Chapter Text
The supermarket doors slid open with a tired mechanical groan, spilling Park Humin into the fluorescent-lit maze of snacks and instant meals. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant and the fried chicken they kept under heat lamps near the deli counter, a scent that always made his stomach growl despite the questionable hygiene. He grabbed a basket, already mentally calculating how much ramen two people could carry without looking like complete losers.
Three packs of spicy chicken, two of seafood. Maybe that weird cheese flavor Juntae kept raving about. Baku was debating whether to splurge on soda when the hairs on his neck stood up.
"Stocking up for the apocalypse?”
Baku didn’t need to turn. That voice — smooth, smug, unmistakable — made his shoulders stiffen like someone had poured cold water down his spine.
He turned anyway.
Baekjin stood against the snack display, basket hanging from one arm, blazer crisp like he hadn't broken a sweat in years. Just a single bottle of green tea in his cart. Like he had no reason to be here. Like this wasn’t miles from the side of town he usually haunted.
Baku had seen glimpses — a flash of that familiar profile by the fried chicken place last week, across the street from the school two days ago — but he’d brushed it off. Coincidence. His mind playing tricks.
Now? Here?
It wasn’t coincidence.
He barely managed to keep his voice even. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Baekjin smiled, too slow and too knowing. “Still the same attitude. Thought that’d have changed by now.”
His gaze slid past Baku, scanning the aisle casually. But it wasn’t casual. Baku felt it in his teeth.
“Where’s your shadow today?” Baekjin asked. “Aren’t you usually conjoined at the hip?”
Baku’s fists tightened around the cart handle. “What do you want?”
“Can’t I say hi to an old friend?”
“We weren’t friends to begin with.” The words came out fast, harsh. Baku saw the flicker in Baekjin’s jaw — a muscle twitch he’d seen before, years ago. He was still easy to read, even now.
Baekjin didn’t respond right away. He let the silence grow heavy, stretching between them like wire, like something waiting to snap. Then he gave a humorless little laugh. “You look tired.”
“And you look like a stalker.”
Baekjin adjusted the cuff of his sleeve. “If I were stalking you, you’d be flattered.”
Baku’s mouth twitched, not quite a laugh. More like a grimace trying to pass for one. He opened his mouth to bite back when—
“Hey! Park Humin, are you picking ramen or harvesting the wheat?”
Gotak’s voice cut through the air, dry and exasperated. Baku turned instinctively, breath catching.
Gotak strode down the aisle with two tubs of ice cream under one arm and a six-pack of soda swinging from the other. He stopped beside Baku, sizing up Baekjin in one glance. No panic, no surprise. Just cool irritation, like Baekjin was gum on the sole of his shoe.
“Out of cookie dough,”.Gotak said, deadpan, eyes not leaving Baekjin. “Heartbreaking.”
Baekjin’s smile curled sharper. “There you are, Hyuntak. I was wondering how far Baku could get without the umbilical cord.”
“And I was wondering who let you out unsupervised.” Gotak’s voice was casual, but Baku caught the steel beneath it. “You buying your own groceries now? What next? Tying your own shoes?”
“Yeah, some things change. Unlike you.” Baekjin’s eyes narrowed slightly, then dropped to Gotak’s leg. “Still limping?”
Baku’s jaw clenched.
Just a flicker, the barest shift of muscle, but Gotak caught it. His fingers brushed Baku’s wrist, grounding, calm. Then he stepped forward half a pace, just enough to put himself between them.
“Still talking?” Gotak muttered.
The tension snapped tight. Baku’s grip on the cart went white-knuckled. His pulse thudded in his throat. He couldn’t look away from Baekjin — but he didn’t move. Not with Gotak there. Not with that hand on his wrist.
Baekjin’s gaze flicked between them. He tilted his head, that smirk trying to stay in place. But something behind it cracked — too faint for anyone else, maybe. Baku saw it.
“How domestic,” Baekjin murmured. And then — like it meant nothing — he dropped a protein bar into Baku’s cart. “For old times’ sake.”
Baku didn’t breathe.
Gotak slid his hand to the small of his back. Warm, steady. “Let’s go,” he said. “Before I start melting with the ice cream.”
Baku let himself be guided away, but he didn’t miss it — the way Baekjin’s fingers twitched at his side, like he hadn’t gotten what he came for.
The automatic doors wheezed shut behind them. Heat slapped against Baku’s face, sticky and loud, the summer air suddenly too thick.
Gotak loaded the bags in silence. His hand lingered on Baku’s shoulder a second too long.
“You okay?” he asked finally, voice low.
Baku stared at the protein bar sitting on top of the Pop-Tarts.
