The Art of Catching Up

“Aigoo, you’re really one of us then.”

“Oh. Um—” Jisung is aware that he really should clarify things, but words completely escape him at the moment.

“Yeah.” The lone man of the group shoots him a small, yet strangely blinding smile. “We’re all single parents here.”

“Oh.” Jisung, it seems, has completely fumbled his vocabulary.

“Come sit with us,” the group’s leader gestures to him. “You can share our lamentations. We all help each other out here.”

in which: Jisung’s life had been stuck in place for a while—same routines, same days, nothing really changing. Then he befriends a sharp-tongued teenager, somehow ends up in a single parents’ support group pretending to be his dad, and, for the first time in a long time, things start to move again.

Notes:

WRITTEN FOR MINSUNG FICATHON ROUND FIVE, for PROMPT P060

A and B meet at a Single Parents Support Group. The twist: A isn't actually a single parent, but B doesn't know that.

thank you so much to alongdream, who stubbornly worked on this even though some sections made them feel some type of way, and had us sort of butting heads. i appreciate that you didn't give up on this story, and i truly appreciate your effort on it. i hope readers enjoy it regardless of its flaws. also: make sure to show creator's style for the full effect of this story. got the kakao skin from alongdream as well, who tweaked the original imessage skin code that they got from here.
HERE IS AN ACCOMPANYING PLAYLIST!
there are some themes/topics that might be triggering. i didn't tag them above because most of them are just mentioned, but overall they're still pretty integrated in the story, so if you're usually careful about triggering/sensitive content, make sure to click below and check first before proceeding to read the fic.

important content warnings:

• Mentioned Anxiety
• Mentioned Therapy
• Explicit Homophobia
• Religious Themes
• Referenced Postpartum Depression

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

“—at a difficult age right now.”

Right before the credits to the movie that Jisung is watching on his tablet begin to roll, there's a brief moment of complete silence that coincidentally allows conversation from the next table to pierce through his headphones.

“She keeps talking back and acting like she knows better!” The exasperation is very clearly heard in the voice of the woman speaking, and it piques Jisung's interest enough that he purposefully lowers the volume completely so he can eavesdrop a bit more. He's always been a curious being, and so far it hasn't contributed to any sort of undoing on his part.

“How old is she again?” one of the other women asks.

“She turned twelve a month ago,” the original speaker answers.

“Oh yes, I remember you threw her that birthday party, right?” yet another woman pipes in.

“No, no—I was going to, but she said she didn’t want the one I was planning. In the end I just ended up taking her and three of her friends out to dinner and a few hours at noraebang.”

“Twelve, huh? That’s a really difficult age, isn’t it? On the cusp of teenagehood, but still really a child.”

“I don’t know anymore! When I was that age, I was really beholden to my parents,” the woman pauses; lets out a frustrated half chuckle. “All I know is that she's become quite difficult. She was such a sweet girl, and then one day it was like a switch…” she trails off, sighing.

“That was the age when I started to keep secrets from my parents,” a new voice joins in; it’s soft, but the tone and timbre are definitely that of a man’s, and Jisung has to do his best to be as subtle as he can when he gives the chatty group a quick glance.

He observes that the party is composed of mostly women, 5 or 6 of them, and one man—one beautiful man, with sharp features; big eyes, pointed nose, sculpted jaw. He looks both out of place and somehow like he naturally belongs with the rest of the group.

Frankly, Jisung wants to stare, but he’d long ago outgrown that kind of brash awkwardness so he quickly diverts his gaze.

“Maybe she's having trouble at school? Are her grades okay?” Their conversation goes on, unaware that a stranger is casually listening in on them.

“Wouldn't the teacher contact and inform you if she's failing?”

“You'd be surprised at how good children are at hiding secrets nowadays.”

“I didn't think I'd have to deal with things like this until she was in high school…”

“Could it be that she's having some trouble with her peers?”

“She does have friends—the ones who celebrated her birthday with her.”

“Ah, you know, my nephew who is only a couple of years older than your little Sooyeon—apparently he was bullied last year. He was such a sweet child before, and then suddenly he became really sullen. Always talking back to his parents, and then one day he came home with a black eye. It turns out that the friends he was always hanging out with weren’t really his friends. He was in the group only so they would have someone to boss around—but things escalated and eventually got pretty physical. It was bad—the school had to convene a school violence committee and all.”

“It can't be that… Sooyeonie is only in 6th grade!?” The mother now sounds as distraught as she was exasperated earlier, and Jisung feels bad for her. She looks pretty young, at least from the brief observation he’d gleaned earlier; around his own age, give or take only a couple of years.

Children start early these days, he thinks—except, apparently he says the words out loud, because all of a sudden multiple pairs of eyes turn and land on him.

It's ironic that he used to perform for a living—at least for a very short period of time during his teens to his very early 20s, because suddenly he feels way too seen. Heat creeps up his face, and he supposes that's exactly why he quit that life; supposes that's what happens when you burn out and retreat into a life of lonesome solitude.

“Um. Hi.” He smiles sheepishly, and consciously fights ducking his head in embarrassment. “Sorry. I didn't mean to say that out loud.”

“You have one too?” The most senior looking woman in the group is the one to question him, but it’s the lone man’s eyes that Jisung feels burning a hole right through him.

He chuckles nervously and then shrugs in response—which, okay, he’s well aware, likely gives them the idea that yes, he has “one of his own,” just like them. It’s probably less embarrassing that they think he’s a parent too, not to mention they’d probably be more inclined to forgive his unwanted interruption as well.

“How old?” It’s the beautiful man asking, and Jisung feels a strange fluttering in his gut that he hasn’t felt since he was 17 and still very much hopeful for the future and everything it supposedly held.

It’s fucking weird.

Yet,

“13,” he blurts out without thinking.

“Omo,” one of the women—clearly all of them mothers, Jisung has realized—reacts. “You must have had him at an early age!”

“Like me and my Hayoungie,” one of the ladies muse out loud.

“You and your wife must have suffered a lot,” one of the others comments empathetically.

“Um.” This is so fucking embarrassing, Jisung thinks. But also the best time to come clean—the 13-year-old in question isn’t his own, exactly. Or at all. The 13-year-old is simply a neighborhood boy who has taken it upon himself to insert himself into Jisung’s life. “No wife in the picture.” The words that come out of his mouth are nevertheless too vague to be a proper clarification.

“Ah, we get it.” One of the others jumps into some sort of conclusion and once again, Jisung is unable to correct her. “Aigoo, you’re really one of us then.”

“Oh. Um—” Jisung is aware that he really should clarify things, but for some reason words are completely escaping him at the moment.

“Yeah.” The lone man of the group shoots him a small, yet strangely blinding smile. “We’re all single parents here.”

“Oh.” Jisung, it seems, has completely fumbled his vocabulary.

“Come sit with us,” the oldest mother—presumably the group’s de facto leader—gestures to him. “You can share our lamentations. We all help each other out here.”

“Yeah, come sit with us,” the man echoes, pulling out the empty chair next to him; a gesture for Jisung to come and move over with his things.

Jisung doesn’t have the heart to say no to him.

— ««—

Han Jisung, at 34 years old, is contently living a sedentary yet self-indulgent lifestyle without having to work, thanks to wealth he had amassed thanks to his brief tenure as a celebrity.

To be fair, most of said wealth wasn’t earned through being a celebrity—being the token Asian in a boyband born out of a reality television show-slash-talent search didn’t really allow him to take home much. All talent fees had to be divided among five boys, after all, and that was after taxes and the manager’s cut—not to mention payment for the rest of the staff and producers that made everything happen.

Jisung is just lucky he was talented enough that he was able to dip his toes and fingers into music production and song composition. His boyband was barely a one-hit wonder, never quite reaching the the top of the charts, but Jisung had been quite the prolific songwriter in his youth. He had sold a few songs, including a Christmas carol that, to this day, earns him royalties whenever it gets airtime during the holidays.

He’s even luckier because he managed to snag himself a good business manager who honestly and tirelessly helped him invest in all the right ventures which grew his earnings tenfold, maybe more—never mind that he couldn’t name most of those investments if one asked.

The point is, 34 years of age and Han Jisung doesn’t really have to work and can afford to stay at home all day, every day, only going out to get some fresh air and Vitamin D when he starts feeling like he needs one or the other.

That said, it's also when he's 34 that his life completely takes a turn he doesn't expect it to.

It started with loud banging on his front door—rather, a bit of loud banging, and an annoyingly repetitive pressing of the intercom buzzer that, try as he might, ended up being quite hard to ignore.

The first thing that greeted Jisung when he turned on the intercom monitor was a shaggy head of hair.

“Who is it?” he asked, sounding a bit rough from the annoyance he was feeling. He had been in the middle of watching his popcorn pop inside the microwave—a snack for the Godzilla movie marathon he had been planning since the previous week.

“Please help,” a prepubescent voice pleaded. It was a little high-pitched, possibly from nerves. There was a bit of detectable pride in his tone despite the impoverished appeal, yet something in his expression betrayed him and called out to Jisung, who, against his own better judgment, found himself unlocking the door.

The boy stared at him once they were face to face. His eyes were red-rimmed, like he had been crying, but that didn't stop him from defiantly staring at Jisung as if Jisung was the one who could take or leave his appeal.

It took Jisung a second and a half to realize that the boy was not a complete stranger.

“Aren’t you the kid who lives down the road?”

“A couple of blocks away,” the boy corrected, his voice a bit muffled, as if he was consciously trying not to open his mouth too much when talking. Jisung noticed a glint of metal anyway; braces, he assumed.

Jisung found himself wordlessly stepping aside to let him through, and the boy—just as silently—accepted the invitation. He dusted himself off and seemingly caught his breath—it was easy to assume that he ran down the street before banging on Jisung’s door.

Politely, he paused by the entrance to take his shoes off, and Jisung noticed that he only had one shoe on.

“Ah.” Jisung’s brow furrowed and he wondered if he should ask; instead they ended up staring at each other. “I’ve seen you at the nearby convenience store.”

It was a statement, not a question, but the boy nodded in response. He did not break eye contact, and Jisung found that there was something disconcerting about his gaze. Piercing, discriminating. He was clearly younger, but he made Jisung feel judged—which was strange considering he was the one who, just minutes ago, was desperately pleading for help.

Jisung winced, unsure what to do when the boy was barely speaking and they were both just standing in the threshold of his home. “Well, then.”

“Sorry,” the boy mumbled. “I just need to hide somewhere they won’t see—won’t get to me.”

“They?”

The boy once again nodded.

Jisung wondered what in the world he just got himself into, and he sighed. Associating with this kid—a virtual stranger—was probably a bad idea. If he ever got around to telling his one good friend about this, Seungmin would probably concur. Good thing he had no plans of doing so.

“Maybe you want to at least tell me your name if you’re going to make my home your hiding place?”

For some reason, something in what he said made the boy light up a little. Relief, maybe? “Jeongin. Yang Jeongin,” he said. “That’s my name,”

“Okay. Yang Jeongin.” Jisung sighed. “I’m Han Jisung.”

Jeongin, yet again, nodded; gave him a tight, close lipped smile. “Nice to meet you, Han Jisung-ssi.”

He was suddenly so polite that Jisung almost laughed. He bit the inside of his cheek so that he didn't. “You want something to drink?” he asked instead.

He did not know it yet, but it was at this precise moment that the life of 34-year-old Jisung, static and stagnant for the last ten years or so, started inching towards meaningful change.

— •• —

Jisung watches as Jeongin gulps down the glass of cold water that he’s handed.

They’re standing in the middle of his kitchen, pristine and state of the art because Jisung’s interior designer had planned and acquired only the best for him, yet the space is very rarely used because cooking doesn’t exactly fall under the list of his natural talents.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, only to be met with Jeongin’s piercing stare. “I take it that’s a yes,” he mutters. He doesn’t know if he’s amused or annoyed. Maybe a bit of both. “Want some ramyeon?” he asks, turning around to open the kitchen cupboard. Luckily, he just got groceries delivered the other day so he has something to offer the boy. “Chips? Choco pie?”

Jeongin shrugs. “Ramyeon sounds good,” he mumbles, after a brief pause.

“So, what happened to your shoes?” Jisung asks as he’s putting water to boil—his greatest culinary talent, right after being an expert at ordering from the food app.

The boy blinks, looking apprehensive. Jisung doesn’t push him, and that seems to be the correct course of action because once the ramyeon is done (prepared in the most basic way, by following the instructions on the packet, without any modifications), and they’re sitting across each other at the kitchen island, Jeongin lets out a big sigh and starts talking.

“The kids who were after me thought it’d be a fun prank to pull.”

“Huh?”

“My shoes,” Jeongin clarifies. “I don't know. Maybe it wasn't so much a prank as they were just thieves.” He huffs, and Jisung is even more confused, but also curious.

“Thieves?”

“I caught them grabbing my shoes out of my shoe locker after classes,” Jeongin mutters. “Or maybe they were doing something else—when I came up to them, they laughed in my face, and when I tried to take my shoes from them, they kept pulling them back—until I tried to pull extra hard away from them and they suddenly just let go. They kept laughing at me and then…” he keeps wincing, but he's also talking fast, with each word coming out more mumbly than the last. “They chased me out of school, so I just ran away and tried not to look back. I guess I outran them. Didn't wanna go home yet though. Didn't want my mother asking why I only had one shoe on.”

Jisung doesn’t realize how long he’d been frowning until Jeongin leans over and waves in front of his face. He shakes his head and attempts a smile; something about the story feels very relatable to Jisung. It brings him back to his own youth which is honestly unnerving. So he does what he’s always done well, and he deflects.

“How old are you?” he asks.

Jeongin looks a bit surprised by the sudden segue, but he doesn’t seem upset by it. He looks like he welcomes it, even. Jisung understands. When he was younger, he hated talking about things that happened at school. “Thirteen,” Jeongin readily answers.

“That’s… what? Junior high, right?”

“Year 1, Junior High,” Jeongin confirms.

Jisung winces. His family had moved around a few times when he was younger. Eventually, his father’s job took them to London. He was around Jeongin’s age then, and he had a pretty hard time fitting in. He was bullied and made fun of for looking different, and little by little he had begun to retreat into his shell. He ended up having to quit regular school, and had to turn to homeschooling.

“Kids at that age can be mean,” he concurs.

“I guess.”

Jeongin looks down and focuses on his food; it's Jisung’s turn to stare as he eats.

“What size are your feet?” he asks.

Jeongin looks up, a befuddled expression marring his features. “Do you have some kind of thing for feet?” he accuses, suddenly sounding reticent.

“What?” Jisung snorts and shakes his head. Why’d this kid’s train of thought jump to that? “No—I can lend you a pair of shoes so you don't have to go home barefoot.”

“Oh.” Jeongin visibly relaxes. “That’s very nice of you. You don’t have to.”

Jisung shrugs. “I’d feel bad if I let you go on your way like this.”

“Well. Okay.” Jeongin nods without further argument. He picks up his bowl and quite loudly sips on the ramyeon broth; now that Jisung knows he’s only 13, he very much looks his age.

“You should punch out the bullies,” he comments.

Jeongin places the bowl back down, and gives him a scrutinizing glare which makes Jisung laugh. He wasn't exactly being completely serious about the suggestion.

“Do I look like I’m a fighter?” Jeongin scoffs.

“Well, you do look a bit roughed up right now.”

Jeongin sniffs. “Exactly,” he mumbles.

“These guys—are they all big kids?”

“Bigger than me,” Jeongin answers. “Most of them.”

Jisung frowns. He wishes he had the solution to the boy’s problems, but frankly, when he was younger, he would run away from complications like this. A habit that has followed him to adulthood.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jeongin tells him as if having read Jisung’s thoughts. “It’s not your problem.”

“Well, you made it a bit of my problem when you showed up at my doorstep today.”

“Oh. Right.” Jeongin at least has the gall to look sheepish, but Jisung doesn’t have it in him to call him out beyond that.

“Anyway—” he gets up from his stool. “Stay here, and I’ll get you a pair of shoes.”

Jisung tries not to take his time. He has a closet filled with shoes, and a quick glance at Jeongin’s feet tells him that they probably have roughly the same sized feet. Fortunately for the kid, Jisung has always been fun-sized—or whatever. He used to have a complex about his general build, and frankly, he probably still does, but considering how little he socializes nowadays, it’s been easier to pretend he doesn’t care.

“These are vintage Jordans,” Jeongin comments in awe when Jisung hands him the random pair of shoes he’d chosen from his personal collection.

“Oh, you know your sneakers, huh?” Jisung jests.

Jeongin thinly presses his lips together. “These must be expensive,” he mutters, holding the shoes as if he’s afraid of breaking them.

Jisung shrugs. “They’re old.”

“Vintage,” Jeongin corrects him.

Jisung laughs. “It’s okay, they’re an extra pair.”

Jeongin gawks, and Jisung gets a clear look at his metal lined teeth.

“Are you rich rich?”

Jisung rubs the back of his neck, feeling sheepish. “Comfortable.”

Jeongin squints at him appraisingly. “Guess I should have figured from this place,” he says, gesturing around at Jisung’s spacious home before he takes the shoes. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Jisung answers, and surprisingly, he genuinely means it.

Two days later, there’s repeated buzzing at the door again, and once again, it’s Jeongin. He looks a little more roughed up than before, though, and this time, both of his shoes are missing.

Jisung frowns as he stares at Jeongin’s socked feet.

“What happened to the Jordans?”

When Jeongin looks up to meet his gaze, Jisung easily notices that his eyes are red rimmed; that he looks like he’s one wrong word away from bursting into tears.

He sighs, worried, and steps aside. “Come on in,” he invites the boy, and as soon as the door clicks shut behind him, Jeongin starts sniffling. It’s obvious that he’s trying to stop himself, but soon the tears are falling and Jeongin is desperately trying to wipe them all away.

Jisung feels awkward; he’s never been the best at comforting others. He’s generally never been the best at interacting with others, period, so he winces and stands to the side, trying to figure out what to do or say.

“Want some ramyeon again?” he asks after a pause.

Jeongin continues sniffing; continues trying to will his own sobs away. “Don’t you have anything else?”

Jisung chuckles. “We can order in. How do you feel about some jajjangmyeon?”

Jeongin doesn’t say anything for a couple of beats, instead furiously wiping away his tears with his shirt collar. After a while, he hums as if considering his options. “How about pizza?”

Jisung laughs. “Okay, pizza it is then.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Jisung asks once the pizza has arrived and the box is opened between the two of them. Jeongin is pouring them both glasses of the soda that came with the delivery.

“Not really,” the kid mumbles.

Jisung sighs. “Have you told anybody what happened, at least? Your parents? Friends?”

Jeongin shakes his head. “I don’t really have any friends,” he admits, ducking his head in embarrassment. “I have brothers—two of them. My hyung is in high school though. He attends Geumja Boys High School on the other side of town, and my little brother… well, I’m not gonna tell him shit.”

Jisung frowns. “What about your parents?”

“They have a lot of other things to take care of.”

“Like what?”

“Well, my hyung… he’s having trouble with school.” Jeongin shrugs. “He’s in his second year of high school, and he keeps skipping after-school hagwon. Says he doesn’t wanna go to college, so he’s always fighting with our Dad because of that. Meanwhile, my little brother… he’s a fucking genius. He plays the clarinet—is some kind of prodigy on it—and my mother’s kinda focused on helping him with that. His lessons are expensive but he's supposed to make it all worthwhile when he’s older and the first chair for the New York or London Philharmonic. So anyway—I don't wanna bother them with stuff at school when I can handle it on my own.”

“Yeah? You can handle it on your own, huh?” Jisung’s tone is dripping with doubt.

Jeongin nods defiantly as he takes a big bite off a slice of pizza.

“So you’re just gonna go home barefoot and not tell anyone why you don't have shoes anymore?”

Jeongin picks at the onions on his slice, before letting out a shaky exhale. “Can I borrow another pair?” he mumbles.

Jisung blinks; sighs again. “Alright. Don’t let those bullies take them next time though.”

Jeongin looks at him directly. “How am I supposed to do that?”

“Tell the teacher,” Jisung answers with a shrug.

The boy gawks. “You want me to fucking die?!”

“Well what else can you do?” Jisung laughs. He has half a mind to berate the teenager for his language, but he holds back, knowing his own potty mouth was worse at that age.

“Can’t you let me borrow a pair of cheap shoes instead?” Jeongin asks, frowning.

Jisung stares at him, before letting out a huff. “I’ll see what I have.”

Jeongin smiles. “Thank you Han Jisung-ssi.”

Jisung rolls his eyes. “You should stop being so formal. It doesn’t suit the way you’ve been talking.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, hyung,” Jisung corrects him.

“Okay, hyung,” Jeongin echoes.

It unfolds like this: Jeongin begins showing up at Jisung’s two to three times a week. He somehow manages to keep the second pair of shoes that Jisung ‘lends’ him, and Jisung doesn’t question how. Maybe it's because he lent Jeongin a quality, but less known brand. Or maybe the bullies got tired of trying it with him, although Jeongin still often looks a little roughed up whenever he shows up at his house.

It’s never to the point of physical scars so Jisung tries his best not to pry. Instead, he starts introducing Jeongin to movies he loved when he was younger, although more often they’d connect consoles to his television and they’d play games, one after another. Jisung’s never really been good at video games, so Jeongin easily beats him most of the time.

Soon, however, Jeongin is always hanging out at his place, and Jisung finds himself ordering more games online so the two of them can have something to play and pass time with.

Sometimes Jeongin would take his schoolwork out while Jisung watches his anime, which funnily, Jeongin makes fun of him for.

