Chapter Text
Jeongin glowered at the bags his parents had haphazardly thrown towards the front door. Packed with his things, his room bare and doorless. He turned to face his parents, who looked more disappointed than angry.
Two weeks ago, Jeongin had been roped into an after-school heist that his friend group had planned for a long time. They’d never mentioned anything about it to him before, but they explained their ideas as they drove along the motorway in the eldest’s shitty Ford. Jeongin didn’t really have a choice in the matter, not that he ever did, not with them.
Police were involved, his door taken, and all his hobbies were no longer deemed useful to him. His parents made his life devoid of any scrap of happiness, and he felt unwelcome in his own home. He was constantly walking on eggshells around his parents, and his home life felt forced, dinners strained and film nights a constant struggle for breath.
The night before, his friend group had trekked to his home to invite him out, Jeongin’s family away to see his grandparents. With no choice but to follow, he came home in the early hours of the morning, intoxicated so badly his heart hurt.
When he woke up, head throbbing and arms in pain from the awkward angle he’d flung himself onto the sofa, his room had been taken apart, clothes stuffed into bags and thrown at the front door. His room looked unlived in.
With no word from his father and a quiet sob from his mother, he took his bags and left. He had nowhere to go, no plan of action, so he just walked. The last scraps of cash he kept in his iPhone 4’s case was used on a bus journey into the city centre, where he then wandered aimlessly for a few hours. Once it had gotten dark, the cold winter time turning the city bright with false light far too early for him to understand, he realised he had nowhere to sleep.
He could cope with not eating for a few days, it wasn’t like he hadn’t before, but he needed to find shelter to sleep under so he didn’t embarrass himself the next day from sleep depravation. He gave himself the mission of finding an overpass, some cover he knew the other homeless may have claimed as their own, but could probably negotiate some time for with some of his belongings.
He pulled his shoulder bag strap further over his back, tightening it more as he moved farther away from the neon lights of the inner city. He counted his coins, not even enough for a bottle of water, and sighed as he dug through his suitcase for anything he’d stuffed into pockets without thinking. After a long and cold search, he came out with enough for a small meal, which he could probably make last a day or two. He shoved on his gloves, put on a mask and zipped his coat all the way.
An overpass, one littered with at least twenty other people hoping for some shelter through the cold, damp winter night. Jeongin hoped they were kind enough to lend him some space to sleep. He wrangled a space from a man, couldn’t be more than thirty years old, who traded his space for one of Jeongin’s thicker scarves.
An easy deal, Jeongin thought, and in the morning he’d see if any homeless shelters had space for him. Until then, he slept with his bags held tight to his body and the cold from the pavement worming it’s way deep into his bones.
A light, sunlight, streamed across his face. It wasn’t warm, but knowing he’d slept through the night gave him hope. He would live. He made sure everything was accounted for, the cash he’d scraped together, the clothes in his bag, his phone, and he gave his thanks and a hoodie to the man for giving him his designated sleep spot. He left, that morning, with frozen fingers but a hope that made his heart warm.
He searched everywhere, that day, for anywhere that was housing the homeless. He’d asked cafe workers, the bin men, the strangers on the street, anyone, where the nearest homeless shelter was. No one knew. Someone even mentioned the next city over.
He turned to door knocking. Asking if someone could search up where the nearest shelter was. His parents had instantly cut off his phone plan, so he had no data to use, nor any wifi to connect to. More often than not, the door got slammed in his face right away. Why was it so hard for people to understand he just wanted a warm bed and zero judgment for at least one night?
He decided the last door on the street would be the last door for the day, given the time and the sun drifting into the horizon. The fact that his stomach was starting to hurt from no food. He would have to get something later, even something small just to put the pain at ease. Though he could go days without eating, that didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt.
He sighed as he raised his hand to knock quietly at the door, not using the knocker as the door was such a pretty shade of purple he’d rather cut off his own foot than scratch the painting with the brass knocker. He knew the people who lived here were rich enough to afford another paint job, but he didn’t want to have another person yell at him for being ‘too harsh’ on the door.
He waited a moment, no answer. He knocked again, a bit harder. A few moments passed and he was about to pack it in for the evening until the door opened, a very handsome, strong-looking man leaning against the doorframe.
“Hello! You alright?” He had an accent, Jeongin noted as the man spoke perfect Korean, he sounded like he came from an English speaking country. Jeongin knew that the man had asked just out of curiosity, but he couldn’t help how his eyes welled up at the question. “Oh, I’m sorry, have you been knocking on everyone’s doors?”
Jeongin just nodded and wiped his tears.
