad, smiles. All white teeth. “Are you happy, Hanhan? Like, ever? Are you well, most of the time? Is your girlfriend nice to you, lately? You’re so busy now. With your dramas and all. I hope she understands. I hope she’s watching them, that she likes to see you on them.”

“I’m well, hyung. I’m– Yoora and I, we–,” Hanjae swallows again, dry. The raw truth is: happiness creeps up on him and it’s a battle to let it linger, when he looks around himself. He tries to start over, tries to sound firmer. “And you?”

“Pfff. What do you think? I know you saw the whole,” Haruki makes a hand motion – mimics an explosion, a disaster. “I heard you. Through everything. And thank you, by the way, for not bringing an army with you. For not acting like I’m a princess– Like I’m a runaway princess.”

Hanjae nods, uses that to say ‘you’re welcome’, and doesn’t mean it much. He should have brought an army with him. Or just his sister maybe, whom Haruki adores; avoids but adores.

Hanjae clears his throat, says, “Furumi’s at home. She wants to see you– talk to you.”

Haruki lets out an airy laugh. “Right. The baby.”

“You asked,” Hanjae reminds him.

“I know,” Haruki says, and turns his face upfront; looks at the drop, looks at the house. “I know I asked.”

“Hyung,” Hanjae says. “Can you tell me what happened?”

He sees Haruki run a hand over his face, up his hair, leave it there. He soothes himself before he speaks, a whole damn breaking sort of thing;

“It was so– I was checking on what Monica sent me to wear at the airport, and when I saw Bowie my first thought somehow was, did my boyfriend get a funeral? He was afraid of that. Of dying without a ceremony. His only real fear, I think, the only fear I figured out,” Haruki trails off, for a moment; seems to dive deep into a memory, takes a moment more. He comes back with a sneer. “Why the fuck Bowie? He didn’t like old music, didn’t like rock. Nothing connects– it’s just two dead people, that’s all, that’s it. And Chihoon was right there, right behind me, but for a moment– For a moment, it didn’t look like it was him. It looked like, from this one angle– Fuck, I can’t even say his full name, now. My first boyfriend, a name I can’t say. How sad. How very sad…”

He sounds like he’s giving Hanjae a cue to laugh. Hanjae doesn’t, wouldn’t be able to remember how to do so even if he tried.

Haruki says, “The thing is– The thing is, he made himself my life and then he died. He chose to die, picked a date and a place to die, and I can’t grieve, I shouldn’t want to grieve because it would be insane to feel– When I know he didn’t love me. He didn’t even fucking like me, treated that fucking dog better– Liked the dog better. It could kill me off, and he would say it was my fault. Everything about me made him so angry, all the time, all the time so angry when we were in private. My age, my face, my name, my accent. Everything. And everyone knows now. They all know, because I had to say– Because I can’t get a hold of it, lately. It’s always very cold in the winter, I always felt it, but now it’s the whole year. I feel very– very sad, cold, all year.”

“But they want this so bad, Hanjae,” Haruki tells him, quieter, holding in tears. “All of them. It’s not like you and me. We just landed here. To dance. To act. They live and breathe this thing, this Idol group thing, and it hit me then– It hit me that I can’t be like them, our members. That’s why I panicked, that’s why I couldn’t go to Fashion Week, why I had to come back here. I can’t do it like everyone else does it because it’s never been the same, my career– I don’t think I deserve these things. I didn’t even want them. I was in college, I came here to be in college. I wanted to dance, just dance, like my grandmother did– I wanted to do something for her memory, I wanted to be something she would be proud of, something anyone– anyone would look at and be proud of, and now no one fucking talks to me, anymore, my family doesn’t talk to me. I don’t know my mom’s new phone number– he didn’t even let me keep my mom’s new phone number. ‘Said I didn’t need it, said it didn’t matter.”

“I wish, back then–” Hanjae says, barely feeling his tongue moving. “That I did more. Anything.”