“Aren’t you too old for cartoons?” the 13-year-old once asked, to which Jisung had scoffed before going on a tirade about how the title he was watching was very complex and wasn't really for children.

Jeongin nodded, looking like he wasn't really able to absorb Jisung’s entire explanation—confirmed by the way the next time Jisung put on another anime series, Jeongin was back to teasing him again.

Once, he showed up on a weekend—on a Sunday, actually, dressed to the nines, in a white dress shirt, pressed slacks and leather loafers. For once, he looked all cleaned up.

“Don't you go to church?” he asked as soon as Jisung opened the door.

“What church?”

“Any church.” Jeongin shrugged.

When Jisung was young and living abroad, his family regularly attended a Protestant service. In a way, it had been a part of their community building, a way to meet people and settle in their foreign surroundings. However, try as he might, Jisung never really made any lasting friendships in that community. By the time he was 18, he had stopped going to church, with no clear faith or belief system to speak of.

“Not really,” he answered Jeongin honestly. “You?”

“I just got home from mass,” Jeongin explained. “Catholic.”

“Oh.” Jisung didn’t know what to say to that, so he chose not to say anything.

“Can we order jokbal today?” Jeongin asked, and Jisung could only laugh at his casual demand.

It was strange, but Jeongin has somehow become a part of Jisung’s regularly scheduled programming; what's even stranger is that Jisung finds that he doesn't really mind.

— »» —

“A funny thing happened today,” Jisung tells Jeongin.

As usual, Jeongin showed up at his place again after school. These days Jisung has been entertaining him by making him watch all the Harry Potter movies. They’re currently in the middle of Goblet of Fire, and Jeongin seems fairly engrossed.

That doesn’t stop Jisung from yapping though.

“Are you sure? You sometimes have a weird idea of what’s funny, hyung,” Jeongin retorts cheekily.

“Yah.” Jisung snorts, reaching over and lightly ruffling his hair. “You’ve turned into such a cheeky brat over the last few months.”

“I’ve always been a cheeky brat.” Jeongin grins at him, braces all shiny. He isn’t very shy around Jisung anymore, and he doesn’t mumble as much as he snarks these days. His true colors were revealed maybe a week or two after he started hanging out at Jisung’s.

“Yes, you have,” Jisung agrees.

“So, what’s the funny thing? If I don’t laugh, you’ll owe me.”

“Oy!” Jisung laughs and shakes his head. “Anyway. I met this group earlier.”

“At your café of the week?”

“Uh-huh.” Jisung grabs a handful of popcorn from the bowl on Jeongin’s lap. “Café Eunbi. I met a group of people who are now under the impression that you’re my son.”

Jeongin freezes; his expression comically contorts in confusion. “What?”

“Yeah…”

The teenager’s expression morphs in even more confusion. “Where’s the haha?”

Jisung laughs. “Here.”

Jeongin glares and Jisung ruffles his hair again; this time Jeongin tries to move away and almost topples over the bowl of popcorn.

“How’s that funny?! How did I even come up—?”

“Well it was a group of single parents, and they were talking about their children and the problems they have with their children,” Jisung explains.

“Like what problems?”

“Well, they were trying to figure out if someone's daughter was having issues at school.”

A shadow passes over Jeongin's features. “So you thought of me?”

“Well, you're around the same age as the girl,” Jisung explains. “I didn't mean to, but I kind of made a vague comment with you in mind, and then they just kind of… assumed.”

“And you didn't think of correcting them?”

“It felt like I missed the opportunity to do that without embarrassing everyone.”

Jeongin laughs, and Jisung is relieved that he seems amused more than anything else.

“So now there's a group of people who think you're a father,” Jeongin reiterates.

“Yes. A group of single parents, at that—and get this, they invited me to come and join them again the next time they meet.”

“You're not going, are you?”

“I—well—maybe?” Jisung chuckles sheepishly.

“Why?” Jeongin snorts.

Jisung clears his throat. He doesn't know why he feels embarrassed, but he does. Then again, he doesn't know why he's telling this 13-year-old about his day but here he is.

“There was someone there who seemed interesting,” he explains.

Jeongin snorts. “How old is her child?” he snarks.

“I think he has a 6 or 7-year-old,” Jisung answers, trying to remember the hints he picked up from the way Minho talked about his daughter. “He's a single dad.”

He doesn't think much about what he's sharing with Jeongin, but he does notice the silent pause he gets in response. When he looks at his younger friend, he finds that Jeongin is giving him a strange, almost judgmental, look.

“You're weird,” Jeongin comments.

Jisung laughs, by now used to the boy's occasional out of pocket comments, but this time, he does feel a prickle of hurt from the words. “Weird isn't always bad,” he responds, trying to be a good sport.

“Sheesh, hyung, you're so lonely that you're using me to make new friends?” Just like that, the judgment is gone, replaced with the usual light-hearted irreverence that Jisung is used to by now.

“Well—” Jisung laughs and pinches Jeongin’s cheek, “—I deserve better than being stuck with you, right?”

— ꨄ︎ —

A couple of days pass before Jisung gets an invitation to a meeting of the Single Parents Club—SPC for short—which is what he's taken to calling the group in his head. He gets told that they'll be at the same café again the following day, and “would you like to join us?”

The invitation comes from “Lee Minho (Eunbi’s Dad),” which Jisung belatedly finds out is how the lone man in the group had saved his number on Jisung's phone.

As he reads the message a few times repeatedly, Jisung considers coming clean and just admitting to not actually being a father of any sort—he doesn't even have pets, even though every now and then he toys with the idea of getting a fish—or a lizard, whichever turns out to be less work, and therefore less responsibility.

It's on his third, maybe fourth, reading of the message when the three blinking dots that indicate someone is typing a message appears; three seconds later, another message arrives:

Lee Minho (Eunbi's Dad): please come. it's hard being the only guy in the group sometimes and it would be nice to have two of us there._20:12

Oh, Jisung thinks. Because attending the meeting would be a favor to Minho then, wouldn't it? It would be Jisung being benevolent and helpful, and maybe he can just admit to the truth in person instead.

Me: ok. is it that bad tho? being the only guy? _20:15
Lee Minho (Eunbi’s Dad): it's not too bad, i was just trying to get you to come. _20:16; but i do feel like i need to keep some thoughts to myself sometimes. we're all single parents but there are still some differences between moms and dads _20:16
Me: u think so? _20:18
Lee Minho (Eunbi’s Dad): dont u? _20:19
Me: ㅎㅎ i guess _20:20

He wouldn’t exactly know from experience, but he does remember the difference in ways that his mother and father regarded him when he was still growing up. His mother was stricter with him, her way of discipline very preemptive—drilling into him all sorts of expectations when it came to how he should act, and how he should succeed. Meanwhile, it was his father who doled out punishment for any and all wrongdoings. Together, they were quite the combination when it came to parenting.

He assumes something like that is what Minho is talking about—then again, Minho is a single dad raising his daughter on his own, so maybe he's talking about something else entirely.

Jisung is reminded of the stupidity of his lie—but he pushes aside that feeling for now.

Me: how did u get invited to the group anyway? _20:22

He figures it’s still better to segue and not dwell, though.

Lee Minho (Eunbi's Dad): that's a funny story. maybe ill tell u if u show up tmr. _20:23
Me: well now i have to, dont i?; what do yall talk about at those things? _20:25
Lee Minho (Eunbi's Dad): we gossip about our kids ㅋㅋ _20:26
Me: gossip ㅋㅋㅋ _20:26
Lee Minho (Eunbi's Dad): well we talk abt our kids and complain abt our lives; so isnt that what it is?; for example, choi seyoung is always talking abt her 8 yr old son and the girl he has a crush on. isnt that gossip? _20:28
Me: that's cute though isnt it? _20:28
Lee Minho (Eunbi's Dad): personally i dont want eunbi getting a crush on anyone until she's 60; right now she's still in the stage of her life where she wants to marry her dad; isnt that sweet? _20:30
Me: so she's a daddy's girl then _20:31
Lee Minho (Eunbi's Dad): yes _20:31; im guessing it's different when you have a boy? _20:32

Jisung cringes; types a response anyway.

Me: yeah. and he's a teen now, there's another big difference _20:34
Lee Minho (Eunbi's Dad): dreading puberty for my little girl _20:34

Despite himself, Jisung finds himself smiling at Minho’s protectiveness over his daughter. He notices that Minho's display picture isn't a photo of him, but rather a scribble of an unfamiliar character of some sort, so he clicks on it curiously—only to find himself smiling even more. Never mind this display picture, Minho's Kakao background is a picture of an adorable little girl in pajamas, holding a big cat stuffed toy while an actual cat—a fat orange tabby—is curled up next to her.

Me: is that ur daughter in ur bg? _20:36
Lee Minho (Eunbi's Dad): no it's a random kid i stole; yes ofc that's her, my eunbi _20:37
Me: what a princess _20:37
Lee Minho (Eubnbi's Dad): yes she is 👸 _20:37
Me: and the fluffy thing at her feet? _20:37
Lee Minho (Eunbi's Dad): that’s gamja _20:38
Me: you named your cat potato? ㅋㅋ _20:48
Lee Minho (Eunbi's Dad): yes; because potatoes are magic; and eunbi thinks cats are magic _20:38
Me: that's...; _20:39
Lee Minho (Eunbi's Dad): that looks like you btw _20:39; anyway the princess is asking for her bedtime story now, so ill see u tmr? _20:40
Me: see u tmr! good night to eunbi-gongjunim as well. _20:39

Jisung lets out a massive exhale as soon as his last message gets marked as read. Tomorrow, he promises himself. Tomorrow, he'll come clean—this kind of thing is better to be honest about in person, right?

Minho had told him to come to Café Eunbi at around 1 in the afternoon, and when Jisung gets there at barely five minutes past, he finds that most of the women are already there. He has come to learn just that morning that Minho actually owns the café (it figures that he would name it for his daughter), so he's already there as well. Apparently this is where they regularly all meet at least once or twice a week—are already there.

“Seyoung-unnie can’t make it today,” one of the women—Seoyeon, if Jisung recalls correctly—informs everyone as soon as Jisung is seated with the group. “So this is all of us today.”

Jisung, looking around the table, does a runthrough in his head of everyone’s names, which he had learned the last time he crashed their meeting. Park Yongsun, at the head, is the oldest and the de facto leader, and it shows in her countenance. The rest are Kim Soojung (the lady who was talking about her daughter recently turning 12), Park Jieun, and Moon Seoyeon. Absent is Choi Seyoung, and Jisung thinks he remembers a mention of her being a nurse with more rigid shift hours, and he assumes that's why she couldn’t make it.

The meeting doesn’t exactly start formally; Minho serves everyone drinks and pastries, and everyone just starts chatting and catching up on their lives and children.

He tries to simply observe and listen, but that only works for so long before they turn the spotlight on him and begin piling on questions.

“So what do you do for a living, Han Jisung-ssi?” Expectedly, Yongsun is the one to start the soft interrogation.

Jisung is initially taken aback, mostly because he feels a little embarrassed about having to explain that technically, he's unemployed.

“Uh, I have some passive investments here and there,” he says.

“Oh? In stocks and the like?”

Jisung nods. “I have a business manager—an accountant who helps me with these things,” he explains cautiously. “A long time friend who I trust to handle my money.”

“Yongsun-unnie is an accountant too,” Soojung volunteers. “She's the one who helps me balance my books.”

Minho lifts one hand. “Mine, too,” he throws in casually.

Yongsun chuckles. “I do try to help the people close to me.”

“Don't be humble, unnie.” Soojung laughs. “She used to be an accountant at a big time equity firm, but these days she charges a very modest fee for her talents.”

Yongsun waves her off. “That was a long time ago.”

“Oh?” Jisung looks at her curiously, hoping he can sway the conversation away from him. “Did you stop being an accountant?”

Yongsun laughs. “No, I just downsized after my husband passed away. It's been a while though—almost ten years. Now I just keep the books for a few small businesses. Do enough to keep me and my Taehyun comfortable. And I have a few investments myself.”

“She works for most of the businesses on this street,” Minho pipes in. “Noona is very good at her job.”

“I do take pride in my work,” Yongsun interjects, “but we're talking about Han Jisung-ssi right now.”

“Ah, no—” Jisung chuckles, decisively making a crossing gesture with his arms. “I really don't need to be the center of attention.”

“You're the new guy here, though,” Minho points out, reaching over to touch his arm. It’s a brief enough gesture, yet Jisung feels a buzz of electricity thrum under his skin, and he feels silly for it. Like he’s a 12-year-old with a crush.

“Alright,” he caves with a sheepish smile. “What else about me does everyone want to know?”

“Do you own a small business too?” Yongsun asks. “I’m only asking because you talked about having a business manager—?”

“Um, well.” Jisung chuckles softly. “I kind of—I was—” He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Have any of you heard about a group called The Sound?”

He’s met with mostly blank and confused stares—but before he could clarify, a lightbulb seemingly turns on for Seoyeon, familiarity and excitement lighting up her features.

“Is that the British boyband—wait—you’re Peter Han!” she exclaims.

“Ah.” Jisung grimaces. “Yeah, that’s me,” he admits, embarrassed. He glances at Minho’s direction, mostly curious about his reaction, and he finds the other man’s head tilted, curiosity painted all over his face.

“Peter Han?” he mouths questioningly, to which Jisung shrugs.

“I was a fan when I was 10? 11?,” Seoyeon explains. “All my friends were into TVXQ and SS501 but I liked foreign groups, so I knew about The Sound. When I message my older sister about this, she's going to freak out.”

“Oh my,” Jieun gushes. “Would we know any of your songs?”

“Well—”

“‘Wish U Back’!” Seoyeon interjects. “I really liked that one.”

Jisung chuckles; their debut song is the only one that had some global renown, yet no one else in the group reacts with familiarity even when Seoyeon hums a bit of the chorus.

“If you haven't heard that one, I doubt you’ve heard the others. We weren’t exactly big like One Direction or even The Wanted, but we had a decent local fanbase.” He shrugs. “Mostly, though, I make money off royalties from songs I sold after I left the group. There's one called ‘Under the Mistletoe’—a fairly well known soloist in the UK bought it, so it still gets a lot of airplay over there during the holidays.”

“Right, I remember now—didn't you participate in composing most of the group’s songs?” Seoyeon sounds very excited, interrupting him before he could even finish his sentence, which makes Jisung feel even more embarrassed. From the corner of his view, he notices that Minho looks mildly impressed, which makes the back of Jisung's neck heat up. “I remember,” Seoyeon continues. “You were my second favorite because—well, Korean representation! And I was extra proud because you were always touted as some kind of musical genius.”

Jisung winces; part of his branding, apart from being the youngest in the group, was that he was the token, overachieving Asian member—he worked hard in composing songs, and management made sure to advertise that fact.

“Just the second?” he asks.

“Well—” Seoyeon smiles sheepishly, “Will-nim was the cutest.”

Jisung snorts. Will Evans was the pretty boy in the group, the main dancer with stage charisma that earned him a pretty decent solo career after the group's disbandment.

“Of course,” Jisung accedes. He understands because he himself harbored a little crush on Will during their time together in The Sound—not that he's about to share that long buried secret with this group.

“It feels like a lifetime ago now, but I probably still have your old albums at my parents’ in Daegu,” Seoyeon muses.

Jisung blinks. The comment certainly has him being reminded of his age; of how time isn't stagnant, unlike his life in terms of what he's done with it. Almost 2 decades have passed since he—against his parents’ wishes—had auditioned on the 3rd season of Rising Star UK, almost 2 decades since he miraculously earned a spot in the 5-membered The Sound.

The truth is, his time in the group still looms over him, a portrait of the biggest accomplishment in Jisung's life. He had done well back then, and had showcased a lot of his talents. It's just that those were only 3 or 4 years of his life—it should be a blip by now, in his 34 years of existence, but it isn't, because he hasn't really accomplished much else since then. He's been living in the shadow of his past, and he's gotten used to it—mostly because he isn't really around anybody who will remind him of this fact, which makes it easier to live through the underwhelming monotony of his days.

“Oh my—” Seoyeon looks like another realisation just hit her. “Is—your child, Jeongin, right? Is he why—?”

“Why what?”

“Erm—is he why you left the group early?”

Oh. Shit. For a moment Jisung forgot that he’s supposed to have a full grown child. An entire 13-year-old that should have somehow impacted his life and the decisions he made for the last decade and some change.

“You can say that,” he answers, trying to be as vague as he can. He quit the group when he was 21, moved to South Korea when he was 24, and he supposes that he might as well imply that his supposed son is the reason for such big decisions. “I, um, didn't want to be a deadbeat.”

“Does he live with you?” Jieun asks.

“Uh. No, he has always lived with… his mom. And her husband.” Technically he isn't lying. “But I do try to be as involved in his life as I can.”

“That's already better than some of our exes,” Soojung chimes in, her comment clearly pointed and personal. “Good for you.”

Jisung can't help but preen at the compliment—inaccurate it may be.

“I try,” he finds himself answering without thinking. “Jeongin’s a good kid, in large part thanks to his mother's upbringing, so the least I can do is try to be around him, and support him as much I can.”

The words slide off his tongue quite easily—maybe because, for the most part, they're true. Jeongin is a good kid, and Jisung likes to think that over the last few months, he's done quite right by him.

“Really, truly I wish more fathers had the same mindset as you, and Minho-oppa,” Soojung says. “Last week, you mentioned he's been having trouble at school, right?”

Jisung nods. “Well, he used to get trouble from kids at school—bullies,” he winces, “but he's been strong mentally. Well—it was pretty tough at first, but I always tell him he has to keep looking forward, because these things tend to pass.”

Soojung nods, murmuring appreciatively under her breath. Jisung hopes that his words could help, somehow—even just the thought of being useful gives him a warm feeling.

From there, a barrage of questions about “his Jeongin” pile on:

“Do you involve yourself in his school life?” “Does he do any sports?” “Is he at the top of his class?”

Jisung mostly shrugs and provides short answers, letting them assume and give meaning to his very non-committal responses.

“So why did you and his mother divorce?”

Now that makes Jisung start to panic, but fortunately,

“Alright,” Minho finally chimes in. “Calm down, don't scare him off yet.”

Everyone laughs, while Jisung shoots him a grateful smile.

“Sorry, we're just curious,” Yongsun explains.

“And I’m just trying to get to know everyone here for now,” Jisung answers awkwardly.

Yongsun nods, as if Jisung answered in a manner that she finds acceptable, and the rest of the women follow suit and seem satisfied as well.

He glances at Minho who seems amused, and when their eyes meet, the other man gives him a conspiratorial wink, as if to tell him you did well.

After that, Jisung gets away with not saying much, just nodding and reacting at appropriate parts of the conversation. He learns that just like Minho told him, they really do mostly gossip about their own children.

It occurs to Jisung, in the middle of Jieun explaining some freelance web project she just landed, that he doesn't mind these women. They're all very nice, friendly, and so ready to welcome him as one of their own. It's a good feeling that Jisung realizes he hasn't really felt in a while, considering he’s been living life as a complete homebody.

…maybe that's why he forgot to come clean again today, because by the time the meeting is wrapping up after a little over an hour, Jisung has once again lost the chance and timing to clarify that hey, actually, Jeongin isn’t my child, hope that’s okay.

By then, Jisung also feels as if time had actually flown by. He debates hanging back a bit more even as the women of the group begin saying their goodbyes, most of them mentioning having a lot of work waiting to be done.

“You can stay for more coffee if you don’t have anything else to do,” Minho invites Jisung as soon as Jieun, the last of the ladies to say goodbye, is out the door. Jisung wonders if Minho had miraculously read his mind—or if his body language was just that obvious. “I’ll throw in a free slice of custard pie,” he offers.

Jisung laughs, not hesitating at all. “How can I refuse, then?”

Minho briefly excuses himself to head behind the counter where Jisung is able to watch him pull himself up in a take charge manner, kindly but assertively talking to the on duty barista.

When he returns to Jisung, he has two tall glasses of iced Americano, as well as the promised pie slice.

“More caffeine!” Jisung remarks with a clap of his hands. “How did you know?”

Minho laughs. “As a café owner, I have an eye for caffeine addicts.”

Jisung grins, doesn’t even bother denying the label, before taking a sip; between this, the coffee he had drank during the meeting and the brew he had that morning in place of breakfast, it's his third cup of the day. “I really should be cutting back on the caffeine.”

“Should I get you another kind of drink, then?” Minho asks.

“Nope.” Jisung laughs as he places the glass out of reach from Minho who has sat down across the table from him. “So this place is really yours, huh?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” Minho asks, eyebrow arched.

Jisung chortles. “No—I guess I was just starting a conversation. Do you make the stuff you serve?” he asks as he forks off a bite-sized piece of the pastry—eyes growing wide with pleasant surprise after he takes it into his mouth and finds that the custard practically melts on his tongue.

“Hmm. Some, yeah. I don't really have time so most of the cakes and pastries I outsource from a bakery a friend owns—but I baked that one,” Minho answers, gesturing at the plate in front of Jisung. “It’s my mother’s recipe.”

“Wow,” Jisung thinks. A small business owner who can bake—Minho grows more perfect in his eyes with each new information Jisung learns about him. “It’s really good,” he compliments before taking an even bigger bite.

“Thank you. I’ll tell my mother.” Minho beams, looking proud.

“The coffee’s really good too,” Jisung adds. And it’s true, because he can be a little picky with his caffeine. The Americano Minho serves doesn’t taste stale, or completely watered down, the way they do in a lot of coffee chains in the area—it's why he was so eager to have another glass of it.