“Yeah, sorry.” He took a breath and cringed at how his voice had cracked. He cleared his throat and pulled his mask down. “Would you at all be able to just find where the nearest homeless shelter is, please?” He braced himself for the scoff, the ‘No’, and the door slam to his face. But none of it came.
The man looked sad, his lips pressed together in worry.
“Why don’t you come in, for a bit?” He asked, moving out of the way for Jeongin to enter. When he didn’t budge, the man let out a chuckle. “Yeah, sorry. Stranger danger and all that.” He held out a hand, and Jeongin took it, shaking gently. “Bang Chan. I’m a music producer and I’m twenty-two years old.” He introduced. “If you come in, I do have to warn you about some very bright and bubbly characters I live with who may offer you some tea about four hundred times.”
Jeongin let out a laugh, his tears flowing faster, and he could only imagine how he looked, red-cheeked and snotty nosed.
“Yeah, okay.” He got out eventually, dropping Chan’s hand. “I’m Yang Jeongin. Eighteen.” He thought over explaining his situation before he decided on, “I’ve just been kicked out. I have nowhere to go.”
Chan sighed and nodded.
“That’s how it tends to go here, Han was the same, you’ll meet him literally the moment you step foot into the hallway.” Just as Chan stepped aside again, Jeongin caught a glimpse of a smaller frame with wide eyes and full cheeks. “Han’s not much older than you, but he’s still a bit…” Chan paused as Han gripped his bicep, “iffy, when it comes to strangers.”
“Channie, what if he’s-“ Chan shut him up with a hand to his face and looked apologetically at Jeongin.
“He’s a bit paranoid, that’s why he was thrown out. I took him in because we went to college together when I was in my last year and he was in his first.” Ah, Jeongin thought, he’s a carer. Jeongin nodded at Chan and gave a small smile to Han.
“Hello, Han-hyung. My names Yang Jeongin. I got kicked out because I was friends with the wrong people and my parents were convinced I was someone I’m not.” He explained, seeing how squirrely Han was around him. Chan watched Jeongin with a smile.
“Right then,” Chan turned to Han, “go and put the kettle on, please.” As Han scampered off, Jeongin took one long look at the three-story house, not really surprised that Chan took in near-strangers when they were in trouble. It must have been lonely staying in such a big house all alone. “Jeongin? You coming in?”
Jeongin looked back at Chan and nodded, the slightest fragment of hope that he could stay worming its way to the front of his mind. He shook it off, knowing he couldn’t stay, he didn’t even know anyone here, why would he stay in a house full of strangers?
But then, as he turned the corner to where Chan said the living room was, he was met with an all-too familiar face.
“Yongbok?” He called, his voice quiet against the large room. Lee Yongbok was sat elegantly against the plush cushioned sofa, seemingly perfectly in place for the rich home. The blond’s head snapped up and his face brightened instantly. He stood up and immediately engulfed Jeongin in a hug.
“Innie, it’s nice to see you again.” He breathed into Jeongin’s ear, and Jeongin felt all those butterflies he’d kept squashed down flutter in his stomach.
Lee Felix Yongbok was an Australian transfer student at Jeongin’s school from the year before. Despite technically being the older year group, Felix’s Korean definitely put him down a year. He hadn’t had enough Korean lessons to be considered even good at the language, but Jeongin had helped him for a bit with learning the language between classes. Because of their closeness during these tutoring sessions, their seats being next to each other perfect for them, Jeongin started to feel things towards the elder.
But Felix had to leave halfway through the year, his father’s job meaning he had to relocate once again, and Jeongin was left with too many questions and very few answers. Jeongin wondered how the blond had ended up at Chan’s when he knew his parents loved him very much.
“Wh- Hi, Yongbok-hyung.” Jeongin wrapped his arms around Felix’s middle.
“Ah,” Felix pulled away but not taking his arms from Jeongin’s neck, “call me Felix now. ‘Yongbok’ makes me sound like I’m an old man.” He smiled, and Jeongin’s world lit up for just a moment. He squashed the feeling down far enough for him to be able to enjoy their embrace without the flush on his cheeks. “Gosh, you’re so cold! Come,” Felix started to drag Jeongin to the sofa, “warm up. I think Hannie’s making tea.”
“Yeah,” Jeongin grumbled, his face smushed in the expensive-feeling pillows, “Chan-hyung asked him to.”
As the two sat in comfortable silence for a few more moments, Jeongin wondered how many people were staying in Chan’s home. Were they all strays, like him? People who had nowhere to go, had used up all their allowed time at the shelters? Jeongin knew that only two or three weeks were given at a time, supposedly enough time to find a job, and rent a room, though even Jeongin knew it wouldn’t ever be enough time. He could hear a new voice. Person number three.