“You really wish that, don’t you? You mean it,” Haruki sounds like he’s marveling at it, that is a truly remarkable thing that Hanjae has said something and meant it. “You’re the nicest guy I’ve ever been with, Hanjae, really. The coolest, too. While I’m the worst one, right? Worst person you’ve ever been with. By miles. You can’t– Never again. No one like me. Never again.”

“Not like him again,” Hanjae tells him. “For you, not like him again.”

Haruki shows him an even sadder face, more wobbly, and shrugs. Just shrugs, looks away.

“I think no one,” he says, with a firm nod. “No one is better. It feels fitting to let that die, too. If I can’t get it right.”

“That’s not true,” Hanjae says, more with his clenched teeth than with his voice. “Not true. It’s not– Not better.”

“Oh, you don’t think so?” Haruki asks, and it’s just words. Just words being said to fill in silence, to cover up a strong sniff.

Hanjae can feel it again; the sharp line of disconnection rising, cutting the air in half, and he still doesn’t know how to stop it. He doesn’t know how to reach him.

He tries; he has to try. Hanjae licks his lips, forces some sound out of his throat: “You know– Haruki, you know, that all of us, everyone, will listen to anything you have to say. All the time.”

“I know that? Do I? And anything? That’s big. That’s really big. You shouldn’t let anyone say anything– no one should have to listen to just anything. Look at Chihoon now, Jiahang now. What good did knowing everything do?”

Hanjae’s at loss of words again, breathing around a lump on the middle of his throat. He’s too bad at this, too tired to think – just off a long action shoot. He still has his outside mask shoved into his jeans back pocket.

Somewhere in the distance, he can hear a dog haul; a coded hymn to the moon, maybe. Something about wanting life to stay still, wait a little longer. And then silence, a defeating one. A shuffling coming from Haruki in front of him.

“Can you, we– Ah, it’s so,” Haruki begins to say, shaking his head. “Can you hug me? If it’s not too hard or– bad for you. Just one time.”

Hanjae’s up on his feet before he’s even done talking. He stands his hand out, a timid invitation, and Haruki takes it, allowing Hanjae to help him up.

Haruki lays his forehead on his shoulder and stays there, being hugged, fully still until he takes a big shuddering breath. His arms stay glued to his sides, limp.

“I’ve never really– I never did just this,” he tells Hanjae; a shaky whisper, an old time secret. “It’s never been just this, before.”

Hanjae turns his face to the side and away so he can suck in air, so he can close his eyes shut, for a moment. He can’t think too much about it now. He taps at Haruki’s shoulder blades warmly, like a dad or a coach would – pat, pat, pat.

It gets an airy laugh out of him, a long and disbelieved one. “Bro hug!” Haruki exclaims when he steps away, whipping at his running nose, “You just gave me a bro hug. It’s really over now. We’re never going to fuck now. All that, over. What are we, if we’re bro hugging?”

“We’re a team. We’re friends,” Hanjae says, and thinks; you said so right here, once.

Haruki’s face makes too many things at once, hearing it. He looks down at himself again, accessing all the damage done to Monica Imano’s design. Bowie’s face has turned red with dust, and it looks even more smudged.

“VIANFINO is going to fire me,” he concludes with a dry chuckle. “They told me one more slip– the sponsoring, over.”

Hanjae bats an idle leaf off his shoulder and for once Haruki doesn’t flinch out of reach. He tries to give him a truthful close mouthed smile.

“Leave it to me– Leave them all with me,” Hanjae says, and leaves his hand there, a firm hold on him. “I’ll wash them.”

#&& ⠀ [ . . . ] hound on a hunt ⠀⸻ writing .#&& ⠀ [ . . . ] hound on a hunt ⠀⸻ haruki .#&& ⠀ [ . . . ] hound on a hunt ⠀⸻ hanjae .#&& ⠀ [ . . . ] hound on a hunt ⠀⸻ dylan .#fictional idol community #fake kpop group #kpop fanfic #kpop au #kpop oc #(maybe the Hanruki sex scene was the friends we made along the way?)