“Thank you. I’ll pass that on to my beans supplier.”

“So—how do you all have time to meet like this when you're all single parents?” Jisung asks; he’d been wondering this, but he wasn’t sure how to ask the entire group at once.

“Well, here is where I work,” Minho deadpans, gesturing around him. “As we have established, I own this place.”

Jisung gives him a pointed look, and Minho laughs like he’s amused.

“That doesn't explain the others?” Jisung points out.

Minho shrugs. “A lot of them had to figure out how to make a living that allows for flexible hours.”

“Because of their kids,” Jisung concludes.

Minho nods. “Of the ladies, Jieunie is really the only one who has an ex-partner who helps with child support, but he lives in Seoul full time and only visits once a month, if at all. And she has a 3-year-old that requires her constant attention. For most of them—us,” he chuckles, “the group meetings allow us to unwind, so even for just an hour or so every week, everyone tries to make time. We usually meet when the kids are at school—or daycare, in Jieun’s case.”

“How did you get involved with them?” Jisung asks curiously.

“Oh.” Minho chuckles. “Funny story, actually.”

“I'm listening,” Jisung grins.

“Seoyeon’s kid actually goes to school with my Eunbi,” Minho explains. “We met at a school event last year—she immediately wanted to set me up with one of the other moms.”

“What?” Jisung snorts. “So which one was it that you dated?”

Minho snorts. “No one—but it was going to be Jieun. Except instead of setting up a date, Seoyeon tried to be sneaky and invited me to a group gathering instead. For some reason she thought that Jieun and I would hit it off naturally.”

“And?”

“Well, the thing is that Jieun and her ex have a complicated relationship.” Minho shrugs. “She wasn’t—isn't—ready for anyone new.”

“But if she was? Is?” Frankly, Jisung assumes that Minho could easily be the type of everyone in the Single Parents Group, and nothing that Minho has shown him so far would make him wager otherwise.

Minho shakes his head. “She's too much like a little sister to me now.”

Jisung nods slowly; quietly files away the information that Jieun doesn’t seem to be Minho's type.

“So where is your daughter now? School?”

Minho hums, and gives the display clock that’s hanging overhead at the counter a quick glance. “She should be getting off school now, actually.”

“Ah.” Jisung winces slightly, thinking that he probably should have known about school hours—fortunately, Minho doesn’t seem to make a big deal of his lack of knowledge on this. “Where is she right now, then? With her mom?” He looks down at his coffee; haphazardly uses the paper straw to mix it around as he tries not to sound or appear like he’s fishing for a certain kind of information.

Minho shakes his head. “Eunbi’s Umma lives in Singapore. My mother usually picks Eunbi up after school—and then she takes her to dance classes. My parents help me a lot, and I know that makes me quite lucky.”

“Singapore?” Jisung is curious, but he also doesn't really want to push—at least not too obviously.

“She's a prima ballerina at a small company there,” Minho explains.

“Oh.” Jisung blinks. He doesn’t know what he was expecting to learn about the mother of Minho’s daughter, but it wasn’t that. “A ballerina. Wow. So—is that why Eunbi takes after school dance classes? To follow in her mother’s footsteps?”

Minho chuckles. “I suppose. Or maybe mine?” he smiles, and there’s a tinge of melancholy and nostalgia to it. “Yein—that’s my ex-wife—we were both dancers.”

“Ballet?” Jisung squeaks; he probably sounds more surprised than he should be because Minho laughs yet again.

“Is that so unbelievable?”

“No—no!” Jisung emphatically ducks his head. How does he explain that his reaction is more from the image that had immediately formed in his thoughts—one of Minho wearing thigh-hugging black tights while doing fancy jetés on stage. “It’s just—wow. You’re a very multifaceted person.”

Minho snorts. “Aren’t we all? But I guess that’s something we have in common then?”

“Huh?” Jisung gawks; the image of Minho in tights suddenly morphs into an image of Minho and Jisung in matching tights and tunics, with Minho getting ready to toss him in the air—for some reason, he feels certain Minho will readily catch him. Sometimes he really hates how malleable his own imagination is.

“Performing,” Minho clarifies. “You never mentioned that you were in a globally famous boyband!”

“Like you mentioned being a ballet dancer before just now?” Jisung shoots back. “And we weren’t really that famous globally!”

“Okay. That’s fair.” Minho snickers. “There’s a lot of things we’re learning from and we’ve yet to learn about each other.”

Yet to learn, Jisung repeats in his head. He likes the sound of that.

He supposes he should have Minho learn about his status as a not-really-single-father, but before he could work up the courage for that,

“I’m really glad you came to the meeting today,” Minho tells him, smiling like he truly is feeling grateful for Jisung’s presence. “I love those women, but having a fellow dad around is very comforting.”

“Ah.” Never mind then, Jisung thinks. Maybe not right now, not just yet. “You’re welcome?”

Minho laughs. “You can maybe sound a bit more enthusiastic?”

“You’re welcome!” Jisung repeats as an exclamation, which leads to the two of them laughing together.

“But what did you really think of the group today?” Minho prods.

Jisung laughs. "You're right, it is a lot of gossiping. I now know far too much about someone named Bae Seonhwa and her Candy Crush addiction—who even is Bae Seonhwa?"

Minho bursts into laughter. "She was sort of a member of the group—except she’s more of a military wife than a single parent. Her daughter graduated high school last year, and now she prefers staying at home and playing Candy Crush rather than meeting with us I guess.”

“What—” Jisung snorts. “Strange priorities. At least it's not alcohol?

Minho chortles. “At least, indeed.” He nods, before flashing an expectant grin at Jisung. “So—can I expect your attendance at the next meeting, then?”

Jisung is about to answer, but the chimes ring and a large group of friends—college students from the looks of them, enter the store, and Minho has to excuse himself so he could help behind the counter.

— ꨄ︎ —

It's a few days after they last saw each other, halfway through the weekend when Jisung’s KakaoTalk app pings and he finds notifications from Lee Minho (Eunbi’s Dad) staring at him when he unlocks his phone.

Lee Minho (Eunbi's Dad): so i looked up some old peter han clips from rising star uk and the sound days _14:10
Me: ???; u didn't really?? _14:15
Lee Minho (Eunbi's Dad): why would i lie about it? _14:15
Me: bc it's embarrassing _14:16
Lee Minho (Eunbi's Dad): for u, not for me _14:16
Me: you didn't think of taking pity on me?? _14:16
Lee Minho (Eunbi's Dad): what r u even embarrassed about? ㅋㅋㅋ; how old were u on that show? _14:17
Me: what show?; oh rising star? _14:18
Lee Minho (Eunbi's Dad): yes; were u on other shows?? _14:19
Me: no??; dont do a search _14:20
Lee Minho (Eunbi's Dad): hm i see u were on some show called late night laughs _14:25
Me: fuck; dont watch that; they were just laughing AT me _14:26; or pls dont let me know if you do watch _14:27
Lee Minho (Eunbi's Dad): too late; it's a cute accent ure doing here han jisung; is that supposed to be irish? _14:28
Me: why do you hate me _14:29
Lee Minho (Eunbi's Dad): ㅋㅋㅋㅋ; but frankly, how old were you when you were on rising star? _14:30
Me: 15? 16?; i think i was 15 when i auditioned, 16 when i was on the show, 17 when the sound debuted _14:30
Lee Minho (Eunbi's Dad): that's impressive; you were really impressive jisung; or should i call u peter? _14:31
Me: stop!; how would u feel if i looked up old clips of u dancing?? _14:32
Lee Minho (Eunbi's Dad): go ahead; im not embarrassed _14:33

Jisung huffs and sends a sticker of a disapproving hamster in response. It does dawn on him, however, that he could actually look Minho up on the internet as well—no one is stopping him, and he feels stupid about not having done it as soon as he had learned about Minho's time as a dancer.

A simple “Lee Minho ballet” search on YouTube easily yields several relevant videos, most of them from the late 2000s and early 2010s, performances under the Cheongha Ballet Company. He clicks on a video titled “The Nutcracker Grand Pas de Deux,” and from there it’s an endless rabbit hole.

Me: _14:16; ok; i understand why you’re not embarrassed; u were great _14:38
Minho 🍠: oh you really did look me up? 😏; u have nothing to be embarrassed about either, though _14:40; ur coldplay cover on rising star… even though you were so young, it was very good _14:43

Jisung feels heat rise up his face. His cover of Fix You is the performance that most people remember him for, and the performance that earned him a spot in a boy group instead of being cut out of the show. He feels embarrassed, mostly because his vocals were pretty raw at the time, not trained at all in any way. Minho's compliment makes something in his chest flutter, though.

Me: i bet you say that to all the dads _14:45
Minho 🍠: ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ; only the pretty ones _14:45

That has Jisung almost dropping his phone on his face. Surely, that doesn't mean anything, right?

He tabs back to his YouTube app—takes note of how the lady Minho is paired with on most of the videos is tagged as Jung Yein. Yein, that's what Minho had called his ex-wife, if Jisung recalls correctly. She's pretty, and quite light on her feet—he supposes that's Minho's type.

Me: ure awful _14:51
Minho 🍠: ㅎㅎ _14:51; i just found a video where you read out loud Night Before Christmas for children _14:55
Me: omg; stop it pls _14:57
Minho 🍠: i think i know what eunbi’s bedtime story tonight will be _14:58
Me: it's july, lee minho-ssi _14:59
Minho 🍠: christmas in july! _14:59
Me: ure insufferable _15:01

Jisung huffs, but—it actually feels nice, having such an easy back and forth with someone like this. Minho seems to be the type to just say what he wants without overthinking his words, so it makes Jisung react accordingly.

Minho 🍠: gtg, taking eunbi to the supermarket now _15:05
Me: ok _15:05
Minho 🍠: we should set up a playdate for our kids one of these days _15:06
Me: jeongin is 13! _15:06
Minho 🍠: and? _15:07
Me: um i dont think he’ll be too eager to play with a 7yo _15:08
Minho 🍠: you dont know my eunbi; she’ll absolutely win him over; that much im sure of _15:09

Jisung laughs to himself, thinking that Minho is truly such a girl dad.

Me: if you say so then; ttyl minho-ssi; i might be able to drag jeongin along if he's promised free pie _15:10
Minho 🍠: are u sure it's for him and not for you? _15:11
Me: same difference; win us both over with free pies ㅋㅋㅋ _15:11

— ꨄ︎ —

Jisung begins regularly meeting with the group and with every little white lie and implication he makes about Jeongin, the matter of coming clean about not actually being a single father—a father in general at that—keeps getting pushed back more and more towards the back of his priorities.

To be fair, he does his best to never flat out lie, but he stops holding back from telling a few stories about the young teenager in his life. He has a number of them that relate to everyone else's stories about their own children, and he rationalizes that if they think that he's talking about a son, well that's on them, isn't it?

It doesn’t help that he starts getting to know all the women better; starts learning more about their children as well—sometimes bordering on the edge of TMI that he really doesn't understand. At the end of the meetings it's always Minho who helps him recalibrate his own perspective, helps him understand how the motivation of the moms all revolve around their children. Jisung finds that admirable.

To add, after they had interrogated him on his food situation at one of the meetings, all of them started to take turns making him home cooked meals.

“Who cooks for you if you live by yourself?” Yongsun had inquired and when Jisung had admitted that he lives on an instant ramyeon and order-in diet, everyone had hemmed and hawed, and on the next meeting, everyone had arrived with massive containers of their own specialty homemade side dishes, from radish kimchi to braised quail eggs to seasoned spinach.

“Minho isn't any fun to cook for anymore,” Jieun had said when Jisung expressed awe and gratitude. “He cooks for himself and his Eunbi, how boring.”

Jisung had glanced at Minho, confused, and in return he got a shrug and a snort.

After that, at least one of them would bring food for him to take home every week, and well, Jisung admittedly has never eaten so well in the years since he had moved to South Korea.

Spending a bit of extra time with Minho after the meetings turns into a habit as well. He has an obvious, burgeoning crush, but as far as he knows, Minho is straight for the very obvious reason that he was once married to a woman—which isn’t a hundred percent foolproof, of course, but it’s not as if Jisung has been given reason to believe otherwise either.

He tries not to focus on the attraction, and he tells himself that Minho is someone who is good to have as a friend, even if nothing else. They laugh a lot in each other's company, and the energy around them when they're together is always calming to Jisung. Minho is simply… comfortable. It makes him wonder if Minho feels the same kind of comfort and connection—and if he does, would that mean he'll be more or less accepting when he learns about the big lie of omission that has been looming over their friendship from the start?

“This is really good,” Jeongin comments while scarfing down cheesecake that Jisung had brought home from Minho's café.

He has since learned that despite what he said about outsourcing pastries, just like the custard pie, Minho always has something of his own creation on display and on sale at the café. It's become a little game of theirs for Jisung to guess which one he made whenever drops by, and more often than not he miraculously gets it right. Today's special is New York cheesecake, and a small part of Jisung had preened because just several days ago, he had very casually mentioned craving exactly that—so when he saw it on offer at Café Eunbi, he had immediately bought all the slices left.

“Minho made it,” Jisung casually remarks.

“Wow. And the galbijjim earlier was from one of the moms too, right?”

“Yes. Jieun-noona’s,” Jisung says.

It's a Wednesday and Jeongin is over, having dinner at Jisung's because he doesn't feel like going home yet. Generally, he's been staying for meals more and more these days, especially when he knows that Jisung recently attended a SPC meeting. He has figured out that the moms have taken it upon themselves to keep Jisung’s fridge stocked with food, and Jisung supposes that in a way, feeding Jeongin with their food is the universe working things out—technically the moms provide him with home cooked meals thinking that he will share them with Jeongin, being the caring and involved father they think he is.

“Those moms sure are spoiling you,” Jeongin says, grinning.

Jisung can't disagree; for his birthday a couple of weeks prior, two of them baked for him, and another two prepared seaweed soup. He has no complaints.

“Do you think any of them want to date you?” Jeongin follows up, and Jisung almost chokes on cheesecake.

“What?” he coughs out.

Jeongin's grin widens, sly and teasing. “Do you want to date any of them? I vote for the dakdoritang lady!”

“Yah, Yang Jeongin!” Jisung berates him, but he also isn't able to completely hold back laughter. “It isn't like that! I’m not into any of the moms!”

“Well why not? Are they all ugly?”

“Jeongin.” Jisung uses a warning tone but the teenager just shrugs.

“Why the heck would you still be attending those meetings otherwise?”

Jisung winces because there's a good point.

“And don't they all still think I’m your son or something?”

Jisung grunts, and Jeongin looks up, meeting his gaze as if waiting for a more verbal acknowledgement.

“Yes,” Jisung answers through gritted teeth.

“So it's because you want to date one of them, right?” Jeongin grins. “You should let me meet them—I’ll check out if dakdoritang-ssi is compatible with you.”

Jisung rolls his eyes. “How about you take care of your love life, and I’ll take care of mine, huh?”

He's still trying his best not to regard Minho in any way beyond platonic, but Jeongin's line of questioning does have him considering how long it's been since he dated anyone. It's been years since his last actual relationship, and almost as long since he last went on a date, or met anyone new. He was with his last boyfriend for only eight or nine months, and that was when he was still living in Seoul; he had dated here and there during his first year in Busan, but he had quickly realised that dating apps were not for him, and there weren’t really a lot of other ways for him to meet anyone new.

The longer he spent time in comfortable solitude, the more anxious he became about putting himself out there—so maybe there is something to be said about Jeongin's theory on why Jisung is still regularly attending those single parent meetings.

Something grimy turns in this stomach, but he ignores it in favor of more cheesecake.

“—don't have a love life,” he catches Jeongin muttering under his breath.

“What was that?”

Jeongin looks up and glares at him. “I know you heard me.”

Jisung laughs. “Well, all the more reason you should focus on your own—come to think of it, don't you like anyone at school?”

Jeongin scrunches his nose. “All the people at my school suck. You know that.”

Jisung softens, because he does. While Jeongin hasn't exactly shown up barefoot for a while now, he can tell that the teen hasn't exactly been making new friends. All he ever talks about are the teachers at school, his brothers—and all the webtoons that he's been following. Frankly, Jisung truly sees too much of himself in the kid and it's not always a positive picture.

“And I don't—” Jeongin winces. “Girls are cute, but—” he shrugs. “You know I'm planning on entering a seminary after I graduate anyway.”

“Wait—” Jisung, caught off-guard, stares. He has known this boy for a good part of a year, and this is the first time he's heard of this. “Seminary? I didn't know that.”

“Didn't I tell you?” Jeongin gives him a look as if Jisung just has faulty memory—which he kind of does have, but he thinks he would remember something like this. “I’m going to be a priest.”

“What? Really?” Jisung blinks, trying to imagine Jeongin in a cassock.

The boy nods. “I’ve thought about it since I was 10 and started serving as an altar boy.”

Jisung keeps staring. He has known Jeongin for months now, and while he's aware of his devotion as a Catholic, he hadn't realised that he was this involved. He always assumed it was like him with Christianity—he attended service with his parents, but that had been the extent of it.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Jeongin frowns at him.

Jisung shakes his head; plants a grin on his face and reaches over to ruffle his hair. “Nothing. For someone so devout you have a pretty dirty mouth, kid.”

Jeongin scoffs. “I am a multitude of things.”

“Multitude,” Jisung repeats, snickering. “Big word. I just learn something new about you everyday!”

Jeongin snorts as he fights off Jisung’s hands. “Keep up old man. Don't be a deadbeat dad!”

Jisung laughs. “Yah!”

— ꨄ︎ —

Minho 🍠: are you busy tonight? _18:01

The message comes in on a Saturday, early in the evening, in the middle of Jisung doing nothing but binge watching old episodes of YuYu Hakusho. The last SPC meeting was two days ago, and while he and Minho regularly and spontaneously message each other these days, it’s an unwritten rule that weekends are for family. Well—for Minho, anyway. He dedicates his entire weekends to Eunbi, and Jisung simply lets him believe that he does the same with Jeongin.

Me: not rly; is there a surprise meeting? ㅋㅋ _18:02
Minho 🍠: why? u missing all of us already? _18:04
Me: 🤨 _18:04
Minho 🍠: i have a free night; u wanna go for drinks? _18:05

Jisung sits up, surprised but with his interest piqued. He pauses his television, and focuses his attention on his phone as he sends a response.

Me: is everything okay?; how’s eunbi tonight? _18:06
Minho 🍠: yein is in town, so she took eunbi for the weekend _18:07
Me: oh u didnt mention she was visiting! _18:08
Minho 🍠: it was a last minute trip for her; which is why i wasn’t able to plan anything else _18:10
Me: and u thought of me? ㅋㅋㅋ _18:11
Minho 🍠: if u have jeongin tonight, u can say no _18:12
Me: no jeongin tonight, dw; whats the plan? _18:13
Minho 🍠: kinda needing some drinks; how’s your alcohol tolerance _18:13
Me: awful tbh; but drop the pin ㅋㅋ _18:14

Not even an hour later, Jisung is walking into a pub in Seomyeon, where he easily spots Minho despite the older man having his back to him.

“Hyung,” Jisung approaches him, surprising him by clapping his shoulders from behind.

It seems to work because Minho almost jumps out of his seat, hand clutching his heart, and with an uncharacteristically comical expression on his face—Jisung, naturally, cracks up.

“And what if you gave me a heart attack?” Minho glares at him, and Jisung thinks there's something deeply wrong with him, that the first thing he thinks is how hot Minho looks, faking anger. At least Jisung assumes he’s faking it.

“Then I would have been quick to dial 119,” Jisung quips, quick to recover from the distraction of Minho's handsome looks. He slides into the booth across, grinning, an expression which Minho soon mirrors. “So what's tonight's poison?” he asks, gesturing towards whatever the other man is drinking.

“Just their IPA,” Minho answers, picking the glass up and taking a sip. “They serve it from the tap here. I can order for you—what do you usually have?”

“What’s their specialty?” Jisung asks, picking up the square menu already laying flat on their table—probably from when Minho ordered.

“They serve several types of craft beer,” Minho explains. “They have Cass Lite too though—and a small selection of cocktails.”

“I’ll have a Haeundae Cooler,” Jisung declares after a quick perusal of the drinks list. “Sounds delicious.”

Minho lifts an eyebrow at him, probably because Jisung chose from the alcohol-free selection, but he doesn't really question the choice and just flags down a passing server to repeat the order.

“Do you go here a lot?” Jisung asks, looking around. He notices that a man is setting up amps on the mini platform in the center of the venue. “And they have live music?”

“Yeah.” Minho bids after another sip of beer. “To the live music, anyway. They essentially have a show every night, which makes it easier to go here by myself so I do go here every now and then, but not that often. It isn’t that fun drinking alone and today it became painfully clear that I don’t have a lot of friends who will go drinking with me at a last minute ask.”

Jisung pretends to look insulted. “What am I, then?”

Minho laughs. “Well, now you see why I was so eager to get you to join the group. Now I have someone to call for last minute drinks.”

“Wow, all I’m good for is someone you can call last minute for drinks?” Jisung huffs.

Minho grins and lifts his now half empty beer glass, “Cheers!”

“So your ex is in town, huh?” Jisung waits to open the topic until his own fancy mocktail is served, and a young woman in her 20s has begun her set in the middle of the pub, crooning to the crowd while strumming on an acoustic guitar. “For how long?”

“Just a few days—she flies back on Tuesday.” Minho shrugs. He’s already on his 2nd glass of beer that Jisung knows of, but with his face flushed, Jisung could tell he’d probably had a bit more before that.