“He’s only eighteen,” Jeongin heard Chan say, “and he wants to go to a shelter.”
“If you let him go, he’ll see how awfully he’s treated there and come crawling back.” The other voice sounded mean, Jeongin didn’t want anything to do with them.
“Don’t say that, Seungmin.” A name, Jeongin filed it away. “I’ll talk with him, offer him a place here until he gets back on his feet. If he’s that adamant to go to a shelter, I have to let him.”
Seungmin fell silent and Jeongin heard him storm up at least two sets of stairs. Chan entered the room, Han on his heels with four cups of tea clenched in his hands. Chan turned and took two from him.
There was a small bowl with a glass cover on the little coffee table in front of the sofa that held cute little heart-shaped sugar cubes. Jeongin didn’t take sugar, but asked to put one in his tea anyway.
“Go for it.” Chan smiled. As he did, Jeongin studied his face, the sharpness of his jaw and the way his eyes crinkled as he smiled made him seem like he was both strong yet sweet. Jeongin liked him.
“Channie, why is Seungmin in such a strop? He’s barely said one word to me since he got here, but now he’s throwing a tantrum and stomping up the stairs.” Han asked, his voice edging on whining but on that thin line where he wasn’t. Chan sighed and put his mug down on the coffee table, the steam dancing in the lamp light.
“Jeongin.” Chan’s voice sounded authoritative enough for Jeongin to wince a little, remembering how his father had spoken to him two weeks before. “Sorry, did I startle you?”
“A little.” Jeongin answered, taking a small sip of his now too-sweet tea. Chan pressed his lips together and apologised again. “‘S okay, just made me remember something. My dad.”
Chan nodded and ran a hand down his face.
“I see you’ve met Felix.” He said, and Felix preened at the mention.
“Innie and I met last year, when I moved to his town. I was in his year at school and he taught me Korean before I moved again.” Felix explained, leaning a bit more onto Jeongin. “So, technically, we’ve already met.”
Han was gulping his tea down surprisingly fast despite it being a still-scorching temperature. Like he was worried it’d get taken away from him. Chan brought a hand to his elbow to remind him to slow down.
Jeongin watched the two, how Chan was almost like a father figure to Han.
“So, Jeongin.” Chan took his hand from Han and leaned forward on his elbows. “Are you sure you want to go to a shelter? They’re not… the best… for kids.” Chan asked, his eyes searching Jeongin’s face. Jeongin squinted.
“What does that mean?” He asked, bringing the mug to his lips again, giving Chan time to put what he needed to say into words.
“Another one of our housemates, Seungmin, he went to a shelter before he came here.” Chan said, licking his lips before he continued with a stony look on his face. “He was thoroughly mistreated there, and was kicked out after twelve days. Said they needed his bed, that he was old enough to make it on his own. Funny that, he’s only a few months older than you.”
Jeongin listened hard, trying to decide whether he should ask the question now, or if he should let Chan ask it.
“One of the guys in his room, there were, like, seven of them, one of them threatened his life. Like, multiple times.” Han offered the information like it was nothing, though Jeongin could only imagine how Seungmin would appreciate his past being explained to a stranger without his knowledge.
“Right…” Jeongin sighed, “should you be telling me this?”
Han gasped and shut his mouth so hard Jeongin heard his teeth clack.
“No,” Chan chuckled, placing a hand on Han’s knee, “he should not.”
Jeongin only nodded and focused for a moment on the warmth emanating from Felix beside him. Felix ran warm, Jeongin knew, and it was comforting to not be so estranged to the other.
“Go on, Channie.” Felix prompted. “We know what you want to ask. Just ask.”
Chan smiled at the blond.
“Thanks, Felix.” He turned to look at Jeongin in the eyes. “My question is, knowing what you know now, would you prefer to stay here until you want to leave?”
The silence that followed, only broken up by Han’s incessant slurping of tea, could have been cut through like a hot knife through butter.
“You’re…” Jeongin had to remind himself to breathe, “you’re actually going to let me stay?”
Chan’s eyes widened and Han almost choked on his tea. Felix wrapped his arms tight around Jeongin’s middle.
“Of course he will, Innie. Chan has a soft heart for people in need, and he lives in such a big house. One more person to house will honestly make the house more liveable in.” Felix answered, his voice quiet from where his face was pressed into Jeongin’s shoulder.
Jeongin smiled a little, those butterflies rising at Felix’s words, and he had to force them down. It was wrong, he knew, to feel things like that, especially to someone like Felix. Someone so sure of himself, someone Jeongin could never even dream of being. He cleared his throat and looked back up at Chan.
