Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It shouldn’t be hard, considering they don’t have a relationship. All Jeongin has to do is say it was Hyunjin’s idea. It was Hyunjin’s plan. It was Hyunjin’s execution. He broke the glass and he stole the ring and he put Jeongin in this position.

All Jeongin has to say is he’s innocent and Chan will make it so.

“I can’t do that,” Jeongin says. He lifts his head to meet Chan’s eyes with a resigned defiance that will ruin all of Chan’s hard work.

“Why not?” Chan asks. Begs, more like.

“I love him,” Jeongin admits. Not his first admission of the night, but his most important one.

“Yeah?” Chan says, the corner of his mouth tugging up just the tiniest bit. In many ways, this is bad news. In many ways, it’s the best news.

Assuming they have a relationship. If they don’t—if Jeongin is doing this for an ex—Chan will be quite annoyed to say the least.

“Yeah,” Jeongin nods. “And it’s stupid and I shouldn’t be talking to you but it’s you. It’s you. And it’s Hyunjin and I can’t tell you anything about him because he’s not involved.”

Chan blinks. That certainly can’t be true.

“Jeongin—”

“Hwang Hyunjin is not involved in the theft of the Beholden ring,” Jeongin says, speaking directly to the camera situated just over Chan’s shoulder. He enunciates clearly, projecting his voice in such a way as to leave no confusion. “I made a plan to steal it. I tried to carry out that plan on my own and failed. The ring is probably still at the exhibit. I think it got knocked over when the glass broke, I don’t know. I don’t have it, but neither does Hyunjin. He’s not involved. If he admitted to being involved, it’s because he got confused.”

“Jeongin…”

“He’s innocent,” Jeongin says. Begs, more like. “He’s completely innocent. You have to believe me.”

“I don’t,” Chan sighs. He rubs his eyes with his left hand, then with his right, then with both. “You’re lying.”

“Chan—”

“It’s the middle of the night,” Chan interrupts, placing his hands down on the table. He stares at Jeongin with an honest intensity that he usually reserves for his own reflection. “Nobody is standing on the other side of that mirror. I never turned that camera on.”

“Okay…” Jeongin trails off, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“The CCTV footage from tonight?” Chan continues. “It doesn’t exist. Videos of you and Hyunjin and whoever you had sneak into the back to turn off the lights. Something went wrong with the cameras when the power cut out. The footage was erased.”

“But you have screenshots—”

“The footage was erased,” Chan repeats. He slides some ducks out of his manila folder and tears them in half, one by one. Images of Jeongin in his uniform at the event, images of Jeongin and Hyunjin at Bean Town, all ripped asunder. “You didn’t confess. You didn’t say anything at all except to ask for water.”

“But you said Hyunjin admitted—”

“Write down exactly what I tell you and then leave,” Chan says. He pulls a piece of printer paper from his folder—totally matte, thank you very much—that he prepared for this exact scenario. A pen as well. He shoves them across the table toward Jeongin.

“I don’t understand,” Jeongin says, tentatively taking the pen in one hand and the paper in another.

“Yes you do,” Chan says. “Because it’s me. And it’s you.”

...

The first problem is that it was a promise made in earnest. The second problem is that Chan has no idea how to keep it.

“I’ll take care of you, okay?” he had said. “Just find me if you need anything.”

But he shouldn’t have said it like that. Because Yang Jeongin is just a kid. Not like Chan, who’s fourteen. Yang Jeongin can’t possibly find him if he needs something. Chan should be doing the finding. He’s fourteen.

So, Chan starts finding.

He has Jeongin’s name and his face a terrible suspicion about who his father might’ve been. They look so alike. What a horrible coincidence if they aren’t related. What a horrible coincidence if they are.

When Officer gets home—still in uniform despite being off duty—Chan asks to use his laptop.

It’s for a project, he says. It’ll only take a few minutes, he says. Next time do this shit at school, Officer says.

Chan would do this shit at school if he could, but it’s not for school. It’s for a project.