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lgcmanager · 2 years

Photo

LEGACY PROJECT: FUTURE DREAM S005 ( SCENARIOS )

SCHEDULE TYPE: TRIMESTER / WEEKLY SCHEDULE RESTRICTIONS: Cannot be paired with another trimester schedule, unless stated otherwise

like mentioned in the sign-ups post, every week ( until JULY 3 ) we will give the contestants one prompt in which you would have to answer in a form of a 300+ WORD SOLO. while you are not required to do these prompts, it is beneficial if you want to earn additional points for the first part of FUTURE DREAMS S5. please note that the point rewards you will get for completing these tasks will be revealed after the first part has been released!

WEEK 2 ( JUNE 12 – JUNE 18 )

several days before JUNE 13, all of the trainees participating in FUTURE DREAMS S5 have been told by the coaches to prepare a ONE MINUTE performance as a preliminary assessment for the show. not much is shared in regards to the assessment except the fact that they will be spending all of JUNE 13 performing and watching the performances. on JUNE 13, all of the trainees head to the auditorium and sit in their designated spots. with a table and nine empty spots in front of them, people begin to question even more who will be watching the performances.

the curtains open and BAE MINWOO, LEE JAMES, and SEO HANKYUNG appear as they perform one of their b-sides from HARU’s current album, ‘THE CAFÉ’. as the three of them sit down in their respective spots, another three enter the stage and it’s KANG WOOHEE, NAM SARANG, and PARK HAEMI. the three members of BLAZING perform their upcoming japanese single ( which will be released on JULY 15TH ), ‘EVERYTHING’. soon after, KIM HYUNBIN, LEE SHINHAE, and SEO HANEUL make their appearance as they perform their movie soundtrack ( that will be released on JULY 2 ), ‘DIAMONDS + AND PEARLS’.

with all nine of the senior artists sitting down, PARK HAEMI takes her microphone and asks whether the trainees were aware of their assignment. after hearing everyone’s responses, HAEMI adds that the trainee will be called one by one ( in random order ) to stand up on stage and before performing they will reveal publicly the senior group that they want to impress. all of the senior idols will be judging the performance based on various categories so it is up to the trainee to find a way to make sure to impress the one they’re most interested in ( and the other artists as well )!

for this, you would need to write a solo about their PERFORMANCE ( you can include your muse’s thoughts with the surprise and all, but the main focus should be on the performance ). because the trainees were notified beforehand about this task, they can bring a musical instrument if they wish for their performance. if you plan on using a song for this performance, you can either use the songs that are canoned ( please refer to the lgcent blog and the senior artists pages for ideas and if you need clarification over what the irl song is, please message the main ) OR songs that were released before JUNE 2019. as for this solo, please use the hashtag lgc:fdscenarios and submit the following form to the lgcpoints blog before JUNE 18, 2022 11:59PM EDT.

TITLE: MUSE NAME ∙ FUTURE DREAMS S5 PART 0

- WEEK 2: [ LINK TO SOLO ] - GROUP: [ LIST WHICH GROUP YOUR MUSE WANTED TO IMPRESS; BLAZING, DBSD, or HARU ]

#lgc:event #lgc:q22022 #lgc:fdscenarios #lgc:futuredreams

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aylinaliens · 2 years

Note

Me screaming over that kiss 😘!!

Love them as a couple and actually really just love this show!

*Now if only Minwoo would I don’t know… disappear 🫠

THAT KISS SCENE IS THE KISS SCENE TO END ALL KISS SCENES!! it was so tender and soft and sweet and and slow and just so them!! as soon as the kiss scene faded to black i got up and had to pace a few times around my house because i was freaking out. woah woah W O A H

youngwoo and junho + eaw are my new favorites. they have taken the #1 spot in my heart

but ugh. minwoo 🙄 i’m actually worried that he has that kind of information on youngwoo so if he doesn’t keep his mouth shut i swear. is he even going to grow?? go through a redemption arc?? i’m not sure

#kay answers #extraordinary attorney woo #pose4photoml #kdrama

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sourkive · 8 months

Text

008 : PIETY.