“Only if you’ll have me. I’ll leave when-“
“You can leave whenever you feel like you can.” Chan interrupted, ignoring Han’s nudge to his shoulder. “Whether that’s the moment you get your first paycheque - whenever that may be - or when you’ve saved enough to apply for a mortgage and live comfortably, or even until you’re old and tired. I will home you until you want to leave. Not until you feel you have to.” He looked so serious, so caring, that Jeongin felt the need to cook him a hot meal with as much meat he could afford (literally none) and thank him for the rest of his life.
“He’s not joking.” Han said, just as serious as Chan. “Changbin’s been here for, what, three years now?” He looked at Chan, who nodded.
“I don’t lie, it’s immoral.” Chan said, popping a sugar cube into his mouth and crunching straight into it. Jeongin took a deep breath as he thought, leaning into Felix more than he probably should have. Felix just snuggled in further to Jeongin’s hoodie.
It took a few more minutes of thinking and an ever-warming hug for the answer Jeongin had already knew from the first moment.
“Okay. I’d like to stay.” He whispered, and he felt Felix’s smile against the slither of his neck unshielded from his hoodie. The blond pulled away from Jeongin and cupped his face.
“Of course you can stay, Innie.” His smile was so soft it could have lulled Jeongin to sleep. “We’d be glad to have you.”
“Lord knows we need someone sweet to balance out Hyunjin’s sass.” Han laughed. “Seriously, it’s like that man relies on it to get by.” He was still laughing even as Chan gave him a look that said ‘are you being serious?’
Han then realised his mistake and stopped laughing abruptly enough for another person to storm into the room.
“Why isn’t Minho home?” This beautiful, elegant being spoke, shocking Jeongin so hard he had to check himself to make sure he was still alive. “Like, he’s literally supposed to be home now.”
“Oh my God, Hyunjin, separation anxiety much?” Han held a hand out to stop Hyunjin from seemingly attacking Chan as he demanded to know where this ‘Minho’ was.
“Actually shut up, Han Jisung, I am in the middle of an outfit crisis and Mr. Lee is nowhere to be found!” Hyunjin looked on the verge of tears. Chan poked Han in the ribs and looked up at Hyunjin.
“Darling, it’s Minho’s long day today. It’s Saturday.” He reminded gently. Hyunjin sighed and sat down next to Chan, squished between the elder and the arm of the sofa, with the demeanour of a whinging child.
“But Minho literally said to me-“
“Minho must have mixed the dates up. You know he wouldn’t let you down unless he was sure he’d be able to help you.” Chan let Hyunjin glare at him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “And what’s wrong with your current outfit? Youngjin would be blessed to see you.”
Hyunjin scoffed and rested his head onto Chan’s shoulder. Jeongin waved awkwardly at him.
“Hello, newcomer. I am Hwang Hyunjin.” He rolled his eyes. “Does my outfit scream ‘heart eyes’ to you?”
Jeongin shook his head. “See? The newbie is the only guy willing to be honest with me.”
“I think,” Jeongin said, his voice quiet, “that shirt would be better with a floaty skirt. You know? Like those ones you see the Japanese models wearing in perfume adverts.”
Hyunjin’s head perked up and his jaw dropped at Jeongin’s words. “Well, only if you wear skirts, ha.” He actually said ‘ha’ out loud. Good job, Jeongin. “If not, those wide-legged flow-ey trouser things that those American actresses wear when they portray a hot widow, you know?”
“This man,” Hyunjin stood up and pointed at Jeongin, “he knows what’s up. Come with me.”
As he went to take Jeongin’s hands to drag him away, Felix held onto him and pouted. Hyunjin groaned. “Fine, Lixie can come with. Hurry up!”
Jeongin was hefted up, Felix clinging to his hoodie and Chan watching in disbelief as Jeongin quickly befriended Hyunjin. That in itself was a difficult feat, considering Han and Hyunjin’s relationship, and how it took Chan himself a few weeks for the boy to warm up to him. He watched Jeongin get stolen with Felix attached, and turned to Han, shaking his head.
“How was it so easy for him?” Han whined, his mug empty and hands warm.
“I have literally no idea.” Chan chuckled, leaning forward on his knees. “That was the easiest I think I’ve ever seen Hyunjin become friendly with someone.”
“Yeah,” Han scoffed, resting his head on Chan’s shoulder, “I’ve known him for, like, at least half a year. And we’re still not the easiest people to be around together.”
Chan sighed and went to stand, earning some moans from Han.
“Let’s go set up his room, yeah?”
“Yeah, okay.”