“But it's good that she gets to spend time with Eunbi, right?”

“Yeah, I suppose?” Minho nods slowly; he seems far away, lost in thought and absentmindedly wiping away the sweat off his ice cold glass.

Before Jisung could question his countenance, Minho's phone, which is laying face flat on the table, starts buzzing and loudly ringing—except the ringing is in the form of a song that's far too familiar to Jisung.

“What the—” he croaks out, right before the chorus of The Sound’s Superboard, one of the group’s lesser known singles, is cut off by Minho picking up the call. What the—? he mouths at Minho, incredulous.

The other man sports an amused expression, but he holds up a finger to Jisung for now.

“Hello, aegi,” he coos through his phone's mouthpiece, and Jisung realizes that it’s his daughter calling. “Are you having fun with Mama?”

Jisung watches—and in effect, listens as well—as Minho talks to Eunbi. His voice is affectionate, softer than usual and there's a twinkle in his eyes that has Jisung feeling fond. The conversation doesn't last long, and culminates with Minho telling Eunbi to “sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bite,” and that “Papa loves you.”

The call lasts a bit longer after that, however, and Jisung can tell that the speaker on the other end of the line has switched—probably to the famed Yein, if the way Minho switches into a more tired and weary tone.

“Sorry about that,” Minho says once he places his phone back down on the table. “Apparently Eunbi refused to go to bed without saying good night.“

“That's sweet,” Jisung comments. “She really is Daddy's girl.”

Minho grins. “I don't deny anything.”

Jisung snorts. “I have to ask, though—why is that your ringtone?!”

“Huh—oh!” Minho breaks out into laughter. “Eunbi loves that song—she always yells out the Syoong! part.”

Jisung groans. He’s embarrassed, because most reminders of The Sound leaves him feeling that way, but at the same time he’s kind of… proud? One of his songs having the approval of Minho’s little 7-year-old is strangely validating.

“Eunbi likes a lot of The Sound’s songs, actually,” Minho shares further.

Jisung wrinkles his nose. “I thought we were done with that!”

“With what?”

“With you digging into my boyband past.”

Minho cackles. “I never said that!” He tilts his head; looks at Jisung as if he’s very carefully regarding him. It makes the hair on the back of Jisung’s neck stand up. He really isn’t used to people watching him anymore. “Do you really hate it? Me bringing up your old songs? I’ll stop if it genuinely makes you uncomfortable.”

“Ah—” Jisung feels flushed. “No,” he admits. “I guess not really. It’s embarrassing, but… I’m happy that you and your daughter like the songs.”

“Good.” Minho smiles softly. “Because we really do. So—that said, can I ask you something related to that?”

Jisung squints. “What the heck—” he chuckles and throws his hands in the air. “Sure, ask away, I guess!”

Minho beams; as if he’s extra glad that Jisung is metaphorically letting him in. “Why did you quit?”

“The group?” Jisung frowns.

“Sure.” Minho shrugs. “The group. Performing, overall. Articles never really explained. The official statement said you wanted to focus on your personal life—was that it? It really was Jeongin?”

“Ah.” Jisung purses his lips and plays with his straw. “You have time to listen to this?”

Minho laughs and leans back in his seat. “No daughter tonight, remember?”

Jisung exhales shakily, trying to maneuver around the assumption tying his supposed son to his quitting The Sound. “The short answer is really just—burnout. I was young, with too many things going on—too many things happening to me.”

It’s hard, whenever Jisung looks back at that time in his life—he was only 19, and he struggled really a lot to balance his roles as a songwriter, performer, and the group’s so-called ‘overachiever.’ He was the youngest, and yet had felt like so much was put on his shoulders. Management was on him about producing more songs—never mind the quality, the quantity was what they were after. It didn’t help that the group had not been performing as well as management had hoped, so an overbearing tension had developed between the members.

“I kind of had a breakdown,” he explains to Minho. “It got really bad to a point where I was too overwhelmed, and let's just say I had to start missing some scheduled performances.” Frankly, Jisung had suffered panic attacks during the time period and he’s pretty sure a few of The Sound members had resented him for this; he doesn’t blame them, as they had needed to cancel a few appearances because of him.

Minho is frowning; his forehead so creased that Jisung can’t help but lean over the table to touch them and straighten them out.

“It’s in the past, hyung,” Jisung assures him. “But that’s why I left the group.” He exhales. “And then I came here, and I tried my hand at producing for some K-POP groups, but—” he cringes, “most of those projects failed. At some point, I didn’t feel like I had enough creativity left in me, so I packed up and left Seoul. Moved here instead.”

“Is that because Jeongin lived here with his mother?”

“Oh.” Jisung feels uncomfortable, but he nods. “Yes.”

The truth is that Jisung originally wanted to move to a more remote, more rural part of South Korea—maybe one of those islands in the southern part of the country. Ultimately though, he was too much of a city boy to do that, so he ended up choosing metropolitan Busan instead.

“I’m sorry all that happened, though. At least you can be around Jeongin now.”

“Hmm.” Jisung shrugs. “Like I said, it’s in the past.”

It isn’t, not really; his status in life right now is proof of it—he’s stuck at failure, unable to move past it, but he doesn’t like to dwell on it. Minho is looking at him like he isn’t buying Jisung’s answer, but fortunately, he doesn’t press the matter.

Instead, Minho flags down a server and orders yet another drink for himself—this makes Jisung lift an eyebrow at him, but Minho only shrugs.

“You sure you want to keep drinking your juice?” Minho eyes his drink, which Jisung holds closer to himself.

“Yes.” Jisung nods at Minho’s almost empty glass. “How many have you had?”

Minho shrugs; grins lopsidedly. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Jisung rolls his eyes. “Isn’t that why I asked?”

“Heh.” Minho is clearly a bit tipsy now, a little looser, but his eyes still seem completely lucid, so Jisung doesn’t stop him from drinking more, just shaking his head with amusement when another glass of beer is set down in front of Minho. “So…” Minho begins, using a tone that actually makes Jisung nervous, “Why didn’t things work out between you and Jeongin’s mom?”

Jisung’s stomach churns. Yet again he considers coming clean about the truth but—it doesn’t feel right, with Minho already down who knows how many pints of beer.

“Uh, enough about me, maybe?” he mumbles, playing with the paper umbrella that came with his drink. “How about we talk about you instead?”

“I—” Minho opens his mouth, blinks a few times before closing it again. He looks down at his glass of beer, takes another gulp from it, and tries again. “Do you want to know about my ex?”

Jisung meets his gaze. “Do you want to talk about her?”

Minho shrugs, and Jisung nods.

“Yein and I—” he sighs; shakes his head. “Yein is the mother of my child and I love her. I will always love her, because she gave me Eunbi—and I’ve known her since we were kids, you know? Since we were 15—or 16,” he chuckles, “as old as you were when you were singing ‘Fix You’ on national TV.”

Jisung chortles and half-heartedly throws a crumpled piece of napkin at Minho who grins cheekily at him.

“We got into the Cheongha Ballet Academy at the same time, and graduated and got accepted to the Cheongha Company together,” he smiles, softer this time, and in his eyes, Jisung easily identifies some nostalgia. It makes something ache inside him, but like most feelings, he works on pushing it to the back. “We were best friends and we were dance partners—falling in love was just kind of… the natural trajectory.”

“We worked very well together, and we shared a lot of the same dreams—” he chuckles, “having a family and settling down was always a part of those dreams, but we didn’t really think we’d be doing that until we were in our 40s, maybe? Mid to late 30s, at least, when our bodies were giving up on us and we couldn’t dance anymore.”

His eyes turn a bit glassy, and Jisung bites the inside of his cheek, trying not to interrupt. “And then… she got pregnant,” Minho continues. “We were 28, with a lot of years ahead of us so of course we, you know, considered terminating.” He inhales deeply before continuing, “It was Yein’s decision in the end. She wanted to keep it—her. Keep Eunbi. So I agreed. We both made the decision to leave the company, and retire from dancing—we told each other that it wasn’t bad timing. We were young enough to pivot and figure out what we wanted to do next. So we moved here, close to my parents, with the idea of opening a small business with our savings.”

“We had it all planned out, but you know what they say about the best-laid plans of mice and men…”

“They often go awry,” Jisung finishes for him.

“And go awry they did,” Minho concludes. “We were a part of Cheongha’s touring troupe, so to begin with, staying put in a single place was a big change for her. And after she gave birth, things only got worse—Yein was always sad and fatigued, often irritable. We fought constantly. She struggled to make a connection with Eunbi, and I constantly had to defend her to my parents.” He chortles softly. “Even now, my mother doesn’t understand why Yein kept pushing Eunbi away back then. Therapy eventually helped, but that period really took a toll on us. We just… fell out of love without realizing it. When she got offered a prima position in a small Singapore-based company, she realized she hadn't really been ready to give up dancing—it was who she was. So she left, and it’s been almost five years since.”

“Wow.” Jisung exhales, quietly processing everything Minho just shared. “How about you, hyung?

“How about me?”

“Do you think you were ready to give up on dancing when you did?”

Minho stares at him, as if he’s surprised by the question; as if no one has ever asked him this before. “I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Probably not, but I’ve let go of it. It isn’t really dancing that I miss.”

Jisung frowns. “What do you miss then? Who—?” Something grips his heart at the thought of Minho possibly missing his ex-wife. “Would you get back together with her given the chance?”

Minho bursts into laughter at that. “No! What—no!” He keeps laughing as he shakes his head vigorously. “It’s impossible. Too much has happened, and too much time has passed.”

“So what is it, then?” Jisung tries to ignore the relief he feels; tells himself that Minho not being willing to get back with his ex-wife doesn’t mean anything for him ultimately. “What is it that you miss?”

“I miss who I was when I still danced. I was confident and I knew exactly who I was.” He grins, like he’s remembering fonder times. “Whenever I was on stage, I knew I could trust myself to land all my jumps, to nail all my turns. But now, as a father, I doubt myself all the time.”

Jisung looks at him, surprised. “You always seem so sure of yourself though, hyung.”

“Do I?” Minho smiles. “That’s good that I don’t look like the mess I often feel. It’s just—as a father, everything feels like a test, and if I fuck up, it’s my daughter who will end up paying. You understand, don’t you? With Jeongin?”

Jisung grimaces, but he nods.

Minho huffs. “Sometimes, I do resent Yein a little for missing this side of parenthood. I try my best to be supportive of her and her dreams, and I know she loves Eunbi a lot—but it’s very hard to understand how she’s alright with being so far away, missing so much. Especially since Eunbi is growing up so fast. Let me tell you, that girl can be really difficult at times, and it’s not easy being the only one disciplining her, playing both the good parent and the bad parent all the time. But—that’s also why I can’t bring myself to deny Yein time with Eunbi whenever she actually has time to spare. My mother hates it—she still can't forgive Yein, and it makes me feel bad. She helps me out so much—and it shouldn’t be like that anymore, right? I’m an adult now, and I should be the one taking care of my parents—but I’ve leaned on them so much these last five, seven years.”

“You’re—” Jisung looks at Minho; notices how red his ears are, how droopy his eyes have gotten. His tongue has gotten quite loose, and a bittersweet smile stretches across his lips. “You’re a good person, hyung,” he murmurs. His heart hurts for Minho, he realizes. The man tries his best to be considerate of people; tries his best to take care of his daughter, and to be supportive of his daughter’s mother.

He’s been so good to all the ladies in the Single Parents Club, and he’s been so good to Jisung as well. He clearly does what he can to take care of all the people around him but Jisung wonders—who is taking care of him? Who is supporting him and his dreams?

“Am I?” Minho laughs. “I’m also a very lonely person,” he declares, words a bit slurred.

“What?” Jisung laughs. “Hyung, have you crossed over from tipsy to drunk?”

Minho shrugs. “Have I? But I do get lonely. I haven’t had a date in almost a year—maybe more.” He squints, and leans over the table. The grin he wears is teasing, almost unsettling. “Can I pretend this is a date, Han Jisung?”

Jisung gawks, surprised. It seems Minho might actually be drunk now.

“I’m a guy, hyung,” he answers with forced laughter. “Do you go on dates with guys?”

Minho cackles. “Are you homophobic, Jisung-ah? Why can't two guys go on a date, huh?”

“No, no, no!” Jisung immediately counters, hands flailing around. “How can I be—I just. I just thought you were… straight.”

There's a beat, a moment of brief silence in their little bubble, before Minho bursts out into cacophonic laughter.

Jisung frowns, sliding down his seat a bit. He's alcohol free, but his face feels heated.

“My being a ballet dancer didn't clue you in?” Minho whispers across the table.

Jisung glares. “I didn't want to assume based on stereotypes. You have a daughter and an ex-wife… the easiest conclusion is what it was.”

Minho softens. “And that's why you're a good person,” he retorts with a chuckle. “And fair enough—I’ve known far too many straight fuck boy ballerinos in my life. Then again, there are also some who just like to think they're straight—but shamelessly hit on other guys anyway.” He bites his bottom lip, gives Jisung a one over, before, “I go both ways though.”

“Aren't you drunk?” Jisung wrinkles his nose, as he sits up straight again.

“Look, I may be a little tipsy—maybe even a tiny bit drunk, but I have never let that affect my sexuality.” He pauses, before giggling. “You're so cute, Han Jisung.”

“Hyung,” Jisung whines.

Minho giggles some more; stretches an arm across the table to pinch Jisung’s cheek. “Cutie. You didn't answer my question though.”

Jisung stares while Minho looks at him expectantly.

“Oh—” Minho blinks rapidly. “Unless —? Sorry, I just assumed. Am I wrong about you? I’m usually good at being able to tell.”

“Ugh.” Jisung closes his eyes and presses his cheeks together before looking at Minho squarely. “No, you—you're right about me, hyung. This—” he feels his heart thunder his chest, so loud that he can barely hear himself, “—could be a date if you want it to be.”

“I do. So that settles it then—?”

“That settles it then,” Jisung echoes

Minho does seem to be a bit inebriated, though, and Jisung hopes that doesn’t mean he'll forget everything the next day. He seems lucid enough for the most part, just looser with his tongue, and freer with his laughter. That is, until a couple more pints later, when he starts completely slurring his words.

His bad, Jisung thinks, for being too amused and enamoured by Minho's random rambling, that he didn’t even think of cutting him off alcohol.

But, as Minho clings to him while Jisung helps him into a cab so he can take him home, Jisung finds he doesn't really mind. Even when Minho starts muttering in an alien language into the crook of his neck, ticklish against his skin, Jisung only finds himself growing fonder.

It dawns on him that the attraction he's felt for Minho all this time might not be so one sided after all, and it makes him feel giddy; makes him feel youthful from the shot of excitement.

And when he watches Minho's calmly napping expression, he reconsiders questions he had been asking earlier—who is taking care of Minho? Who is supporting his dreams?

He thinks he knows now—he wants the answer to be him.

Minho 🍠: han jisung _12:21

Minho's message doesn’t come in until around lunchtime on Sunday—well, after 12 noon, while Jisung is technically going through the food delivery app, indecisively trying to choose lunch.

That activity immediately gets waylaid, for obvious Lee Minho shaped reasons. The way Jisung's heart jumps in his chest just at the sight of Minho's notification is frankly a little concerning.

The last time he felt like this, he was 17 and had a hopeless crush on one of his fellow bandmates. Not much good came out of that, unfortunately.

Me: lee minho; good morning? ㅋㅋ _12:22
Minho 🍠: so _12:23
Me: so? _12:23
Minho 🍠: how i got home last night is a bit hazy; i assume i have u to thank? _12:25
Me: nah i left u to the mercy of the alley cat behind the pub _12:26
Minho 🍠: ah good choice; cats are very reliable creatures _12:28
Me: ikr _12:28
Minho 🍠: but really, thanks for taking me home? _12:29
Me: ure welcome; ur cat kept hissing at me when i helped u to ur room _12:30
Minho 🍠: yeah, gamja is very protective like that; im surprised u got out without a scratch; unless? _12:31
Me: yeah, im scratch free _12:31
Minho 🍠: must mean she likes u; for the record she doesnt just like anyone _12:32
Me: im likeable that way _12:33
Minho 🍠: yeah; u rly are _12:33

Jisung is pretty sure he blushes at reading that, and he feels silly for it. Fortunately, he's alone in his living room.

Me: how are u feeling today btw? _12:35
Minho 🍠: so did i do anything embarrassing last night? _12:35

Fuck, Jisung thinks because suddenly he's wondering how much Minho even recalls from the night before.

Minho 🍠: a little hungover; had some raisin tea but it's been a while since i drank as much as i did last night; feeling my age now _12:36
Me: well ok grandpa; how much do you actually remember? _12:37
Minho 🍠: dont worry; i remember that for some reason u went on and on abt the different ways beer is brewed; even though you werent even drinking beer _12:38
Me: i saw a documentary once! _12:39
Minho 🍠: i also remember perfectly well asking u if last night could be a date _12:40
Me: oh _12:40
Minho 🍠: oh? _12:41
Me: just.; that's good… _12:41
Minho 🍠: just good?; jk; i know last night wasn't exactly much of a date to remember; and i wanna make it up to you _12:42
Me: what r u thinking? _12:44
Minho 🍠: how do you feel about a picnic?; i'll bring eunbi, and u can bring jeongin _12:45
Me: oh _12:45

Fuck, fuck, fuck, Jisung thinks. He quickly turns off the screen of his phone as he lets out a frustrated groan, as if that will undo Minho's message somehow.

He takes a deep breath—maybe it really is now or never. It's time to come clean, once and for all, and simply hope for the best. Simply wish that Minho likes him enough that he’ll look past this one transgression.

He can sense anxiety rising in his chest, can feel his ears distantly ringing from the feeling of being cornered. He breathes in and out, a meager attempt at calming himself down.

And then—a rationalization forms in his thoughts. If Minho meets Jeongin in person, then Jeongin will be real to him. Jeongin will be an actual person, not just a concept made up for the lie Jisung has been telling all this time. And maybe, just maybe, that will somehow make the truth more palatable—Jisung didn’t set out to lie after all, just stumbled into it somehow. Right?

With a deep breath, he holds up his phone to unlock it again, but before he could pull up Minho’s message tab again, his phone starts ringing and vibrating in his hands:

Minho 🍠

Video Call

“Oh shit,” Jisung curses. He sits up, quickly running fingers through his hair as if that will somehow help the bird's nest situation going on up there. Still, he doesn’t consider ignoring the call, and after a deep inhale, he swipes his thumb over the green pickup button.

“H-hey, hyung,” he exhales. It sounds like a whine to his own ears, and it makes him wince.

Meanwhile, Minho’s face fills his tiny phone screen. He does look a little hungover—bags under his eyes that are a bit puffy, and lips that are visibly chapped. Still, his handsome looks shine through, cut jaw and regal nose doing enough heavy lifting for Jisung to conclude that life is simply unfair, and God clearly plays favorites.

“Hey.” Minho looks tired, but the smile that he wears, soft as it is, still reaches his eyes. “Is it alright that I called?”

“Yeah—I answered, didn't I?” Jisung tries to smile, but he isn't sure if it works.

Minho hums. “My hangover is making all the words on the screen merge together so I figured I’d call.” He pauses, before adding, so casually, “and I wanted to see your face.”

God, Jisung thinks, because Minho's nonchalant way of flirting makes it all worse; hits harder every time and turns Jisung’s knees into metaphorical mush—especially now that he knows not only is Minho not straight, but he's actually also interested in Jisung.

“Well now you've seen me,” Jisung retorts.

“Now I have.” Minho chuckles. “Han Jisung.”

“Lee Minho.”

“About the picnic, you don't have to say yes if you don't want to—it can just be the two of us if you're not ready for the whole meeting the kids thing.”

“Ah, it's not that—” Jisung’s tongue feels so, so heavy.

“Hear me out first, though? And then think about it?”

Jisung nods mutely.

“It probably seems like introducing ourselves to each other’s kids—and our kids to each other on top of that—might feel like moving too quickly, but we’ve known each other for a few months now,” despite his tired, hungover eyes, Minho looks extremely sincere, “and I don’t know if last night made it clear but I like you a lot, and I’m serious about pursuing things with you—if you’re interested in that, too?”

Jisung, his mouth extremely dry, only nods again.

“Eunbi is a big part of my life—and I can see that Jeongin is to you, as well. We don’t have to detail or define what we are, but I figure, if we see the chemistry between all of us, then that can help us figure out how to move forward.”

Jisung exhales shakily and finds himself flashing a cautious smile at Minho. “Okay,” he agrees. “Let’s all go to a picnic next weekend.”

Fuck, he thinks. He wonders if this is him moving one step closer to hell.

— ꨄ︎ —

Over the week, amidst lots of casual flirting that makes Jisung feel like he could internally combust at any moment, they finalize their picnic plans for the following weekend.

“But when am I meeting dakdoritang-noona instead?” is Jeongin’s only comment when Jisung lets him know that he has no choice—he’s going to come with him to meet Minho and Eunbi.

Come late Saturday morning, Jisung is rotating in between feelings of nerves and excitement as he and Jeongin get off the cab they took to Songdo beach. He didn’t really bring anything except a beach towel, some change of clothes and of course his Innisfree SPF 36—he had asked Minho if there was anything else he needed to provide, but Minho swore up and down he’ll take care of everything else, from food to drinks.

“Just bring yourself and Jeongin and meet us there,” were his exact words, and frankly Jisung doesn’t know how to genuinely argue with Minho so he caved in easily.

He keeps his eyes peeled open for Minho and Eunbi as he and Jeongin make their way down the sandy path to the beach. They lucked out with the weather—the sun casts a gentle warmth that mixes well with the crisp autumn breeze.