Starring: Kang Minwoo.

Featuring: A boy, Kim Seungsoo, Minwoo's Mom, Kang Minhyung.

Summary: Minwoo visits home.

Word Count: 4k.

CW: Sexual reference, trauma response, unhealthy coping mechanisms, sponsorship, conflict between parents.

Minwoo wakes up in an unfamiliar bedroom, light filtering in the window and birds chirping cheerily in a way that makes his hangover, somehow, seem a thousand times worse. He groans as he pushes himself up, the sheet falling from his bare chest, faded pink hair sore at the scalp from a night of sleeping with product and hairspray in. It’s all bent out of shape, aching from being pushed in the wrong direction. He grimaces, tucking his elbows over his knees, casting a glance downwards to the man sleeping on the other side of the bed.

He’s pretty, but Minwoo doesn’t know him. He looks like he’s probably an idol or an actor; he has that sort of industry standard look about him. Minwoo’s sure that there’s probably a litany of girls who would murder to be in his spot, right now.

That was the kind of rush Minwoo had once enjoyed. Fucking these little it boys who had fanbases the size of small nations; asking them ‘what would all your little fan girls think if they could see you now’ as he hits that spot in them that makes them break. It had all been so fun, once. And it was still always fun at the start, but now, he has to get blackout drunk to get through it without seeing him and freaking out. He lifts the sheet and finds, sure enough, that they’re both naked. Minwoo sucks a breath between his teeth. He doesn’t remember last night at all.

He knows he’s being an asshole as he slowly creeps out of the bed, trying to decipher which clothes are his and which belong to the other. For the most part, it’s easy; Minwoo is way more stylish than the other guy. The only thing he’s not really sure about is the underwear, so he just picks a pair and prays to god that the universe is on his side.

He goes to the guy’s bathroom. Quickly, he uses his shower, rinsing the product out of his hair and washing all the most important bits with the supermarket-bought shower gel that Minwoo suspects is not the peak of skincare. He steps out and steals a towel from his cabinet, drying himself off and dressing and doing everything he can to ignore the fact that the entire room is spinning and his insides are threatening to empty themselves with every too harsh movement he makes.

He changes back into last night’s clothes and steps out of the bathroom with the towel over his wet hair, drying it off roughly as he steps into the man’s room again, just to make sure he hadn’t woken him.

There’s a sinking disappointment in him, though, when he sees the guy sitting up in bed, a pair of glasses upon his face as he scrolls through his phone. He looks up as Minwoo opens the door. “I thought you’d run away.” he says, offering him a small smile.

Minwoo forces one back, realising that he could have easily just left. The opportunity to avoid awkwardness is well and truly dead now. He shakes his head, walking to the bed and kneeling upon it, giving the boy a soft kiss, trying his best to keep it from showing as the soft movement of the mattress underneath him makes his stomach lurch.

“Just showering.” He says. “But I do need to head. I have practice in a couple of hours, and I can’t really go wearing this.” He says, gesturing loosely to his party clothes.

“I have to practise clothes,” says the boy. He wraps his hand around the back of Minwoo’s neck, pulling him in for another kiss. This time it’s a little deeper, and a little more suggestive. When they pull away, he gives him an arch look. “If you want to have more fun for a while.”

There's something about the lust in his eyes that takes Minwoo somewhere; and he sees tight skin, and the lingering taste of alcohol on both of their lips suddenly reminds him of the way he tasted like whiskey, and suddenly it’s almost too much for Minwoo to stomach. He feels another lurch, and he backs up, a hand spreading across his mouth as he takes a deep breath, trying his best to keep everything down.

“Wow.” The boy says with a laugh. “No thanks would have been enough.”

Minwoo cringes, pulling his hand away from his mouth and shooting an apologetic look. “I'm sorry,” he says. “That was just bad timing. I’m a lot more hungover than I'm letting on.”

The boy just laughs, shaking his head with a smile as he settles back down on his bed, head hitting the pillow as he wraps his blankets closer around him. “Don’t worry about it.” He says. “You should probably skip practice, though.”