“No,” he said. “He’s going to be a problem again.”
Gotak grabbed the bags. "Let him try."
The simplicity of it, the quiet certainty, made something in Baku's chest loosen. He bumped their shoulders together as they crossed the parking lot. "Race you to Suho's house?"
Gotak snorted, before shoving the bags right into his chest. “Only if you carry these, loser.”
Baku staggered back a step, eyes wide, but Gotak was already grinning, the challenge in his eyes unmistakable.
As they reached the sidewalk, Baku glanced back just once. A familiar silhouette stood framed in the supermarket's glowing windows, watching. He turned up the volume on his headphones and didn't look back—
-
Suho’s apartment was the kind of messy that didn’t come from laziness, but from too many people treating it like neutral ground. A forgotten hoodie draped over a chair, half a pack of wet wipes on the counter, empty cups lining the windowsill like trophies. Comfortable chaos.
The TV murmured quietly in the background, some cooking show no one was really watching. Juntae was sprawled across the floor, picking at a bag of chips. Sieun sat curled at one end of the couch, cross-legged, phone in hand, ignoring everyone with practiced ease.
Gotak sat on the floor with his back against the couch, a bottle of soda resting on his knee. He hadn’t said much since they arrived, but that wasn’t unusual.
Baku dropped into the only open beanbag with a soft grunt and tossed a tub of melting ice cream in Suho’s general direction. "Put this in the freezer before it becomes soup."
Suho caught it one-handed. "You're late."
"Blame Gogo. He got distracted by the seafood aisle."
Gotak looked at him in disbelief. “You wandered off, asshole.”
"I was picking noodles."
“You spent ten minutes comparing two brands with identical ingredients.”
Baku pointed a chip at him. “Brand loyalty is real.”
The banter bounced easily between them, stitched together with years of shared silence and louder things. But something snagged. Gotak’s voice had cooled. And Baku wasn’t really laughing.
Suho, still lounging on the couch, raised an eyebrow. “You two good? Did something happen?”
Baku didn’t answer right away.
Gotak unscrewed the cap on his drink. "Na Baekjin."
That pulled a glance from Sieun. Even Juntae paused mid-chew.
“Seriously?” Suho asked. “I thought that guy evaporated.”
“Apparently not,” Baku muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “We ran into him at the supermarket. Not even close to our place. He came right up to me.”
“Did he talk to you?” Sieun asked, calm but watching carefully now.
“Yeah.” Baku hesitated. “Still gives me the creeps.”
He hadn’t told Gotak this part—not yet—but over the past week, he’d caught glimpses. A figure across the street near the chicken place. At the edge of the school gates. Just far enough that he could doubt himself. He’d brushed it off. Coincidence. He wanted it to be coincidence.
But now? Baekjin showing up in a completely different part of town, perfectly unbothered, perfectly dressed, smiling like nothing ever happened? That wasn’t chance. That was intent.
Gotak didn’t say anything, but Baku could feel the weight of him, close and steady. He always had a way of being quiet that made you feel like you were still being heard.
Juntae crossed his arms. “Did he say anything about... you know. Back then?”
“No.” Baku shook his head. “Didn’t bring it up.”
Sieun looked up from his phone. “Do we have to worry about him?”
“No,” Baku said too fast. “It’s not like before. He probably just happened to be there.”
The room went quiet. Not tense—just careful.
Suho was the first to speak. “You sure? I wasn’t around back then, but you guys made it sound like he was hard to shake.”
Juntae nodded. “Didn’t you say he kept showing up at school after you broke up? Like, every day?”
“He did,” Baku admitted. “It was... a thing.”
He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. They all knew at least parts of it—the clingy texts, the sudden appearances, the drama. What they didn’t talk about was worse. The time Baekjin got mean. Violent. The time Gotak’s leg got so wrecked the doctor wasn’t sure he’d walk right again. Nobody brought that up now, but Baku saw it—how their eyes flicked briefly to the way Gotak kept his foot planted, stiff and careful, like his muscles still remembered what fear felt like.
Gotak gave a small, reassuring smile. “I doubt it’ll be like that again.”
Baku cleared his throat. “You said that last time too.”
Gotak sighed. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“I’m just saying.” Baku’s voice was low.
Suho cut in, voice calm and dry. “Don’t worry. If he shows up again, I’ll run him over with my wheelchair.”
Baku barked a laugh. “I’d pay to see that.”
He leaned further into the beanbag, trying to ease the tension from his shoulders, trying to listen to the room instead of the echo of Baekjin’s voice in his head.
It was probably nothing.
But Gotak didn’t stretch his bad leg out too far. And Baku’s hand stayed resting just close enough to brush his.
Just in case.