“Blue umbrella,” he tells his teenage companion. “Minho-hyung said they have a big, blue beach umbrella.”

Jeongin nods, looking around as well. “Okay,” he says, but he sounds so noncommittal that Jisung doubts he’s actually searching.

“I think that’s them—” he points out when he spots a large navy blue umbrella, edges digging into the sand, tilted just enough to shield a beach towel where a man and a young girl are sitting. “Hyung!” he calls out, waving a hand excitedly, and as soon as Minho glances their way, he almost laughs.

He’s wearing a black and white long-sleeved rash guard with floral board shorts and a crocheted bucket hat that Jisung remembers seeing ahjummas in his neighborhood occasionally sport. He’s also wearing a wide rimmed pair of reflective sunglasses, and everything looks so mismatched that it’s comedic.

Next to him, his daughter turns to look their way as well, and Jisung cycles back to that tense feeling.

“Do you think she’ll like me?” he asks Jeongin, his voice lower than usual.

“Huh? Who?”

“Eunbi.”

“Who? Is she that Minho guy’s daughter?”

“D’oh!” Jisung hisses.

Jeongin gives him a strange look. “Why should you care?”

Jisung sighs and shakes his head. “Because! I like to be liked!”

“Stop being weird and maybe she will.”

“Yah. Don’t talk to your elders like that!”

“Elder sure is right,” Jeongin retorts, laughing.

“Took you long enough,” Minho greets them, getting up and off the towel once Jisung and Jeongin reach them.

“This one—” Jisung jerks his thumb over at Jeongin; he almost says that Jeongin showed up 15 minutes past their agreed time, before he catches himself. “Innie took his time getting ready,” he says instead.

Jeongin casts him an odd glance, but he doesn’t contradict his words. “Hello,” he mumbles instead towards Minho and Eunbi’s direction.

“Jeongin, Minho-hyung. Minho-hyung this… is Jeongin.”

Minho smiles, and it’s one of his more genuine smiles—eyes crinkling, bunny teeth on full display. “Nice to meet you, Jeongin,” he says. “This one—” he holds out a hand, which his daughter immediately grabs a hold of. She’s looking very cute with her braided pigtails, and wearing a very age appropriate sleeved white swimsuit that has a pink and green heart pattern printed all over it. On top of her head is a crocheted hat that matches the one her father is wearing, except it’s colored a bright pink. “Eunbi, say hello to Han Jisung-ahjussi and Jeongin-oppa.”

“Ahjussi?” Jisung gawks. He realizes that he’s never really thought of himself as an ahjussi before, but he supposes it’s accurate. “Ahjussi?!”

Minho laughs, eyes twinkling and Jisung can’t help but grin. He supposes he’ll happily be called ahjussi if it makes Minho happy.

“Well what else would you have her call you?” Minho asks.

“I… guess ahjussi is fine,” Jisung huffs begrudgingly.

“Hello,” Eunbi greets them obediently, a bit shy, sticking to her father's side but looking at them with a fair amount of 7-year-old scrutiny.

“Eunbi-yah, do you know that Han Jisung-ahjussi sang Superboard?” Minho asks; that dangerous twinkle in his eye still hasn’t vanished.

At that, Jeongin lets out a loud snort; he's well aware of Jisung's boyband past. Jisung has a few framed magazine covers of The Sound adorning his walls, while a modest trophy for Most Promising Young Songwriter, a very specific award that was made up for him by the Overseas Korean Foundation in London, and presented to him at the Korean Diaspora Achievement Awards, is showcased in a display cabinet in his living room, next to some toy figurine collections. Jeongin had naturally asked him about these, and after searching them up online, he had spent at least a good week making fun of Jisung for it.

Eunbi's eyes grow wide at the revelation, however, and interestingly she seems to get over her shyness, stepping in front of her father and closer to Jisung.

“Really?” she squints and stares. “Are you sure…?”

“That's Peter Han right there,” Minho assures her.

“He doesn't have yellow hair,” she says, pointing at the top of Jisung's head.

Jisung blinks, while Minho very obviously holds back laughter. “The yellow hair was a wig, Eunbi,” he reasons. Not exactly the truth, but probably an easier explanation for a seven year old than hair dye.

It's Jeongin's turn to hold back laughter, but he doesn't really do a very good job at it.

“Well, Papa also looks older now than I do in my old dance photos, right?”

“Hmmm.” Eunbi briefly appears to be deep in thought as she looks between her Dad and Jisung, and then suddenly, “Syoong!” she yells, lifting her arms in a way that's reminiscent of the song's choreography as Jisung remembers it. “Can you do that, then, Peter-ahjussi?” she asks Jisung as if challenging him.

“I think she wants you to dance with her,” Minho comments.

“Oh this is gonna be golden,” Jeongin retorts with a snort, and Minho glances at him, grinning.

“I'm retired, Eunbi-yah,” Jisung smiles sheepishly.

“What’s retired?” Eunbi asks, looking up at her father.

“It's when someone gets old and wrinkly and just sits around at home,” Jeongin interjects.

“Yah!” Jisung’s hand automatically moves to slap Jeongin on the arm, but he feels father and daughter’s eyes watching, and he pivots to ruffling Jeongin's hair instead.

“Well, maybe you can test Peter-ahjussi later, after we eat?” Minho suggests, and just like that, everyone lights up excitedly.

“I’m hungry,” Jeongin confirms unprovoked.

Everyone settles on the mat, and Minho begins unpacking the food: rolls of kimbap filled with various vegetables and meat, crispy fried chicken coated in sticky yangnyeom sauce, spicy-looking tteokbokki with a scattering of green onions and sesame seeds. There are also sweet and chewy hotteok cakes wrapped in foil, as well as neatly cut slices of pears. There’s even a thermos of cold barley tea, its nutty aroma wafting through the air as Minho pours it into small cups.

Jisung's mouth easily waters, but more than that he feels very flattered by the amount of effort that Minho clearly put into preparing the spread. “Wow, everything looks so great,” he comments. “This looks like a proper feast.”

“My Dad is a great cook!” Eunbi declares, beaming with obvious pride, and it warms Jisung’s heart.

“How’s the food?” Minho asks, and Jisung realizes that he’s watching very closely as he and Jeongin serve themselves; the latter especially.

“Needs more spice,” Jeongin comments bluntly as he chews through a piece of tteok. “Are you really Korean?”

“Yah!” Jisung reaches over to squeeze his arm before wincing and throwing an apologetic glance at Minho’s way.

Fortunately, Minho doesn’t look insulted. In fact, he simply laughs the comment off. “Food is meant to be savored and tasted, not meant to make your tongue numb,” he retorts, and Jisung lets out a soft gasp as he recognizes the words as his own—something he told Minho once, a couple of weeks ago when they went to have jjampong together after a SPC meeting, and Jisung had specifically asked their server for the mild option.

Minho winks at him, and Jisung thinks he feels his ears start to burn.

“Did you dial down the spice for me?” he asks, and Minho shrugs—which Jisung decides is pretty telling. It occurs to him that Minho must really like him after all if he's paid this much attention even to his palate. “Jeongin-ah,” he turns to the teenager beside him, “eat and enjoy the food. Be grateful.”

Jeongin huffs. “The chicken is pretty tasty,” he mutters grudgingly, and the way the corners of Minho's mouth slightly curl up don't go amiss for Jisung. “And I am grateful. This is the most amount of edible food I’ve seen in front of hy—appa!” There’s a lilt in the way he says the last word, almost like he’s mimicking the way Eunbi calls Minho; fortunately, that seems to fly over everyone but Jisung.

“Hey, now!”

“Are you going to deny how you always feed me ramyeon?” Jeongin retorts.

Jisung scoffs. “From now on, I’m never ordering pizza when you’re over.”

Minho laughs. “This is why all the women in the club take turns making you food,” he comments.

“Oh yeah!” Jeongin genuinely lights up. “Whoever makes the braised chicken—” he holds two thumbs up. “Just the perfect amount of spice.”

Jisung wrinkles his nose; he always has a big glass of milk to go with the food that Seyoung (or, according to Jeongin “Dakdoritang-noonim”) makes for him. He wouldn’t argue the tastiness, but unfortunately for him his taste buds can be somewhat sensitive. So far, no complaints on Minho’s cooking though.

Close to the end of the meal, when most of the spread is gone, Eunbi starts tugging at Minho’s sleeve, eyes wide and sparkling with anticipation. “Can we go in the water now? Please?”

“Eunbi-yah, we just finished eating. We have to wait at least thirty minutes before swimming, remember?”

The little girl’s expression falls into a pout, her arms crossing in disappointment and frustration.

“Actually,” Jisung interjects, “that whole wait for at least thirty minutes thing—it’s totally been debunked.”

Minho turns to him, eyebrow raised, clearly unimpressed, and Jisung can only flash a sheepish ‘oopsie’ smile back at him.

“So you’re an expert on post-meal swimming now?”

“I mean—” Jisung chortles. “You learn a lot of things on YouTube. Science says it’s fine.”

"Ah, yes. Science. Very convincing,” Minho snarks.

Jisung laughs, while Eunbi visibly perks up.

“See? Peter-ahjussi says it’s fine! Can we go, appa, please?”

“I can take her,” Jeongin chimes in. “I want to go into the water too, anyway.”

Minho sighs, looking like he’s close to giving in. “How about we wait for fifteen minutes, and then Jeongin takes you?” he bargains.

Eunbi pouts, but she does nod before slumping back down onto the picnic mat.

“How about while we wait, he—” Jeongin points at Jisung, “teaches you the Superboard dance instead?”

“Wait, what—” Jisung’s eyes widen at the sudden suggestion. “I—what?!”

Minho laughs, and Jisung watches with horror as he exchanges a fist bump with Jeongin. “That’s a good idea.”

Eunbi, meanwhile, looks rejuvenated again, and this time her sparkly eyes are trained at Jisung, who is at a loss as to how he can turn her down.

“Alright,” he caves. He tries to sound like he’s only doing this because he’s cornered—and he is, but at the same time, he can’t help but feel happy that Minho and Jeongin actually seem to be getting along. “Fine. But just the chorus, okay?”

He almost wonders if this was a planned trap all along when Minho is quick and ready to play the song out loud on his phone—right from the beginning. So much for just the chorus.

“Alright, then.” Jisung tugs at Eunbi’s tiny hand, leading her to a clear patch of sand in front of their picnic setup. Initially, he isn’t sure he can still remember the choreography too well, and he does fumble a few steps—but muscle memory is a funny thing, and it takes over as soon as the chorus hits. “One, two, three, four,” he counts the beats; Eunbi doesn’t really seem like she needs the tutorial; her moves are clumsy but she seems to know most of the steps better than Jisung does.

“Syoong!” They even yell together when that part of the song comes along; their laughter matches, and Jisung notices that both Minho and Jeongin have phones trained on them, clearly recording the haphazard performance.

Jisung doesn’t know what takes over him; it’s been so long since he last danced to this song, but maybe that’s it—maybe he’s simply reminded of the countless hours he’d spent rehearsing and the thrill of performing, but he doesn’t shy away from mugging it and even throwing a salacious wink at Minho’s direction right as he naturally strikes his ending pose at the end of the song.

Eunbi, meanwhile, excitedly jumps up and down while clapping her hands. “Thank you!” she exclaims, grinning and hugging Jisung’s legs. That’s over and done with in a split second, though, as she turns to her father,

“Can Jeongin-oppa and I go swim now?”

“It hasn’t really been fifteen minutes, aegi,” Minho points out, and Eunbi’s face falls entirely. “Don’t you want to dance with Peter-ahjussi more?”

“Peter-ahjussi is tired,” Jisung immediately says as he throws himself back on the beach towel. “Let them go into the water already, hyung.”

Minho looks skeptical mulling it over, but Jisung elbows him and very suddenly he gives in. “Alright,” he agrees, and he turns to Jeongin as he adds. “But stay in the part of the water where we can still see you, and you can still see us, okay?”

Jeongin gives him a nonchalant teenager shrug, but the smile he flashes Eunbi is genuine enough when he offers his hand to her.

“You sure are quick to trust Jeongin,” Jisung teases Minho as the two of them watch the pair amble down the sandy shoreline.

“If you trust him, then I trust him too,” Minho answers, simple and truthful, with no hint of snark. It takes Jisung aback; he appreciates the trust but it also makes something ugly stir in his stomach—guilt, he knows, something he needs to face real soon. “Besides,” Minho continues speaking, though, “the truth is I can’t swim and I hate the water. Especially the ocean.”

“What?” Jisung laughs. “Why are we here, then?”

Minho shrugs. “It’s a nice place for a picnic.”

Jisung snorts.

“Eunbi is taking swimming lessons, too, and she told me she really wants to go to the beach.” Minho grimaces. “I figured I could just—stand in the shallow parts?” he laughs. “But I’m glad Jeongin seems to be Busan born and bred, without any fear of the ocean.”

Jisung nods. “Honestly, I’m not very good with the ocean myself,” he admits. “I’m fine wading in swimming pools, but deep bodies of water give me the heebie jeebies. I believe it’s called thalassophobia.”

“Thala—what? That’s a big word.”

Jisung chuckles. “I told you. I know things. I learn a lot from YouTube documentaries.”

Minho hums; quietly leans back on his hands. Jisung can only mirror him, but while Minho remains focused on watching Jeongin and Eunbi, Jisung can’t help but steal the occasional glance at his company, in awe as the soft breeze tugs at Minho’s hair, and the sun, high in the sky, highlights the sharpness of his unfairly good-looking profile.

Jisung finds himself slowly inching towards Minho until they’re closer than necessary, with their shoulders touching. From a distance, Eunbi’s unrestrained laughter is faintly carried towards them over the sound of the waves.

“She’s got endless energy,” Jisung remarks with a soft chuckle. “Ah, to be young.”

“Nah.” Minho’s lips curve into a faint but playful smile, his gaze shifting to Jisung. “She gets it from me. Stamina runs in the family.”

“Oh.” Jisung swallows silently; the teasing is subtle, but the flicker in Minho’s eyes clearly hints at something more.

"So you’re saying you’re unstoppable too?" Jisung retorts, tilting his head slightly as though assessing Minho.

Minho shrugs, the corners of his mouth quirking upward. “I didn’t say that, but I am saying that I can handle more than most.”

Jisung laughs, the sound easy and warm, but his eyes linger on Minho a moment longer than casual conversation requires. “Good to know,” he replies, his tone light but suggestive. The flirting is getting quite dangerous, but it seems both of them are meeting each other tit for tat, unable to completely stop themselves.

Time passes like that, the two of them making quiet chitchat in between suggestive flirtation, while the sounds of the ocean comfortably fill the gaps between conversation. At one point Eunbi lets out an exuberant shout, and both of them turn to watch her and Jeongin racing along the water’s edge, the sight grounding the unspoken tension between them in shared amusement.

“Eunbi’s got Jeongin under her spell already. She’s bossing him around, and he’s just going along with it.” Minho comments. “I told you she’d win him over.”

“Honestly, I think she just might scare him a little,” Jisung comments. The teenager has been surprisingly very good with the little girl, but he also noticed that Eunbi is the one who has been leading their interactions, while the usually sharp-tongued Jeongin is at the mercy of her whims. He figures Eunbi’s confident self–assuredness is testament to Minho’s parenting.

“And if I say that’s something else she gets from me?”

“What, being scary?”

Minho laughs. “Knowing what she wants, and not being afraid to express what she wants.”

“Ah, so you meant being bossy.”

“Oh? You think I’m bossy?” Minho lifts an eyebrow.

Jisung has to pause, because no, Minho has never been bossy. If anything, he’s been very soft, very tender in the way he’s been with Jisung all this time—yet, he has also been quite straightforward.

“No,” he finally answers honestly. “But you do seem the type who doesn’t shy away from going after what you want.”

Minho’s smile grows wider at that, as if he’s satisfied with Jisung’s observation. “Han Jisung,” he calls out softly.

“Hm?” Jisung turns to face him, only to be surprised by how close Minho is leaning towards him. The sunlight overhead casts shadows across the man’s features, accentuating the sharp line of his jaw and the curve of his lips. Jisung’s breath catches, and the world around them seems to blur as he focuses on only the two of them and the immediate space that only they occupy together.

Minho’s gaze drops down to Jisung’s lips, before they look up and meet his eyes. “Can I?” he asks. His voice is barely louder than the gentle sea breeze stirring the air around them, and Jisung barely processes the words fully before he finds himself nodding.

Just like that, Minho is closing the gap between them, lips brushing against Jisung’s own in a featherlight kiss.

The initial contact is soft and unhurried, like Minho is cautiously testing the waters. Jisung realizes it’s up to him then, and he instinctively moves closer, hands balling into fists as he deepens the kiss, slow and deliberate. It’s been so long since he has been kissed—since he has kissed anyone, and he’s almost forgotten how nice it is, to taste someone; to melt against someone.

Minho’s hand comes up to cradle Jisung’s cheek, thumb grazing the edge of his jaw in a touch that feels both grounding and electrifying. Jisung’s hands twitch, and they finally unfurl, one of them finding its way to Minho’s arm, holding on lightly as if afraid of the moment—as if Minho himself—might slip away.

When they pull apart for air, the sun bears down on them, bright and unrelenting, but it doesn’t really feel like it matters. Their eyes linger on each other, matching shy and fond smiles decorating their faces.

“Well, that wasn’t bad,” Minho comments, trying to seem unaffected, but Jisung realizes he knows him better now. Minho’s ears are bright red, proof that he’s as affected as Jisung feels.

He huffs out a breathless laugh, and he loosens his grip on Minho’s arm. “Unexpected,” he comments, grinning, “but definitely not bad.”

They grow quiet, the moment lingering in the air around them, feeling like a silent promise of more. The sounds of the ocean, as well as the distant voices of Eunbi and Jeongin, and the rest of the beach-going crowd fill the air—but for Jisung, the world feels remarkably still.

Minho offers to take them home, and Jisung agrees. In his 34 years of living, he's never really bothered learning how to drive or applying for a license, and Minho teases him about it throughout the ride.

In the backseat, Eunbi, clearly exhausted, ends up asleep against Jeongin, who is uncharacteristically quiet the entire time, just blankly staring out the window. Jisung simply assumes he's tired from the long day as well.

Minho drops them off in front of his house, a singular stop, an uncomfortable reminder that yet again Jisung once again let the opportunity to come clean pass.

They don't kiss goodbye, not in front of the children, but they do reach out for each other, hands touching—Minho briefly squeezing Jisung's while they exchange fond smiles—before Jisung gets out of the car.

Jeongin and Jisung both wait for Minho to drive away, but before Jisung can invite the teenager inside,

“I’m going home,” Jeongin announces, and doesn’t even wait for a response before he starts unceremoniously walking away.

Jisung is surprised by the cold attitude, but he considers for a brief moment that maybe Jeongin is simply tired from the long day—except that doesn’t really sit well with him, so he goes after the boy before he could rethink his own actions.

“Innie!” he calls out, going for his arm as soon as Jeongin is within reach; Jeongin immediately shakes him off abruptly, like he’s infectious—or as if his touch burns. “Innie—” Jisung repeats, and at least the boy finally stops in place. “What’s wrong?”

Jeongin doesn’t say anything, but he wears a sulky expression.

“What’s the matter?” Jisung tries again.

A beat, before, “I saw you.”

Jeongin speaks so softly that it does not alleviate Jisung’s confusion. “What?”

“You and Minho,” Jeongin hisses as he turns to face Jisung.

“Me and Minho, what?”

Jeongin throws his hands in the air, clearly frustrated.

“Innie, let’s—” Jisung sighs; he’s slowly beginning to put things together, and discomfort slowly replaces his confusion. “Can we go inside the house and talk about this there?”

Jeongin looks at him, and his expression is laced with disappointment, and maybe even a hint of fear, and Jisung feels that weigh his heart down.

“Please?” he asks, and with a heavy sigh, Jeongin finally nods, and cautiously walks back, moving past Jisung to head back to his house.

Inside, Jeongin just stands by the foyer; he doesn't even take his shoes off and he just stares at Jisung.

“I saw you,” he repeats what he'd already said earlier. “With Minho.”

Jisung purses his lips. “What about—” he groans; decides that playing coy and oblivious is probably not going to work. “You mean when we kissed,” he states plainly.

“Yes.” Jeongin grits his teeth. “I saw the two of you… kiss. What was that about? What is wrong with you?!”

“Huh?” Jisung's brow furrows; he feels frustration rising in his chest. “Nothing is wrong with me, Innie—”

“It's unnatural,” Jeongin argues, and in that moment Jisung gets flashbacks of snide comments made to him and about him, very many years ago.

Jisung blinks, unsure how to argue with a closed minded thirteen-year-old—and that's the thing, isn't it? Jeongin is just a kid.

“You're young, Innie,” he attempts to reason.

“I’m thirteen!” Jeongin argues. “I'm not a baby.”

“You're young,” Jisung repeats, “and maybe that's why you don't understand.”

“What's to understand?” Jeongin snaps. “‘Do not engage with a man as one does with a woman—that is detestable.’”

Jisung stares at him blankly, his words sharp, stinging. “Jeongin, calm down,” he says—but really, it's himself that he's trying to calm.

Jeongin shakes his head. “It's not normal, hyung. I can't—I don't… You're gonna go to hell!”

The words hit Jisung like a heavy punch, and he exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair as he fights to keep his voice steady.

“Jeongin, listen to me. There’s nothing wrong with me liking Minho. There’s nothing wrong with us kissing. What’s wrong is you acting like it’s something to be ashamed of.”