Seungsoo would probably let him. Whoever this stranger is, he seems like a nice enough guy. Minwoo feels bad, and part of him entertains the idea of staying, but he knows he can’t have sex sober, and he highly doubts he’s going to be content to just sit and talk.

“Yeah, probably,” he says, pulling the towel from his still damp hair. He holds onto it awkwardly for a second, before saying; “Where should I…”

“Just dump it with my clothes.” The boy says. “I'll clean up later.”

Minwoo nods, tossing it in amongst the leftover clothes. He stands, clearing his throat a little, trying not to gag from the lingering taste of alcohol and cigarettes.

“Well,” he says. “Goodbye.”

“Can I have your number?” The boy asks. Minwoo visibly hesitates, and the boy’s face hardens a little, another laugh escaping him, this time a little too dry to really believe. “Never mind. I’ll see you around.”

Minwoo bows his head, and tries not to look too eager to leave on his way out.

Minwoo fishes his phone from his pocket as he walks down the street. He’s pretty sure that he’s in itaewon. He’ll call Seungsoo when he finds a street sign, but for now, he’s just aimlessly wandering. The clock tells him that it’s only 7am. He’d never been able to sleep late if he’d been drinking, no matter when he went to bed. He walks slow, and still each footstep sends a jolt of discomfort to his head.

Realising that there are people who care and worry about him, he checks his messages, albeit begrudgingly. It’s the same as usual, Harin asks him if he’ll be home that night, there’s a general stream-of-conscious timeline of Jade’s thoughts throughout the night, (‘i’m going to make cookies,’ ‘why isn’t sailor moon on netflix wtf,’ ‘why are men like this!!!!’) Chaerin pesters him for some nail polish he borrowed four months ago that she refuses to forget about; but when he scrolls down far enough, he reaches a message he doesn’t expect.

‘They’re fighting again.’ Sent at 11pm the prior night.

There’s a sudden lurch in Minwoo’s heart as it hits him that he’d been too busy blacking out to be there for someone who truly needed him.

He swallows thickly, despite the fact his mouth is sandpaper dry, and dials Seungsoo’s number.

“Where?” Is all Seungsoo says when he picks up the phone. Minwoo sighs through his nose.

“I’m not sure.” He says, leaning against someone’s garden wall, wrapping his arm around his waist. In hindsight, he definitely should have borrowed clothes from whoever it was he had gone home with. His party clothes are not befitting of the daylight; and an old woman glares at him as she passes, so he’s pretty sure he may as well be wearing a big neon sign that reads ‘Walk of shame.’ She mutters something about disgrace; and Minwoo is, like, ninety nine percent sure that she would have no idea who Sour Candy are, so he tucks his phone under his ear and calls after her, “I just got done banging a dude!”

“Who the fuck are you yelling at?” Seungsoo’s voice comes yelling, muffled from his phone. Minwoo raises the speaker back to his ear.

“Just some old lady.” he says. “Can I miss practice today?”

There’s a pause. “No.”

“Please, hyung.” Minwoo pushes, undeterred. Seungsoo never gave in straight away, but he almost always caved quick. “It's a family thing. And I'm ahead with the dance anyway. You know I am, I always am.”

Seungsoo sighs. “What kind of family thing?”

“My parents have been arguing lately.” Minwoo says. There’s no reason to lie to Seungsoo. Of all the staff at Valentine, Seungsoo was the most trustworthy. That, and he had kids of his own; real young kids who he never saw. His wife had divorced him years ago and taken their family to busan, leaving Seungsoo alone in Seoul with nothing else to his name. Minwoo didn’t know the whole story, and likely never would. But he did know that Seungsoo wouldn’t be able to bear the thought of his little brother sitting at the top of the stairs, listening to his parents fight any better than Minwoo could. “Minhyung texted. I want to visit home and make sure he’s okay. He gets really cut up about it.”