There's a long stretch of silence and Jisung notices that Jeongin’s hands, which had been curled into a tight fists earlier, have unfurled. “I don't understand,” he repeats, whispered. “It's a sin.”

“Jeongin…” Jisung tries to reach out to him, but the boy automatically flinches, a gesture that causes tiny cracks to form in Jisung's heart. Suddenly, Jeongin looks so young. Funny enough, Jisung often forgets that at 13, Jeongin has less than half the life experience that Jisung has; that at 13, there's still a lot of lessons to be learned, a lot of growing to be done.

More than that, Jisung is reminded that at 34, he's an adult, and he can't be expecting Jeongin to understand everything, or to accept what he's saying without resistance. He knows how difficult he was at that age. It’s up to him to guide the boy through the harder lessons, finding ways to explain life in a way that feels less overwhelming and more acceptable for a thirteen-year-old to grasp.

“I have to go,” Jeongin announces before Jisung can figure out what more to say. He looks away, but not before Jisung notes how glassy they are with unshed tears. He moves past Jisung quietly, but he doesn't pause; simply opens the door and immediately shuts it behind him.

Jisung wishes he could describe the tumult he feels in his chest. The day had started out so good; had progressed to such great heights—even now, the feeling of Minho's lips on his linger, except the joy that moment brought him is now tainted by Jeongin's apparent thoughts on him—on what he and Minho are, or could be.

He’s so tired, he realizes—that kind of bone-deep, mind numbing exhaustion that feels like it has seeped into every part of him. His chest is heavy and his thoughts move sluggishly, as though dragging through thick, unyielding mud. He has no idea what he's supposed to do next.

— •• —

Jisung wakes up the next day with the heaviest feeling. He has no appetite and no desire to do anything, not even get out of bed. There was a period in his life when had days like this very often, but it's been a while since he’d started a day so demotivated.

Staring at his phone, he considers texting Jeongin so he navigates to their message tab—scrolling up, most of it is just Jeongin telling Jisung that he's coming over, or Jisung messaging that he got a brand new game or that he has a new supply of food from the SPC ladies. Jisung ends up unable to even start typing because he realises that he has no idea what to say.

“I’m sorry” doesn’t feel right—he doesn’t feel sorry for what Jeongin thinks he did wrong. “Can we talk?” feels too earnest, especially coming from him to a teenager.

He tosses his phone to the foot of his bed, and he ends up sleeping most of the day away, only waking up late afternoon, when the sun is already looking like it’s begun its descent over the horizon.

Over a sad bowl of instant ramyeon, he texts Minho instead.

Me: r u free to get a drink? _16:48
Minho 🍠: u just wanna see me two days in a row dont u?; i know what u r han jisung _16:50
Me: ㅎㅎ; so r u free? _16:51
Minho 🍠: yes; r u ok?; i was just joking around; is everything good? _16:52
Me: i’ll tell u in person hyung _16:53
Minho 🍠: ok then; i’ll need to drop eunbi off at my mom’s first; see u in an hr? two? _16:56
Me: take 2; i’ll see u hyung _16:01

They meet at the same place where they had drinks just a week ago. Minho wears a bright smile when he spots Jisung, but when the smile isn’t returned, his expression falls and worry takes over instead.

“What happened?” Minho asks as Jisung solemnly slides into the booth across from him.

“We should order drinks first, hyung,” Jisung says, attempting a smile even though he knows it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “On me.”

Minho lifts an eyebrow; he looks like he wants to make some kind of quip about Jisung and alcohol, but he holds his tongue. He waves down a server, and orders a pint for each of them. They eye each other, tension thick and awkward while waiting for their drinks.

“So.” Minho seems nervous, but he does wait until their drinks are placed in front of them. “Now?” He eyes Jisung curiosity.

Jisung picks up his beer, takes a large gulp before,

“I had a fight with Jeongin.”

Minho frowns. “Yesterday? Today? What happened?”

Jisung swallows thickly, discomfort written all over his face. “Yesterday,” he clarifies. “After you dropped us off.”

He could easily say that Jeongin caught them lip locked at the beach and that he disapproved—that's the crux of the issue, after all. He can continue keeping his secrets—his lies—safe, but he's exhausted. And he knows that he can't burden Minho with this problem—not without starting from the beginning.

“Hyung,” he exhales shakily. “I have a lot of things I need to tell you.”

“Hm?” Minho's tone softens. “You can tell me anything, Jisung-ah. I'm listening.”

“I don't know if you'll still want to after you hear what I have to say.”

“You're worrying me, Jisung,” Minho frowns. “Try me.”

Jisung inhales deeply, staring at his glass of beer. He picks at the condensation sliding off the outside of the glass. “Will you promise to listen until I get to the end before reacting?”

Jisung sees the hesitation in Minho's eyes, but eventually, Minho nods silently.

“Jeongin isn't my son,” Jisung blurts out.

Confusion takes over Minho's expression. “Huh?”

“He isn't my son. Jeongin's not my child,” Jisung exhales heavily.

Minho stares at him, and Jisung finally gathers enough grit to begin the story.

He starts from the beginning, explains how he met Jeongin; how he had related to the kid, which compelled him to take the boy into his life. He even mentions the shoes he lent Jeongin—but Minho keeps a straight face.

He continues and explains how it had been a mistake when he accidentally overheard that first SPC meeting he technically crashed; explains how he had a hard time saying no when it was Minho who invited him to the group. He swears up and down that everyone in the group—all the moms—grew on him; how he grew to truly like and admire everyone and how he had such a fun time every time they met up. He relays how he started looking forward to actually leaving the house to see people—something that is only really dawning on him now as he talks about it.

He admits that Jeongin knew, and mentions how the boy had a good laugh at the facade.

He confesses to developing a crush on Minho, and how spending time with him became the highlight of his days. He smiles shyly, guiltily, when he talks about how finding out Minho liked him too made him feel.

Finally, he gets to relay how Jeongin saw the two of them kissing at the beach; how Jeongin reacted, had yelled that they were going to hell for it.

After he’s done, Minho just stares. His expression is so opaque, his gaze so cold, that Jisung feels a terrified shudder crawl down his spine.

“It was all a lie?” Minho finally asks. His voice sounds shaky near the end, as if he’s unsure whether he’s making a statement or asking a question; his tone is cold, otherwise.

“No. Yes. Well…” Jisung stammers, then finally whispers, “My feelings for you aren’t a lie.”

Minho blinks. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but when he does, his voice sounds like he’s had the wind knocked out of him, and Jisung feels shattered. “I—I can’t be here,” he says abruptly. The look of disappointment and betrayal on his face is painfully real.

Jisung wants to cry but he knows he brought this upon himself

“Hyung, please. Can’t we talk about this?” His voice trembles.

“I stayed and listened because I promised to,” Minho replies, his tone firm. “But I didn’t promise to stay after you were done.” He stands, pushing his chair back with a screech. “I’ll settle our bill at the counter,” he adds, turning away. “But after that, I’m going to leave. And I’m not stopping by this table again. Please don’t follow me.”

Jisung doesn’t try to stop him.

He stays seated, his body frozen, staring at the untouched food on the table. The empty chair across from him feels like a gaping wound, a reminder of everything he just lost. Eventually, he calls the server over, ordering drink after drink, desperate to drown the suffocating weight pressing down on his chest. But no matter how much he drinks, it doesn’t help. The hurt doesn’t fade. His head grows foggy, his hands unsteady, yet the pain remains sharp and unrelenting. By the time he’s done, the room feels distant, and the world around him feels unreal—except for the hollow ache inside him.

That, he knows, is very real.

Jisung wakes up to a pounding headache and a dry mouth that feels like sandpaper. His eyes are crusty and sore, barely able to open against the sunlight streaming through the window. He groans—it’s obviously going to be yet another unproductive day. Two of them in a row, he thinks. It’s been a while since he’s felt like this.

He rolls over to check his phone, which is precariously teetering on the edge of the nightstand. When the screen lights up, he finds several message notifications from Seungmin staring him in the face.

“Shit,” he mutters, and through his throbbing headache, a few flashes from the night before come to mind.

Seungmin 👔: You were a mess. _00:03; Called a car for you. You're welcome. _00:11
Seungmin 👔: Hope you’re alive. _8:31

Jisung blinks at the screen, piecing together fragments of the previous night through the haze of his hangover. He checks his call log, and sure enough, there are a few outgoing call attempts to Seungmin close to midnight. One of them came through and lasted 5 minutes—that explains how he got home. He lets out a weak, humorless laugh, equal parts relieved and embarrassed.

A while back, Seungmin had insisted that Jisung always have his location sharing turned on—Jisung didn’t understand the point of it considering he rarely left his house, but that was also why he agreed. There was no harm if it was just shared with Seungmin, he had figured, and now, years later he finally has reason to be grateful for Seungmin’s anal retentive tendencies.

With a deep sigh, Jisung drops the phone back onto the nightstand and drapes an arm over his eyes. The sunlight that’s peeking through the curtain slats isn't helping his headache, but it’s also symbolic of his attempt to shield himself from the memories from the last 48 hours. It doesn’t help much, though—the ache in his chest remains, a persistent reminder of everything that happened.

Eventually, he forces himself to sit up, the room tilting slightly as the motion sends another wave of nausea crashing over him.

Never mind, he thinks, falling back onto the bed with a dull thud and rolling over so he can bury his face into his pillow. He can face the day at a later hour.

That later hour becomes a later day, then two, then three—Jisung ends up rotting in bed for five whole days before Seungmin finally shows up in person.

It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that he had barely left the comfort of his bed in all that time. He ordered takeout every time hunger got the better of him, eating noodles and rice dishes right in bed, with cartons and plastic containers strewn across the nightstand. The only times he grudgingly got up was to receive food from the various delivery guys who arrived with them, and once when the cleaning lady who takes care of his household dropped by for her weekly cleaning. He refused to let her into his bedroom, though, and now his sheets are peppered with crumbs, and the smell of stale food lingered in the air and in his walls.

Now Seungmin is standing in the doorway of his room, staring at him and looking completely unimpressed. Jisung curses in his head; just as he had been sharing his location with Seungmin, the latter, of course, also knew the security code to his home. His general presence, however, is probably easily explained by the amount of texts and calls that Jisung has been ignoring over the last several days.

“Jesus Christ, Jisung, it stinks in here,” Seungmin berates him, stepping over a discarded takeout bag to get closer. “When was the last time you got some sun? Fresh air?”

“Why does it matter?” Jisung mutters, burying his face in the pillow.

Seungmin doesn’t waste time. He hauls Jisung out of bed with a surprising amount of strength and shoves him toward the bathroom. “Shower. Now. You smell like depression and fried chicken. And when you smell nice and clean again, we’ll talk about—” he eyes Jisung, head to toe, and winces, “—whatever’s going on here.”

Jisung doesn’t even argue—he’s too tired to fight. He does take his time in the shower, though, surprising even himself with how comforting the warm water is as it runs down his body. By the time he emerges, freshly showered but still visibly drained, Seungmin is waiting for him, sitting on the little love couch he has in his room; he seems to have also tossed all the takeout trash into a big garbage bag that sits by the door.

“So. What’s going on, Jisung?” Seungmin asks, his tone softer this time. “I haven’t really heard much from you this entire year—and then suddenly you’re drunk calling me at midnight?”

Jisung sighs, sinking into the couch beside him. He recounts everything—again. Every detail, every mistake, every regret. He’s so tired. Why does he have to relive the last several months of his life twice in just a few days? Talking about it all for a second time makes him feel worse; makes him hear, in his own voice, how tremendously bad his decision making has been.

When he finishes, Seungmin leans back and gives him a long, flat look. “You’re insane.”

“Thanks,” Jisung mutters. “For stating the obvious,” he snarks.

Seungmin stares at him, suddenly silent, contemplative. It makes Jisung squirm with discomfort; like he’s a student waiting to be scolded by his teacher.

Finally, Seungmin sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You wanna move back to Seoul so I can babysit you better?” he jokes.

That manages to get choked laughter out of Jisung—mostly because he almost wants to agree. Their relationship had started professionally when he first arrived in Seoul. Jisung had been signed by an agency as a producer, contracted to write songs and work mostly behind the scenes. Still, his minor celebrity in the UK earned him a few guest spots on small TV and radio shows here and there, and Seungmin had been assigned to him as his day-to-day manager. They were the same age, just born a week apart, which helped make it easier for them to get along. Seungmin had been great—sharp and meticulous, guiding him through the chaos of contracts, deadlines, and studio politics in a straightforward way. He could be a little too blunt sometimes, but at least Jisung could rest easy knowing that Seungmin always told him the truth.

Eventually, though, Seungmin left the entertainment agency to start his own business, and Jisung followed not long after, quitting the industry altogether. They’d stayed friends, with Seungmin remaining a steady presence in his life. He was the one who helped Jisung with his business investments as he always did have a sharp eye for money. Technically, Seungmin is still on Jisung’s payroll as his business manager, but their dynamic had long since shifted into something more personal.

“Why didn’t you call me earlier?” Seungmin prods gently.

Jisung shrugs. “I was doing well. Feeling good, and all. I was even being social!”

Seungmin gives him a pointed look, and Jisung lets out a chortle despite himself.

“Yeah. I know. Sorry.” Jisung huffs. “I’m realizing that I really shouldn’t wait to feel awful before checking in with you. That’s being a bad friend.”

Seungmin hums and shakes his head. “It takes two, Jisung. Clearly, I haven’t been the greatest friend either. Besides,” he continues with a faint smirk, “you’re still paying me, so maybe I should apologize for not managing you better.”

They chuckle together at that, but the moment of levity doesn’t last long. Seungmin’s expression turns serious as he turns and looks Jisung in the eye.

“Are you just sulking or is there something else going on?”

“I—I don’t know,” Jisung stutters. He had thought about it, but thinking had been too exhausting for him the last few days.

“Have you at least been keeping in touch with your therapist?” Seungmin asks.

Jisung’s jaw tightens. He missed a session some months ago, and had completely foregone rescheduling. His silence clearly tells Seungmin everything he needs to know.

“Honestly, Jisung, you can’t just stay like this, letting yourself rot away at your core when things go wrong.”

Jisung groans. “I know,” he responds, because he really does. But doing has always been harder than saying.

“First of all,” Seungmin continues, ticking off on his fingers, “a shower—done. Good job. Second, maybe start scheduling therapy sessions again? Even better if they’re in person, to get you out of the house.”

“Therapy alone probably isn’t going to solve this,” Jisung admits with a bittersweet chortle.

“Yeah, but it could be a step toward a routine—toward feeling like yourself again.” Seungmin looks like he’s hesitating before he eventually adds, “You know what happened the last time you allowed yourself to feel useless for too long.”

Right, Jisung remembers—his music career in South Korea had stalled and stagnated. He wasn’t producing any hits, and soon idol agencies had stopped calling. The shine of his brief career as a UK idol could only sustain him for so long, and as a result he had ended up feeling pointless and aimless. A little different from basically moping around because of a guy, but he knows Seungmin is just worrying that it could be a slippery slope. It’s a little annoying, but he tells himself it’s just because his friend cares. After all, Seungmin had been there, front row tickets and all, when it all became too much for Jisung and he ended up relocating to Busan from Seoul, just for a complete change of pace. Frankly, his support at the time had helped Jisung out a lot.

Jisung snorts. “Okay, fair enough.”

Seungmin sighs quietly, appearing to be quietly considering something in his thoughts. “Jisung,” he begins, “you’ve got the means and the money to make anything you want possible. So… what do you want?”

Jisung sniffs. “Not sure money will fix what I want fixed, though.”

Seungmin stares at him. “Which is?”

Jisung hesitates. “I want to fix my relationships.”

“Like—with the kid?” Seungmin raises an eyebrow.

“When you say it like that…” Jisung trails off, realization fully hitting. He really shouldn’t have been treating Jeongin like a peer.

Seungmin sighs. “It’s not that you absolutely can’t be friends, but you need to treat him like his age—and maybe don’t use him as a fake son to hit on your crush.”

“Seungmin!” Jisung protests, his face heating up. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Well, it probably seems that way to this Minho guy.”

Jisung groans; buries his face in his hand. Because, of course, Seungmin is right.

“You’ve got to take things one step at a time, ‘Sung,” Seungmin says, his voice gentler now. “Before you can fix those relationships, you need to fix your relationship with yourself.”

“How?” Jisung asks, his voice quiet.

“Take care of yourself more. Figure out what you want to do with your life,” Seungmin replies. “Maybe start there.”

— »» —

Seungmin ends up staying for the entire weekend, and while they don’t really do much—they watch a couple of movies together, but mostly Seungmin is on his laptop for work while Jisung binge watches documentaries—his presence alone feels grounding. Frankly, Jisung thinks just the presence of someone helps keep him from further spiraling.

For most of the four or five years he’s been in Busan, he hasn’t been the most social person, but that was fine because he liked keeping to himself, and he had no real aspirations beyond surviving day after day. But the last year taught him that he was still capable of feeling more; of wanting more—of enjoying the presence of people in his life.

Before Seungmin leaves again for Seoul, he watches as Jisung finalizes an appointment with his therapist.

“And the next time I call, you better answer, otherwise you’ll be seeing me again sooner than you hope,” Seungmin threatens him.

Jisung only laughs. “What if I do want to see you sooner rather than later?”

Seungmin’s expression softens. “Then just call, you loser.”

Expectedly, the house feels empty when he’s all alone again; his instinct is to lock himself up in his room—and he does just that the first day after Seungmin leaves. The next day, he forces himself to go out for a walk, and he makes it to the convenience store a block away where he stockpiles snacks and more instant ramyeon.

His first session with his therapist is in person, and the entire time he’s at the waiting room, he shakes his knees with worry, thinking he’ll get scolded for basically disappearing for almost a whole year—he spends the actual hour of that first session back perched stiffly on the edge of the couch, arms crossed tightly across his chest and answering questions like he was sat for a job interview, clipped, neutral and just waiting for admonition or some kind of other shoe to drop.

They agree on 2 sessions a week for now, one of them remote and the other an in-person meeting. The remote sessions are, as expected, much easier for Jisung, at least initially, but the more he forces himself to open up, the more he remembers that this therapist already knows him; has known him for years and has always patiently helped him figure out what needed figuring out, at least for the most part.

Another one of Seungmin’s suggestions—a step towards becoming a semi-functioning adult, according to him—was for Jisung to enroll in a cooking course. He also says something about how Jisung should be able to offer him a proper meal that isn't instant or takeaway the next time he visits, which made Jisung laugh but also take it as a challenge. He signs up for private cooking lessons, where twice a week someone comes over for two to three hours to teach him all the basics he needs to learn.

The first time his cooking instructor, a private chef named Roh Jisun, arrives for the first time, Jisung panicked and almost canceled the lesson, suddenly convinced he’d embarrass himself. But Jisun was cheerful and patient as she showed him how to properly chop vegetables and measure ingredients without judgment. The first egg he tried to fry stuck to the pan, while the second one broke into jagged pieces before he could flip it—but Jisung is nothing if not someone who knows how to follow a clear set of instructions, and after two lessons he could scramble an egg properly. After two weeks, with supervision and very clear instructions to follow, he managed to make an edible serving of aglio e olio for two.

Meanwhile, it was at his therapist’s behest that Jisung decided to sign up to volunteer at a local animal shelter,

“You need to reconnect with the world,” his therapist had told him, a gentle but firm suggestion, after he admitted how isolated he felt most days. “Try something small, somewhere you can feel useful without too much pressure.”

The idea had made him balk at first. Part of the reason why he had allowed his life to stagnate as an adult was because he couldn’t handle any more pressure. Growing up, that was how his life felt like—constant pressure borne from expectations. First from his parents; and then the agency, his fellow bandmates, their fans; worst of all, from himself. Even after he ran away to the other side of the planet, to South Korea, repeatedly failing himself by way of subpar musical creations was what made him decide to retreat into a life of solitude. If he wasn’t trying at anything, then there would be no expectations.

But with his recent realization that he wants to try crawling out of his shell again, he knew that his therapist was right—he would need to put himself out there again, and volunteering could be a good start.

He got the number to the shelter from his therapist as well, and when he called, he had been simply told to show up whenever he had time—apparently they needed all the help they could get, a sentiment which made Jisung feel helpful; like whatever he had to offer mattered.

The shelter became a refuge, though he hadn’t expected it to. At first, he stuck to the quiet tasks: cleaning kennels, folding blankets, refilling water bowls. He sometimes made small talk with other volunteers, but mostly he only came to do what needed to be done. Initially, it was the dogs that really pulled him out of his shell. There was one bichon frise in particular that stole his heart, apparently abandoned by his family who left to move abroad. He always seemed excited, yipping loudly and wagging his tail whenever Jisung would show up to refill his bowl.

As for the cats, at first, Jisung avoided their room—it was quieter than the dog kennel, almost too still. It didn’t help that they reminded him of Minho—he was unabashedly a cat person, and had a lot of stories about the cats he took care of while growing up, and of course, his precious, magical Gamja that he and his daughter doted on.

But then one day, another volunteer handed him a brush and pointed him toward a grumpy-looking tabby curled up on a shelf. “She’s been shedding like crazy,” she said.

The feline didn’t look impressed when Jisung approached, but she didn’t bolt either. Tentatively, he sat down beside her and started brushing. By the end of the session, the brush was full of fur, Jisung had a stuffy nose, and the tabby was purring softly against his leg.

Over time (and with the help of allergy meds, as he had discovered a mild allergy to cat fur), Jisung found himself spending as much time with the cats as he did with the dogs.