Seungsoo sighs, and after a brief second of consideration, Minwoo hears a shuffle and knows he’s getting out of bed. “Ping me your location,” he says. Minwoo smiles. “And stay away from busy streets.”

“Thanks, hyung.”

“Yeah.” Seungsoo says.

Better showered and in more presentable attire; Minwoo stands outside of histoire d’amour and stares up at the cursive sign with a weird sort of feeling in the pit of his stomach. Seungsoo’s car pulls away behind him, and it’s disappeared down the street by the time Minwoo works up the courage to push the swinging door open and step inside.

The restaurant is always the same as he leaves it, which is as much a blessing as it is a curse. It makes for a comfortable homecoming in some ways, but he can already feel his brain begin to revert, as if he’s back to being some seventeen year old kid who lived from one dance solo to the next. The life of a show dog.

In a way, there’s not much difference between that and his life now, but Minwoo had learned that he much preferred not to compete. Sure, some of Sour Candy’s fans liked to pit them against Tarot and Medusa, but all that really mattered now that he had debuted was that each record sold more than the last. Minwoo stood alongside Chaerin on television every weekend, so Medusa's success just gave him the opportunity to have more eyes on him. And the unimaginable amount of money Tarot seemed to bring the company just by having Junjie step foot in china once every few months was only funnelled back into the funds that paid for all three groups’ extravagant videos and outfits. Maybe it’s just being an adult, but Minwoo had learned that the success of his peers was not a threat but a benefit, and his only competition was his highest previous achievements.

He's sure there’s something pavlovian there too, at least in the case of Tarot. Every time they hit a milestone in their career, Tetsuo would get all cute and excited and then be overcome with the urge to manually destroy his own vocal cords for a few days, and Minwoo was usually the weapon of choice. But now thinking about Tetsuo kills a little piece of Minwoo’s soul every time, so Minwoo shoves his nail between his teeth and makes his way to the back of the restaurant, through the staff only door.

“Mommy!” He yells up the stairs, frowning as no reply comes.

The flat above the restaurant is small, and Minwoo spots his mother sitting outside on the balcony as soon as he enters. He knocks on the glass door, and she jumps a bit, startled, but her face splits into a beautiful, beaming smile as she sees him, a cigarette dangling elegantly from a graceful hand. These days, were you to put Minwoo’s parents together and ask which one was once a star, you’d be justified to think it was his mother. His dad had aged normally and healthily, his face had set with wrinkles and he’d gotten a bit of a gut. He was still a handsome man, but an ordinary one. His mother, on the other hand, was radiant as ever. Even now, sitting at a glass table on the balcony having a cigarette for breakfast, with her hair uncombed and in a pair of faded eeyore pyjamas with a quippy konglish slogan printed on the shirt, she looked like a Hollywood actress. Minwoo would be lying if he said he didn’t wish he was her. The more grown up he had gotten, the more he’d found himself shadowing her; copying her mannerisms, the way she held herself.

“Minnie!” she calls as he slides open the door.

He steps out, leaning down to press a kiss to her temple. She reaches out, pinching his cheek between two sharp nails. He smiles as he sits down across from her, sliding her box of cigarettes over. She gives him a disapproving glance, but tosses her lighter in his direction.

“What a lovely surprise.”

“I had a day off.” he lies, placing the cigarette between his lips and lighting it without cracking the menthol. “So I thought I'd come visit. It’s been a little while.”

“Well I'm thrilled to see you.” She says with a grin. “How have things been going?”

He hesitates for a second. Really, the days had been blurring into one another. Sour Candy had been succeeding, but Minwoo thinks he’s probably been deteriorating. He felt empty, he couldn’t close his eyes without seeing Myeongjae, who’s aged face had been warped into a halloween mask by his imagination. For a second, he thinks of the relief that might bloom in his chest if he finally let it out, and he considers telling his mom. But he can’t do that. He can’t let her live with that. So he takes a deep draw, and forces on a tired smile and should probably have the whole EGOT by now for how good he’s getting at this.

“Yeah.” He says, nodding on his exhale. “Yeah, things are going really well. We filmed this show last week where we went out in the woods and did all these games and stuff.”

“Cabin in the Woods?” His mom asks. Minwoo nods with a noise of confirmation, and his mom beams again. “Oh, your grandma will be thrilled. She loves that show. I had her on the phone the other day, you know. She and your grandpa watch Inkigayo every sunday. They send me pictures of you on the tv every time. They were so proud of the album you sent them, too. They have it on their mantelpiece like it’s a trophy.”

Minwoo smiles a real smile, a warmth spreading across his chest. “That's sweet.” He says. “I think I'll stop by this afternoon.”

His mom gives an eager nod. “Oh, they’d love that, Minwoo. They’d love that.” And they just sit, smoking their cigarettes, until his mom stubs hers out and stands, taking a performative look at her watch in the way moms do and sighing. “I'd better go wake your brother up.” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear. “He has his part time job this afternoon. Did he tell you?”

Minwoo shakes his head no; and everything kind of stacks up and reminds him that he hadn’t really been keeping up with his family lately. It made him feel bad, but every one of them at Valentine was the same. It was a sacrifice they’d all had to make.

“He's working down at the bathhouse. At the reception.” She says. Minwoo snorts, and she fixes him a glare as he snickers.

“Do not tease him about it.” She warns, pointing a finger at him.

“I won't.” He says, raising his hands. “I just didn’t know high schoolers were allowed to work there.”

“It's not that type of bathhouse.” She says, giving him an exasperated look that only makes him snicker more. “You watch too much porn.”

Minwoo makes a disgusted noise of protest and she laughs, triumphant, as she steps back into the apartment.

“So like…” Minwoo says, slouching back in Minhyung's gaming chair. It's old and the leather is fraying at its edges, but still surprisingly comfortable. The room is decorated nicely, in an organised sort of manner that Minwoo didn’t have the energy for even now, but certainly didn’t as a teenager. The walls had been painted a clean white, decorated with print outs of Minhyung's digital art- intricate and detailed anime drawings. The carpet had been dug up and replaced with a sleek, lightwood patterned laminate, with a fluffy white rug in its centre. Upon it sits Minhyung, looking in the mirror propped up between the floor and wall, applying styling gel to his hair, already dressed in his work uniform. He’s seventeen and he looks it; and it’s always kind of jarring for Minwoo to see him, because he’s so used to being apart from him and his memory paints him as the tiny little kid who used to follow him everywhere.

This room is the only one in the house that’s changed. It’s come a far way from pirate themed wallpaper and bunk beds. They both have.

“What?” Minhyung asks when Minwoo doesn’t finish his sentence.

“What were they fighting about?” Minhyung deflates. He turns around to look at Minwoo, tucking his knees up into his chest. “Same as always.”

“Money?”

“Yeah.” Minwoo had figured as much, but it doesn’t feel good to be right. Money had been an issue for a while. A couple of hit songs really aren’t enough to live off of twenty five years later; and businesses ebbed and flowed. For a long time, the restaurant had brought in enough revenue for their family to live a comfortable life. In the last couple of years, however, the area had been featured on a dazed video for its local clothing district and became a lot more cool- and that saw an initial boom in custom until it saw a lot more restaurants opening up. The first chain place to open was a slash in the heel. By the time the fifth sprung up, the bills were barely being covered by the regulars alone.

There’s something that felt so fundamentally fucked up about the fact that Minwoo was on television on a weekly basis and that Sour Candy’s song had broken sales records, and yet his family were close to finding themselves in debt.

‘You'll start earning soon.’ Seobin had told him a couple of weeks ago, when Minwoo had gone to his office and asked when Sour Candy’s training debt would be cleared. But Minwoo had pushed. He doesn’t know where he got the bravery from; but something just wasn’t adding up. He was paid a monthly fee for appearing on Inkigayo. He had writing credits on two of the songs on a mini album which had charted at number one, and more to come on Sour Candy’s upcoming album, which was projected to be an even bigger smash. Even with Valentine’s state of the art equipment and highly respected coaches, Minwoo doesn’t see how much he could possibly have left to repay. Surely by the time Is… Anyone There? Was released, they’d be seeing some kind of royalty.