The growth of his bond with the animals allowed him to better communicate with the other volunteers as well; he had something to talk with them about, such as little stories about their quirks: like the black-and-white kitten who loved to climb onto his shoulders, or the tiny Chihuahua with a bark that was quite disproportionate with its size.

Almost two months pass like that, and even though there are still days that feel heavier than others, it gets easier to force himself out of bed because he has responsibilities now, and more things to look forward to.

One day, he’s having snacks with one of the other volunteers in the break room—a middle-aged housewife named Kim Jiyoung who fills her days with volunteer and charity work now that her son is off in university, and her husband continues to be busy with his office job all day. She reminds him a lot of the ladies at SPC, especially Yongsun, but he tries not to dwell on that.

Jiyoung is talking about an orphanage where she also helps out. “The volunteer who was running the Christmas show quit last week,” she says, shaking her head. “Now we’re scrambling to pull it together.”

“An orphanage Christmas show?” Jisung tilts his head, finding himself curious. “What kind of show is it?”

“Oh, it’s nothing big—it’s kind of a glorified talent show. The kids sing and dance to their version of the nativity play—and then the foundation simply hopes that invited bigwigs open their pockets.” Yongsun chuckles. “Most rich people think it’s good karma to donate to charity during this season—even if they’re not Christian.”

Jisung chuckles; he kinda gets that, he supposes. He leaves it up to Seungmin, but he’s pretty sure he donates a fair amount to charities during the end of the year. Maybe this year he’ll look into that—he should really stop being overly dependent on the guy at some point.

“I can do it,” he finds himself saying.

“Huh?” Jiyoung looks confused. “What do you mean ‘it’?”

“Supervise the show?” Jisung offers, suddenly a little unsure. “I’ve, um… kind of done stuff like that before.”

— •• —

After Jiyoung texts him that the orphanage administrators agreed to have him on board, he finds himself going through his back catalogue of compositions—his biggest moneymaker had been a Christmas song, after all, so it felt fitting.

He looks up performances of ‘Under the Mistletoe,’ a spark of pride igniting in him when YouTube gives him dozens, maybe even hundreds, of covers as a result.

The orphanage, despite being run by an order of nuns, is chaotic but welcoming. He’s told that he has less than two weeks to put the show together, which is less than he anticipated and he almost panics for it—but then he asks himself, what’s the worst that can really happen? He already survived getting found out that he’s faking a son; this time all he has to do is make sure that a bunch of children enjoy themselves and end the year on a high note.

The kids themselves, most aged between 8 and 15, are a whirlwind of energy, all nerves and excitement as they audition their talents. Some sing off-key, others act with over-the-top theatrics, and one little boy even insists on doing magic tricks that mostly involve dropping his props. Jisung tries so hard not to burst into laughter at that, and for the most part he succeeds.

Sister Ha, the nun tasked with overseeing the play alongside him, tells him to simply approve all the auditions anyway; tells him that as long as the kids are having fun and that shines through to the audience, it’ll be fine. It’s a nice sentiment that surprises Jisung, so he casts the play according to the levels of confidence the children displayed during their audition.

“I have an idea,” he tells the nun. “I have this song—it’s a Christmas song, and it’s in English, but if I can translate the lyrics into Korean, do you think we can have the kids sing it altogether?”

“What song is this?”

He takes his phone out to play the song, and he ends up getting a raised eyebrow from the good sister.

“I’ll make the translation less romantic and focus on the positive feelings the season brings?” he offers sheepishly.

Later that night, he sits at his desk, and he plays the melody of the song, over and over as he handwrites lyrics in Korean—some parts a direct translation of the original English, some verses altogether new. He scratches out some words here and there, replacing them with better fitting lines. He hums along to the tune as the words come—and he knows he's rusty, none of it is perfect, but they’re his, and it feels good to be creating again.

He allows himself to smile.

On the day of the play, the orphanage is surprisingly filled. There are a few marked “VIP” seats in the front—supposedly saved for the foundation’s biggest benefactors, but Sistar Ha informs Jisung that most of the audience are bound to be members of the congregation that the orphanage is connected to.

Jisung tries not to mind them, telling himself that he's not the one going on stage anyway. He stays backstage, wrangling kids into their costumes and straightening out crooked halos.

Mary and Joseph are in traditional hanboks, clothes they dug up from church donation drives, that look like they're from the Joseon era—not really time period accurate at all, but they're putting on a Korea set nativity play, which means nothing is accurate overall.

Jisung isn't very good at pep talks, so he gives everyone what he hopes is a not-so-nervous “break a leg!” before the makeshift stage lights are dimmed and the children march onto the makeshift stage itself.

The performance is far from perfect—one of the shepherds forgets his lines, and the Bethlehem star prop falls halfway through as the three wise men supposedly follow it—but the kids’ enthusiasm carry through the entire performance. Jisung might not be on stage with them, but he’s nevertheless reminded of that special feeling an audience provides, especially when they start humming along during the children’s Korean rendition of “Silent Night.”

And when the baby Jesus, played by the youngest orphan in the house, a sleepy toddler clutching a stuffed lamb, is carted out to the stage, a wave of soft laughter and applause echoes throughout the room. Jisung can't help but smile as he watches from the wings.

It’s after that when all the children, even the ones who didn’t act and only helped with props and costuming, march to the stage so they can all sing ‘Under the Mistletoe’ together under Jisung’s direction. As expected, not all of them are on key, and it’s clear that a few of them forget the lyrics at different points in the song—Jisung feels really proud anyway. Of the kids, but also of himself—he put himself out there, and he helped put this entire thing together.

Some of the children drag him out of the wings for the final bow, and that’s when he spots Jeongin in the audience, seated somewhere in the fifth or sixth row, clapping his hands but also wide-eyed with obvious surprise at seeing Jisung there. Jisung tries to meet his eyes, and when he gets a tentative smile in return, the sigh of relief that escapes Jisung surprises even him.

“Hyung, hey.”

Jisung startles slightly, and when he turns, he finds Jeongin approaching him. The show ended, and now everyone is mingling in the orphanage hall, enjoying the catering (which Jisung had secretly arranged, by way of Seungmin shelling out money and making phone calls). The crowded room had been too much for him, however, so he’d chosen to slip outside into the crisp winter air, seeking quiet.

“Jeongin-ah.” Jisung straightens up, surprised. The cold bites at his cheeks as he shifts on his feet, unsure what Jeongin has to say. He recognizes this moment as an opportunity to make amends, but he isn't sure if that's what Jeongin wants as well. Studying the teenager’s face, he finds no trace of animosity, just a cautious kind of warmth. He never really thought about it before, but it makes sense that Jeongin is a part of this particular congregation—it’s not as if their town is teeming with Catholic churches. “How have you been?”

“I’m good.” Jeongin steps closer but stops a few feet away, his smile genuine yet careful. “I was surprised to see you here?”

Jisung winces, unsure if there’s an edge to Jeongin’s words. “They needed help with the show,” he explains simply.

“It was fun,” Jeongin comments.

“Thanks.” Jisung smiles back, relaxing slightly. “How’s school? Those kids still giving you trouble?”

Jeongin shrugs. “Sometimes. But it’s not so bad.” He brightens. “I made a new friend. His name’s Felix—he’s from Australia and transferred in the middle of the school year. We only started hanging out a month ago, though.”

“That’s great,” Jisung says, his chest softening. It’s good to know Jeongin has someone his age to lean on now.

“Yeah.” Jeongin grins briefly, like he’s feeling quite proud of himself, but then his expression falters, and he looks away. “I’m sorry, hyung,” he says quietly.

Jisung feels a sting, remembering Jeongin’s harsh words from before. But he reminds himself: he’s the adult. What business does he have holding a grudge against a child? Especially one who at least knows how to apologize.

“It’s okay,” Jisung replies after a beat. “Do you… still feel the same way you did?”

Jeongin winces. “I’m not sure,” he admits. “I don’t want to.” He takes a deep breath, his words halting but earnest. “You’ve always been good to me, hyung. And now, seeing you here, helping these kids… I really don’t think you’re a bad person. I don’t think Minho-ssi is, either. It’s hard to believe that… just because you—uh, kiss, or like each other—that it would make you bad people.” He cringes, cheeks red. “I’m really sorry for telling you that you’re going to hell.”

Jisung chuckles, the tension in his chest easing. He steps closer until they’re face to face and ruffles Jeongin’s hair, just like he used to.

Jeongin whines, trying to block him, which makes Jisung laugh fully for the first time in a while.

“Apology accepted,” Jisung says softly. “And I’m sorry, too.”

“Well, since it’s Christ’s birthday, and He is known for forgiving people…” Jeongin trails off with a cheeky grin.

Jisung bursts into loud laughter. “I missed you, brat,” he says, and proceeds to give the teenager a noogie. “Did you get taller?”

Jeongin grins and shrugs.

“But seriously,” Jisung says, his tone softening. “I’m sorry too, Innie. I shouldn’t have dragged you into that whole mess—pretending you were my son and all that.”

Jeongin shrugs. “I didn’t say no.”

Jisung chuckles, shaking his head. “Still. I shouldn’t have made you complicit in my lies, or leaned on you the way that I did.”

Jeongin frowns. “What do you mean?”

“You’re thirteen, Jeongin. I’m more than twice your age. I should have been mindful of that from the start.”

“Are you saying we can’t be friends anymore?”

“No, no. We can be friends,” Jisung clarifies. “Just not peers. I need to be more aware of the difference in our experiences and priorities—” he laughs, shakes his head, “—and a bunch of other stuff that sounds way better when it’s my therapist saying them.”

“Oh.” Jeongin shuffles his feet.

“Don’t think about it too much, okay? It’s on me. My responsibility,” Jisung tells him.

“Okay,” Jeongin says, nodding slowly. He doesn’t seem too convinced, or even that he truly understands, but once again, Jisung remembers how he was at that age, stubborn and headstrong over all kinds of inconsequential things. At least Jeongin seems willing not to argue any further.

“Okay,” Jisung echoes, smiling as he gives the boy a playful nudge.

Jeongin mirrors the action, but after a pause, he asks, “How is Lee Minho-ssi?”

Jisung lifts an eyebrow, surprised about Jeongin bringing him up. “Why?”

Jeongin shrugs. “I’m just curious.”

“We haven’t really talked since I came clean to him about everything.”

“Oh. That’s good.”

Jisung raises an eyebrow.

“No, no! I mean—it’s good you came clean!” Jeongin flails his hands. “But I’m sorry you haven’t talked,” he adds quickly. “Is that because you don’t want to, uh…” he trails off awkwardly.

Jisung laughs. “Uh?”

Jeongin glares at him, like he’s annoyed that Jisung wants to make him clarify. “You know what I mean!”

Jisung chuckles again. With clear eyes, it's easy to see just how immature and petulant Jeongin is sometimes—but it's okay, because that's just acting his age.

“I shouldn’t talk to you about this,” Jisung says, a hint of teasing in his tone despite absolutely standing by the meaning of his words.

“Why? Because I’m thirteen?” Jeongin rolls his eyes.

Jisung shrugs wordlessly.

“Whatever, hyung.” The 13-year-old shakes his head. “But—just so you know, if you still like him, I really don’t think you’re… you know. Going to hell for it.”

Jisung chortles. “Thanks, Innie. I’ll keep that in mind.”

— ꨄ︎ —

Jisung finds himself opening his message thread with Minho more often than he cares to admit. Sometimes, he even scrolls to Minho’s contact in his phone book, staring at the details and contemplating pressing the call button only to chicken out at the last second. He knows it’s a step back in his productivity progress, a distraction from everything else he’s been trying to rebuild—but the pull is there, undeniable and persistent.

Ever since making up with Jeongin, Minho has remained the only unresolved piece in his life, the one glaring thread left hanging.

Generally, in the months that have passed, every time he had a funny thought, or he felt like he made some progress in his life, Jisung found that he still wanted to share with Minho. It was almost startling, how much Minho had ingrained himself in Jisung's life—in Jisung's consciousness—in the mere months they knew each other, and now Jisung is struggling to adjust to not having him in it.

“Stop being an idiot,” Seungmin texted him after Jisung reached out to him for advice. “Either apologize or start moving on. Pick one.” That had only made Jisung frown at his screen and leave his friend on read. Sometimes Seungmin’s pragmatism can be quite maddening.

Frustratingly, his therapist said something similar during one of their sessions: “Sometimes, closure is less about resolution with the other person and more about resolving your own feelings. You have to decide whether reaching out will help you move forward—or if it’s holding you back.”

Jisung understood what was being said, he really did, but like most things in life it was easier said than done.

So he keeps putting it off. He keeps avoiding the street where Minho’s cafe is located, even though sometimes he deliberately checks it’s Instagram page, hoping that maybe they’ll post a candid picture of the owner—which never really happens. They don’t update all that often to begin with, but they do post about a new tasting menu they were offering along with the new year—Jisung wonders how he can somehow turn that into an excuse to drop by, but overthinking it almost brings him to the brink of an anxiety attack.

Enough is enough, he figures, and maybe Seungmin is right. If he can’t gather the courage to reach out, then his only choice is to finally move on.

Funny, though, how the world works, because on the same day he decides to give up, the universe sends him a sign.

He’s at the local supermarket, shopping—because this is something he actually does now. He cooks for himself at least twice a week, which means listing down ingredients he wants to use, coming up with a budget, going to the market, and actually buying them. It's on one of these grocery days when he spots Seoyeon in the dairy aisle.

Shit. His chest tightens, and his first instinct is to panic. Should he say hello? Pretend he hasn’t seen her? The decision is taken out of his hands as Seoyeon glances his way, their eyes locking before he can even decide.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, forcing a smile that he’s sure looks more awkward than friendly. His heart pounds as Seoyeon starts walking toward him, her expression far warmer than he expects.

“Hey, oppa,” she says, her smile disarmingly genuine, all things considered.

“Hey, Seoyeon.” Jisung’s voice is calm, but his mind races. Has Minho not told anyone about his lies? At the very least, he must have said something about why Jisung suddenly stopped coming to SPC meetings.

Seoyeon tilts her head. “Do you have time for coffee?”

“Right now?” Jisung hesitates. “Did Minho-hyung not… tell you what happened?”

“What, about you faking being a dad?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. She sounds so matter-of-fact, like Jisung made a simple mistake easily disregarded, and didn’t lie to them for months. It makes Jisung duck his head sheepishly. “Of course, he told us,” Seoyeon clarifies. “And of course everyone was hurt, including me.” She pauses, chuckling lightly. “I know I probably should be madder at you, but when I saw you my first thought was about how it’s been so long since I last saw you. Maybe it’s the old Peter Han fangirl in me.”

Jisung snorts, taking the joke in stride.

Seoyeon’s smile relaxes into something more pensive. “Honestly? It was fun having you at the group meetings, oppa. It was fun competing with the others for your dish approval, for one,” she comments.

“Seyoung’s dakdoritang was pretty good,” Jisung interjects; he can feel his nerves slowly calming down thanks to Seoyeon’s friendly countenance.

“Ey! Oppa, you were supposed to choose my yukgaejang—I’m the one right here!”

Jisung grins. “I’m sorry, I’m trying a new thing where I don’t lie to anyone about anything anymore.”

Seoyeon gawks, and then follows with a small laugh. “Fair enough. So—do you have time for coffee?”

Jisung pauses to consider. “Are you sure?”

Seoyeon shrugs. “We don’t have to, right now, especially if you’re busy,” she chuckles, “and frankly, I do have to finish my shopping too, but rain check, maybe?”

Jisung nods slowly. “Yeah, okay, that sounds good.”

Seoyeon beams. “I’ll listen to your side of the story if you want to talk about it—or I can just catch you up with all the gossip.”

Jisung chuckles. “Sounds good. How’s Hayoung doing?”

“She’s great. She’s at her first sleepover right now, with Eunbi, at Minho-oppa's.”

“Oh. Wow.” Jisung tries to school his expression at the mention of Minho. “Must be having the time of her life.”

“Must be,” Seoyeon agrees, though her gaze lingers on him, a little too intent. It sets Jisung on edge. “How about you? How’ve you been?”

Jisung hesitates for a moment before answering, “I’ve been… alright. Been trying to keep busy, if anything.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I’ve been working on setting up a music program for the kids at an orphanage nearby,” he explains, rubbing the back of his neck. “Teaching them some basics, giving them instruments to play around with. It’s still a work in progress, but it’s been nice.”

Seoyeon’s expression softens, and she smiles. “That’s really great, oppa. The kids must love you, but I bet they don’t know how much of an honor it is, working with someone of your caliber, Peter Han of The Sound!”

Jisung laughs, nervous and embarrassed, so he decides to simply brush off the compliment. “I don’t know about that, but it’s something to do. Keeps me out of trouble.”

Seoyeon nods approvingly, though her gaze lingers a moment longer than he’s comfortable with. “Minho-oppa… he’s been different lately, you know,” she says after a moment, shifting the topic.

“Huh?”

Seoyeon shrugs, as if trying to downplay it, though her voice carries a weight. “A bit distant—distracted? I think he misses you.”

Jisung blinks; swallows hard at her words. “Huh?” he repeats.

“He was really happy when you joined the group,” Seoyeon continues. “So—what you did hit him the hardest, but I think he misses you anyway.”

Jisung frowns. “Has he said anything?”

“Not exactly,” Seoyeon admits. “But Eunbi sometimes has a big mouth. Kids talk, and our girls are best friends.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. Oh.” Seoyeon smiles sympathetically. “So—text me, okay? Let’s have coffee one of these days.”

“Alright.” Jisung agrees.

As she walks away, Jisung feels something strange brewing in his chest. It’s heavy, like the weight of regret, yet somehow there’s a flicker of warmth. A sprig of hope taking root despite himself.

He wonders what Minho would say if he showed up at his doorstep. Would he even listen to what Jisung has to say? He still remembers the amount of hurt painted on Minho’s face on that night they last saw each other, so Jisung knows it wouldn’t be as simple as just saying sorry. But if Seoyeon is right—if Minho really does miss him—maybe there’s a chance. Maybe Minho would hear him out, even if it hurt.

The thought is terrifying, but for the first time in weeks, it feels less impossible.

Looking back on his brief time as an idol had always felt quite embarrassing for Jisung—at least for the last decade or so. It was too short-lived, ending before the group could even properly peak because he chose to quit too early. He had burned out fast, ground down by relentless schedules, harsh criticism and the constant feeling that he didn’t quite belong. Now he doesn’t even keep contact with any of the guys from the group, even though every now and then news alerts would update him with how they’ve been doing. Overall, that chapter of his life had taken a toll on his confidence, leaving behind a version of himself that was all too content with living a stalled and stagnant life.

Ever since the Christmas show at the orphanage, though, things had finally—albeit very slowly—started to shift. Jisung now finds that he’s gotten better at looking back to that time period; at seeing the good parts too, amidst the bad. He had been so productive back then—partly because his hand had been forced, sure, but his love for music was genuine, and he put so much of himself into his songs, at least the earliest ones. It’s no surprise that songs from that time are the ones that hold up well. They were authentic and raw, songs that reflected a younger version of himself, eager and earnest, but also with lingering anger and frustration at the world; still relatable to him almost two decades later.

It’s through this self-reflection, by way of his old compositions, that he somehow, finally, comes up with a plan on how to approach Minho.

This is how he ends up here: standing outside Café Eunbi on a cold January evening, wrapped in his long padded jacket, holding a pair of high-quality Bluetooth speakers in his hands. Busan had seen rare snowfall earlier in the day—the chill lingers in the air, and Jisung’s breath clouds in front of him as he hesitates.

A few patrons inside the cafe seem to notice him and they glance at him through the glass windows. All Jisung can do is take a deep breath before he starts the music.

His song of choice isn’t even halfway through the first verse yet when the cafe chimes ring, and Eunbi is poking her pretty little head out of the door.

“Peter-ahjussi!” she exclaims, entire face lighting up when she recognizes him.

Jisung’s eyes grow wide, and tries to actively fight the growing embarrassment he feels. He certainly had not accounted for Eunbi's presence.

“What’s going on?” The glass door is pushed open wider, and Jisung stomach flips when Minho steps outside, and he’s able to observe the subtle changes in the older man’s expression when he realizes that it’s Jisung who is making a commotion outside his place of business: surprise, confusion, something unreadable. And yet, Jisung feels like he could interpret every nuance. He hopes—prays—that he’s reading him right.

Briefly, he also wonders if maybe he should have done this at Minho’s house instead.

The song continues to blast out of the speakers:

I run to this end of story, it won’t be a sad ending
I know that on the final page there will be an incredible plot twist
What if these expectations just explode and fall apart?
I hope this terrifying anxiety is just a dream that will disappear when I wake up

“Hi,” Jisung croaks out, barely heard over the music playing.

“What are you doing?” Minho asks, tilting his head slightly.

“Playing a song?” Jisung replies, awkwardly sounding unsure.

Minho blinks. “What?”

I wanna make you the happiest onе, no fear
So baby, hold my hand now

“What?” Jisung echoes; he fumbles with the speakers, trying to hold both with one hand as he lowers the volume on them.

“What are you doing?” Minho repeats.

“I wanted—needed to see you.”

“And now you've seen me.”

Jisung's heart sinks at Minho’s deadpan tone. “I’m sorry, hyung…”

“For disrupting service?” Minho crosses his arms, but this time, Jisung realizes that his tone holds a hint of exasperation mixed with a tinge of amusement rather than anger.