But Seobin had been cagey. He'd avoided giving answers, and confused Minwoo by talking in circles about percentages and quarters and taxes and redistribution of funds, and eventually Minwoo had just snapped and asked ‘well, how much did you make off of me?’

Seobin had played dumb, and started talking about Inkigayo. That was when Minwoo really lost it. He can barely remember what he said, just that he was shouting, and that he’d picked Seobin’s mug of hot coffee and flung it against the wall. It shattered, ceramic flying everywhere. Seobin had barked at him to get the fuck out- the only time he’d ever heard him swear. And when Minwoo tried to argue, he’d been warned that if he didn’t leave then there would be consequences for all four members of Sour Candy.

Underneath the anger, there was guilt on his face. Seobin seemed to know, at least, that he had made this monster himself.

Is… Anyone There? was dropping in a week, and Minwoo doubted he’d see any of its revenue. He'd avoided Seobin ever since that day, though. And he figured he shouldn’t ask about money again.

“I'm sorry.” Minwoo says. Minhyung looks at him questioningly. Minwoo regards him in his work uniform and it dawns on him that Minwoo had never had to work when he was in high school.

“What for?” he asks.

“I feel like I should be able to help. I'm a singer, you know? My family shouldn’t be struggling.” Minhyung shrugs.

“Things are fucked up for idols, hyung. Everyone knows that. Nobody blames you.” There’s a beat, and then he screws the lid back onto his styling gel and pushes himself up into his feet to put it away. “Besides, it was my fault they started fighting.”

“How do you figure that?”

“I asked them for money.” Minhyung sighs. “There's this trip being organised by the art department from my school. To japan, to go to all these galleries and then go visit a bunch of animation studios. I really wanted to go, but it’s five hundred thousand won.”

Minwoo purses his lips. It’s a lot of money, but Minhyung didn’t often ask for anything. And Minwoo can’t help the song of guilt he feels when he thinks about how much their parents had invested in his hobbies; the dance costumes, the lessons, the competition entry fees. Even their schooling; Minwoo had attended Hanlim, and Minhyung goes to to public school. It's not as if Minwoo would have gotten any of those things if the family were struggling then the way they are now, but he still knows it isn’t fair.

“Anyway.” Minhyung says. “I'm gonna be late for work.” Minwoo offers him a weak smile as he leaves, turning in his chair and making eye contact with the anime girl on Minhyung's mousepad.

“What do I do?” He asks, but neither she nor her cushioned breasts offer any advice.

“Good day?” Seungsoo asks. Minwoo clamours into the car with his grandma’s lipstick on his cheek and five containers of her cooking balanced delicately on his lap. The top one is packed full of kimchi and looks particularly delicious, though it’s specifically labelled with Jade’s name. Apparently, he’d said he liked kimchi on a tv show, and she thinks he’s too skinny. Jade has a body most people would kill for, but Minwoo will pass on her gift happily.

“It was great.” Minwoo says with a smile. “I got to see my grandparents for the first time this year. Thank you for letting me take the day off.”

“I think you needed it. I'm glad you had a good time with your family.” Seungsoo says, and it seems like he genuinely means it. There's a comfortable silence in the car, and Minwoo is full of his grandma’s cookies and sleepy from the soothing and familiar tone of his grandpa’s stories about being a teenager. And he’s mostly happy, for once. But something eats away at him, and he can’t just ignore it.

“Hyung…” he says. Seungsoo seems to know from the tone of voice that he’s going to ask for another favour, and quirks an eyebrow. Minwoo hesitates, and is about to tell him it doesn’t matter.

But he thinks about his family. He thinks about how they’re struggling, and he thinks about his duty as a son.

And as far as he knows, Seungsoo had been kept in the dark by Seobin on purpose. He thinks he can use that to his advantage. So he asks another favour.

“It has to be a secret..” He says. “But there’s a phone number I need you to get for me.”

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