“Um.” Jisung glances past him, observing the smattering of customers left inside the cafe. It’s almost closing time so there aren’t a lot of them left—that’s why he chose this hour. Still, the people inside are all watching curiously through the glass windows, and Jisung feels a kind of pressure for it. “Well, yes, that,” he acknowledges, swallowing hard. Maybe this was a bad idea, after all.

But then Minho’s poker face softens. “You couldn’t have just called like a normal person?” he asked, lips twitching as if fighting a smile.

“Normal’s boring, isn't it?” Jisung retorts, trying to fight his nerves with playful banter.

Minho scoffs. “So what was that song about?”

“‘Hold my Hand’!” It’s Eunbi, clutching her father’s shirt, who yells in response.

Minho takes her tiny hand in his and he laughs, obviously fond—which is good for Jisung because that softens him up further.

“Your daughter is such a smart girl,” Jisung jests.

Minho snorts. “My daughter has an embarrassing affinity for English boybands who peaked before she was even born.”

Jisung gawks. Minho's eyes are twinkling and the teasing in his tone makes him think: maybe this isn't impossible after all.

“Eunbi-yah, go back inside for now,” Minho says. “Tell Hyejin-unnie that I’m going on a walk. I'll be back before we have to close up.”

“Can I come?” Eunbi asks, eyes going back and forth between Jisung and her Dad.

“Next time, okay?” Minho answers, always so patient with her. “Peter-ahjussi and I have to talk.”

“Okay.” Eunbi pouts, reluctantly letting go of her Dad’s hand before running back inside the cafe.

Once she’s inside, Minho turns to look at Jisung expectantly. “So? Talk.”

“Hyejin is closing?” he asks stupidly, which gets him a curt nod and nothing more. “We have half an hour to talk?” he clarifies next.

“Depends.”

“On what?”

Minho shrugs. “Aren’t you the one with things to say?”

Jisung bites the inside of his cheek and walks over towards Minho. “I’m sorry,” he repeats.

Minho hums. “What was the whole—” he lifts his hands over his head, mimicking how Jisung stood earlier in front of the cafe, holding his speakers aloft.

Jisung feels his face heat up. “I saw it in a movie. It’s supposed to help… melt your heart.”

Minho chortles, and it allows Jisung to smile. Minho leads the way and they start walking down the street, side by side.

“At the very least it was meant to get your attention,” Jisung mutters.

“And now you have it.”

Jisung sniffs; he also looks away, embarrassed—he’s still cradling the stupid speakers in his arms. “I wanted to apologize, but I also felt like a proper gesture was warranted to win you—your ear—over. Only saying sorry didn’t feel enough.”

Minho shakes his head. “A simple but genuine apology always goes a long way, Jisung-ah. Especially if you hurt someone.”

Jisung falls into silence. For a moment, despite the bustling street around them, it feels like they’re in a space that exists just for the two of them. He can almost hear his own brain working on overtime; his own heart nervously rabbiting.

“I’m really sorry, hyung,” he finally says. He probably sounds like a broken record to Minho, but he continues, “for lying to you—to everyone. For keeping that lie going for so long.”

Minho’s steps slow and Jisung’s apology hangs in the cold air between them. For a moment, he says nothing, just staring ahead like he’s considering his words carefully.

“I’m not gonna front, Jisung,” he finally speaks again, “It hurt. A lot.”

Jisung’s inside twist and turn. “I know. No excuses.”

Minho stops walking altogether; they’re at a corner, right under a street light, shadows playing on his features in a way that highlights his handsome looks. He turns to Jisung, hands buried deep in his pockets as though shielding himself from more than just the cold. “You don’t just lie about something like that, you know? Being a dad—it’s not some joke or performance. It’s… everything. It changes your whole life.” He inhales deeply. “Maybe that was on me, too, though—for not noticing how guarded you were when it came to talking about fatherhood.” He chuckles softly.

Jisung winces, shame curling in his chest. “I think I—I know that now? I didn’t back then. And I really never meant for it to last so long. Initially, I just… I enjoyed your company. The other moms, too. But I admit that I didn’t really consider just how much it would hurt you—or anyone else.”

Minho studies him as if trying to figure out how genuine he’s being, and Jisung feels really seen, almost uncomfortably so. Except it’s Minho, so he welcomes it with no hesitation, and he waits for his judgment.

“So, how's Jeongin?”

“Ah.” Jisung chuckles. “We’ve made good. He doesn’t think that I’m—we’re—going to hell anymore.”

Minho laughs. “Good to know.”

“Also, apparently, he's not sure if he wants to become a priest anymore.”

Minho looks at him with a curious and confused smile. “I didn't even know he wanted to be a priest.”

Jisung laughs. “I guess I never really mentioned it.” He shrugs. “He says he might want to work with kids in the future instead.”

“Oh?”

Jisung shrugs. “I didn't pry too much.” He looks up, smiling when his eyes meet Minho’s. “His faith is his and I don't want to meddle with that. I think I’m just hopeful that he's starting to open up his mind about these things—about me. He doesn't come over as frequently as he used to, but he's dropped by a few times to hang out.” He chuckled. “Mostly to raid my pantry. He’s actually coming by this Friday though, and he’s bringing a friend along. I think he told this friend about my gaming set-up—that I have mostly because of him, anyway.”

Minho nods, listening. “That sounds nice. It was weird that you wouldn’t talk much about his school life—or his mom, or specifics about him growing up, at that, but you always talked about him with a lot of care. Kind of made your lie more believable.”

Jisung winces. “Y-yeah… because I do. Care a lot about him. I saw a lot of myself in him, at least when I was a kid his age.”

Minho nods. “Honestly, Jisung,” his tone is softer now, “what I don’t understand is why you didn’t just tell me. Especially when… you know. We started getting closer.”

Jisung grimaces. “That’s what made it harder,” he admits. “I was scared that if I told you the truth, I’d lose the connection I’d started to feel with you. And with the moms, too.”

Minho’s lips press into a tight, thin line. “Look how that turned out.”

Jisung lets out a self-deprecating laugh. “I know. Pretty terrible.” He hesitates before adding, “But that’s why I’m here. I wanted to try… I don’t know, to make things right. If I can. If you’ll let me.”

“How do you think can you make it right?”

“I’m not sure, but I figured… starting out with pure honesty would be a good first step?”

“And what is the most honest thing you can think of telling me right now?”

Jisung swallows. “That I miss you, hyung,” he says simply. “And—I’m thinking that I would really like to… start over?” His eyes meet Minho’s, and he feels a rush of hope gather in his chest. Metaphorically, he crosses all his toes and fingers. “As friends, as anything. Just hanging out with you—even before I allowed myself to think that there was something between us… they were the highlights of my days.”

“Before you realized I wasn’t straight, you mean?”

Jisung groans. “Yes!”

Minho huffs. He looks away, gaze fixating instead on the glow of the streetlights. “I’m not gonna say it doesn’t still hurt a little,” he admits, his voice quiet. “But frankly… I’ve missed you too. You made my days a bit brighter. Less monotonous. And as much as I love being a dad, it was nice having you look at me like I wasn’t just that.”

“Oh.” Jisung feels like he’s probably blushing, because yes, Minho had been so much more than just someone’s father to him—embarrassingly so. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” Minho rolls his eyes, fond and exasperated at the same time. “I’m going to be honest too—it’s a strange feeling. I was mad at you for weeks, and then—I wasn’t mad anymore. I was just… disappointed. But even with all that, I kept thinking about how much better it was when you were around. It did not help that Eunbi got obsessed with The Sound and kept asking about Peter-ahjussi.”

Jisung chortles. “I’d like to spend time with her again too, if you’ll let me.”

“Tch.” There’s still a flicker of caution in his expression, understandably so, but his walls seem to be lowering, bit by bit. “You’re lucky she’s a very forgiving kid.”

“I’m lucky her Dad raised her to be.” Jisung grins. “So maybe I’ll get lucky with her Dad, too.”

“Don’t push your luck,” Minho retorts, a twinkle in his eyes.

He starts walking again, this time back towards the direction where they came from. The silence between them is much lighter this time, and it’s a nice surprise when he feels Minho’s hand slide into his jacket pocket.

Jisung gives him a look, and Minho shrugs, whispers, “Your hands aren’t free.” He smiles, and adds, “Even though your song was saying that you want to hold my hand.”

Jisung coughs out laughter. “Hyung…”

“Look,” Minho sounds more pensive. “You messed up—big time. But you’re here now, trying to own up to it. That means something. But just so you know, I’m not big on third chances.”

Jisung blinks; he’s almost unable to believe that this is really happening—that Minho is letting him back into his life. A genuine apology goes a long way, he had said earlier, and it seems he really meant it.

“Jisung-ah,” Minho calls his name.

“Hm—?”

Before he could turn around, or even guess what is happening, Minho suddenly leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek. It’s brief, just a brush of warmth against his chilled skin, but it sends a jolt through Jisung’s entire body. His wide eyes meet Minho’s, who looks amused at his reaction.

“There’s more where that came from,” Minho comments casually, playfully. “In time. As long as we continue to be good to and honest with each other.”

Jisung grins, bright and wide, his chest expanding with something light and buoyant. A part of him wants to question why Minho is being too forgiving, but he also wants to be kind to himself; to trust and accept good things when they come to him. So for now, he lets Minho lead him down the street, their hands brushing occasionally as they walk. For the first time in what feels like forever, the world doesn’t seem to be pressing down on him. The weight he’s been carrying—the regret, the loneliness—feels lighter, like it’s finally beginning to lift.

Everything around him seems a little brighter, the crisp January air brimming with possibilities he hadn’t noticed before. The warmth of Minho’s presence beside him is grounding, yet it also makes him feel like he could float.

For the first time in many years, Jisung feels like he has something real to look forward to.

ꨄ︎

It’s a crisp autumn day, cool and refreshing with a faint breeze blowing in the air. The trees in the amusement park are tinged with warm hues of red and orange, and the atmosphere is alive with laughter thanks to a fairly large crowd wandering around.

It’s Minho’s birthday, and to celebrate he’d agreed to go to an amusement park because that’s what his daughter wanted to do. Jisung is with him, and thanks in part to Eunbi’s insistence who has grown quite fond of him, Jeongin and his friend, Felix, were also invited and are tagging along.

The 8-year-old had been so excited leading up to the day, except now she’s in quite the mood. Her best friend, Hayoung, was supposed to come along as well, except she’d fallen ill at the last minute and now Eunbi keeps acting sulky every time she isn’t on a ride.

“I want to go on that one!” she suddenly declares, pointing towards a ride they’re approaching—the Giant Digger, which is one of the park’s more attractive thrill rides.

It’s only the three of them walking together, Jeongin and his friend having separated from them earlier so they could queue for a ride that wasn’t suitable for little children, just like this one.

Minho pauses and looks up at the looping ride; Jisung easily notices the way his jaw tightens. “Aegi, I think that one’s a little too intense for you—I don’t even think you can ride it with a guardian.”

“Yes, I can!” Eunbi insists. “I’m tall enough!”

Minho sighs and allows his daughter to pull him towards the ride entrance where he takes note of the height chart.

“See!” Eunbi stands next to the measurement markings, and Jisung almost laughs with the way she’s standing up very straight; he also notices that she’s discreetly trying to get on her tiptoes—which of course doesn’t go amiss with her dad.

“You barely make the cut,” Minho tells her patiently, “and either way I’m not letting you go on that ride alone.”

“You can go with me!” Eunbi exclaims, looking expectantly at Minho. “Or—” she turns her wide eyes towards Jisung who can only let out a nervous chuckle.

“The line’s pretty long, princess, maybe later?” Minho tries. “How about we go on the Flying Chickens again instead?”

Eunbi’s expression contorts into frustration and childish annoyance. “We’ve already been on that a million times! I want to go on a big kid ride!”

Jisung, who had been quietly observing, bites the inside of his cheek to stop a laugh. The “big kid” ride in question, the Giant Digger, is quite the coaster. By the looks of it, it loops, twists, and dives at stomach-churning speeds, and just observing it from the ground already makes him queasy. His fear of heights has only worsened as he got older, and he knows Minho is in the same boat as him regarding this.

“Eunbi-yah,” Minho attempts to calm his daughter, but the tightness in his tone tells Jisung that his patience is wearing thin.

“Mama would let me go on the ride!” Eunbi yells accusingly, glaring at her dad.

Jisung winces at the uncalled-for remark. Over the past year, he’s met Minho’s ex a few times and finds her sweet—a lovely and elegant woman who clearly adores her child. Yet, while they tackle all big decisions together, Jisung has been a close witness to Minho tackling the daily challenges of child rearing by himself.

Minho’s expression darkens. “Lee Eunbi!” he scolds her sharply. “Is that how you talk to your Papa?”

Eunbi huffs, turning her nose up in the air before stomping down the path with another word.

“Wow,” Jisung grimaces; he sighs and reaches over to rub Minho’s arm as the two of them follow after her. “You okay?”

“Just great.” Minho shakes his head. “I’m fine, but exhausted—too many people today.”

Jisung frowns, guilt settling in his chest. It’s Minho’s birthday, but he’d chosen to center it around his daughter—to be fair, she’s usually a sweet kid with a good head on her shoulders, but her attitude has seen way better days. “This is supposed to be your day, you know.”

Minho shrugs. “She’s my kid. I want her to have fun and that’ll make my day.”

“I’ll make it up to you later,” Jisung says softly, his tone warm and playful.

Minho lifts an eyebrow, eyes twinkling suggestively as the corner of his lips twitching upward. “Yeah? How?”

Jisung grins, swatting at his arm. “Use your imagination, but don’t ask me here. This is a PG establishment, kind sir.”

Minho laughs, and when his shoulders visibly relax, Jisung thinks he’d succeeded in lightening the mood—until Minho suddenly freezes.

“Wait. Where’s Eunbi?”

Jisung’s stomach drops and they both immediately scan the bustling crowd.

“Eunbi-yah!” Minho calls, his voice sharp and panicked.

“Lee Eunbi!” Jisung shouts, weaving through the throngs of people. The panic they’re both feeling keeps rising as they navigate the crowd, yelling her name.

Jisung finally spots a flash of the bright orange bag that Eunbi is carrying on her back, and he immediately grabs Minho’s arm to catch his attention and to point at the small figure moving through the crowd.

“Eunbi!” Minho yells again, but either his daughter can’t hear him or is deliberately ignoring him.

It’s proven to be the latter when she suddenly breaks into a run after she notices Minho and Jisung both speed walking after her. Eventually she rushes straight to the end of the line for the Cookie Train, a smaller rollercoaster, this one shaped like a colorful track of giant cookies, twisted and turned with just enough speed to be thrilling for younger riders.

“Lee Eunbi!” Minho barks. He’s a bit out of breath from chasing after Eunbi, and he’s clearly upset as he makes a beeline for his daughter.

The girl turns upon hearing her name, and when she spots them, her eyes immediately grow wide with childish fear. Minho immediately grabs her hand upon reaching her and pulls her away from the queue.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?” Minho berates her as he crouches to her level. “You can’t just run off like that! What if something happened to you?”

Eunbi doesn’t respond. She stubbornly keeps her lips pressed tightly together, jaw set in childish defiance. When Minho just stares at her, clearly waiting for a response, she turns away from him and instead runs straight towards Jisung, wrapping her short, slender arms around his waist.

Jisung freezes for a moment, startled. Eunbi looks up at him and when their eyes meet, he can't help but soften.

Minho, meanwhile, lets out a frustrated sigh. “Lee Eunbi,” he starts.

“Wait,” Jisung holds up a hand to stop Minho from continuing, a silent offer to let him try instead. When Minho gives him a subtle nod in response, he turns to Eunbi, gently patting the top of her head before lowering himself down to eye level with her.

“Eunbi-yah,” he coaxes her gently. “You know your Dad and I were both really scared when we realized you weren't with us anymore, right?”

Eunbi nods curtly.

“So why did you keep running away from us?”

“I wanted to go on the fun rides,” she whines, before adding, in a quieter tone, “I promised Hayoungie I’ll go on the big kid rides for both of us.”

Jisung holds back a chortle, and fondly ruffles her hair. “You can't go on all of them, though. And there's always next time—we’ll come back with Hayoung, and you can go on rides together.”

Eunbi pouts, but she nods.

“Do you have anything you want to say to your dad?”

Minho lifts an eyebrow at both of them. Eunbi swallows; continues to cling to Jisung's side even after he stands up to his full height again.

“Papa, I’m sorry,” she finally says, and to her credit, she sounds genuinely remorseful—as much as an 8-year-old can be, anyway.

Minho, as he tends to when it comes to his daughter, melts. “Just don't do that again, okay?”

Eunbi nods.

Minho holds his hand out to her, and she hesitates for a moment, glancing up at Jisung as if unsure if she wants to let go of him. Jisung smiles, nods at her and nudges her towards Minho—finally, she takes his hand.

“How about I call Jeongin and Felix, and tell them to meet us for lunch? Afterwards, the two of them can go on the Cookie Train with you?” Jisung offers, exchanging a quick look with Minho to make sure he's alright with the plan.

“Can we do that?” Eunbi lights up again as she waits for her father's approval.

“Okay, okay,” Minho agrees. “But lunch first is a good idea.”

After lunch at the park’s bustling food area, their five-person group wander around for a while before Minho and Jisung allow Jeongin and Felix to spirit Eunbi away towards the Cookie Train; Minho even agrees to let them take her on the Giant Splash if enough time is left.

At first he’s uncertain, wanting to wait a little more after eating, but Jisung points out they’re going to be in line for a while anyway, and,

“We can have more time to ourselves if they go,” he adds, lacing his fingers with Minho’s.

“Gross,” Jeongin comments at the sudden show of affection, but by now Jisung is aware he doesn’t really mean it, and he’s just teasing.

“Your daughter’s quite the thrill seeker,” Jisung tells Minho after they leave the children at the end of the ride’s queue, and the two of them walk towards the games area of the park.

“I don’t know who she gets it from,” Minho retorts.

Jisung grins. “I think you can be quite adventurous, hyung.”

Minho laughs. “Pretty sure that’s a different kind of adventure you're thinking about.” He pauses, a soft smile decorating his features as he gives Jisung a side nudge. “It was nice earlier, though.”

“What was?”

Minho shrugs casually. “Seeing Eunbi run to you when she was mad at me.” He chuckles. “I mean, I did kind of hate it in the moment, but it was… nice. Granted, in hindsight it was a little manipulative of her—” he laughs more, “but it also means she trusts you. That she’s really attached to you—I don’t think it’s me she wants to marry anymore when she grows up.”

Jisung snorts. “Don’t worry, some dorky pimply kid will take my place in a few years.”

“Don’t even joke, Han Jisung,” Minho threatens lightly.

Jisung laughs and squeezes his hand.

“Jisung-ah, how do you feel about Eunbi?” Minho murmurs, shifting into a more somber tone.

“What kind of question is that?” Jisung gawks at Minho and shakes his head. “You know I love her, hyung. Would totally take her side in every other argument she starts against you.”

“I think I’m supposed to feel hurt by that,” Minho says.

“Hey, for every other argument, you’ll have me.”

“You’re lucky you’re charming, otherwise I’ll leave you right here.”

Jisung grins, and Minho rolls his eyes. He does count himself lucky, but not because he sees himself as charming—he’s lucky that Minho is who he is: kind, funny, lovely, benevolent in his forgiveness of Jisung and all of his transgressions.

When he thinks about it, it’s crazy that it’s been more or less a year since he came clean about his lies to Minho. He thought he’d lost all his chances to be with the man after that, but here they are now. In some ways, he even feels like a father for real—twice over at that, with the way he continues to have Jeongin in his life, and of course, with Eunbi, who really has wormed her way into his heart.

“Han Jisung,” Minho calls his name softly, fondly.

“Hm?”

“What do you think about moving in together?”

Jisung coughs in surprise, almost choking in his own spit. “What?”

“I’ve been thinking about it more and more. We’re always together, anyway—and Eunbi loves you.” He grins mischievously. “Almost like you’re her fake Dad or something.”

“Hey!” Jisung pauses, before adding, “I guess it comes naturally because I’ve had practice.”

Minho hums. “You haven’t answered my question.”

Jisung stops walking, tightening his grip on Minho’s hand and gently urging him to turn his way. “I think that—of course I’d want to. I could move into your place, or you could move into mine—or we could look for a new place, it doesn’t really matter, I’m just excited at the idea of living with you and Eunbi.”

Minho’s shoulders relax, and Jisung realises that he had been really nervous about asking this—which is ridiculous considering Jisung isn't shy about being head over heels for him, but that’s also what makes it deeply endearing.

“I love you, Lee Minho,” he says fondly. It's not the first time he's said them to Minho, but the words feel simply right for the moment.

“I love you too,” Minho mumbles, and the bright red shade of his ears has Jisung reaching up to tug at them.

Life, Jisung thinks, truly has a way of surprising him. It has taught him how to make mistakes, and how to not let those mistakes paralyze you; has taught him that it's alright to stumble a little along the way, because as long as you choose to keep going, because when you do that, life will reward you. And now, standing here with Minho, he can appreciate just how much he's been given so much to look forward to—more than he ever imagined, or dared to dream. All because he worked on putting himself out there, and finally allowed himself to grow up and grow older.

👨‍👨‍👧

Notes:

bonus points for everyone who can explain why jisung changed minho's contact details to what he changed it to!
thanks for making it to the end! feedback is always appreciated; be honest but don't be rude ♡︎
feel free to reach out to me through the following avenues, and know that i always enjoy when people yell at me abt my fics and minsung in general through my retrospring!
TWT ♡︎ RS ♡︎ CARRD

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