Project Find Yang Jeongin and Protect Him From Everything.

Officer’s laptop was issued to him by the government. Or maybe by the police station. Which might be the same thing. But either way it has access to all sorts of databases and case files that Chan shouldn’t be looking at.

And he doesn’t look at these things often. Just once or twice before. Because Officer told Chan to help him edit a PDF and Chan was ten and clueless. Because Officer left his laptop open and Chan was twelve and curious. Because Officer let Chan borrow his laptop and Chan is fourteen and scheming.

He searches for the train station suicide with all the information he has on the matter. Which is quite a bit, considering he was very involved in that suicide.

Yang Junho. What a horrible coincidence.

From there, Chan finds information about Junho’s son left behind, how they found him, where they took him, how they found him again once he ran away, where they took him for real this time.

Foster care makes sense. Chan would’ve adopted him if he could’ve. Probably not as a son. Maybe as a brother. Chan doesn’t know much about adoption, but he thinks they would’ve let him do this if he had submitted a formal request on time.

He can’t figure out which agency placed Jeongin in a home or which home they placed him in, but Chan can research all the agencies in Seoul, narrow it down by reasonable proximity, and patrol nearby neighborhoods at peak times for a chance at seeing Yang Jeongin. And what’s even better is Chan can do that research at school after all.

For the next three months, Chan is late to class every single morning and ditches early every single afternoon so he can race around the city in an attempt to catch Yang Jeongin’s comings and goings. It’s ruinous to his reputation and his bedroom door both, but it works.

Chan sees Yang Jeongin. Walking and then skipping and then running with two other boys. Chan follows them, but not in a creepy way. Just in a Project Find Yang Jeongin and Protect Him From Everything way.

He watches them enter a kind of big house and even though Chan waits, Yang Jeongin doesn’t re-emerge.

That must be where his bed is.

Chan commits the location to memory, then he commits to visiting the area as often as he can. Just in case Yang Jeongin needs him. And as it turns out, Yang Jeongin does.

It’s against the rules to solicit in front of grocery stores without proper permission, but people do it anyway. Usually, nobody cares. But when a young boy wearing sort of white shoes that don’t fit and a jacket that doesn’t fit and a pouch around his waist does it all by himself, people get concerned. And then they call the cops. Not to arrest the boy, probably. Just to make sure he’s okay.

Chan isn’t so sure they won’t arrest him anyway, though. Or at least take him away to a new home. Chan doesn’t know if Jeongin’s living situation is good or bad, but he seems to like those other two boys and Chan definitely likes knowing where Jeongin is.

So, when the cops are called and the cops come, Chan decides it’s time to pick up some groceries.

“Officer Kwon!” Chan shouts, his voice loud enough to cross the entire parking lot. He waves big and bold, catching Officer Kwon’s attention as well as Jeongin’s.

“Bang’s kid?” Officer Kwon asks. “Chan, right? What are you doing here?”

“It’s for a project,” Chan beams. He jogs up to Officer Kwon, placing himself between him and Jeongin. “Comparing prices of the same goods at different stores.”

“Couldn’t you do that online?”

“It’s more accurate to do it in person.”

“You’re just like your dad,” Officer Kwon laughs. Chan throws up in his mouth a little. “Always making things harder than they need to be.”

By the time Officer Kwon remembers why he’s there, his target has vanished. He doesn’t seem particularly worried about it. Especially when there’s a sale to take advantage of instead.

Chan sees Jeongin more frequently after that. Walking to school, as usual. Walking home, as usual. But Jeongin lingers behind his friends just a bit. Just enough to glance around, to catch sight of him, to wave.

Then, Chan sees him peeking out of a window in his house. Then at a playground. Then next to the bus stop. Places he hasn’t seen him before, but he sure is seeing him now. And when Jeongin sees him back, he always waves hello or goodbye or both.

Chan waves, too, except for when Jeongin is running. Which happens infrequently, but it does happen. Because sometimes Jeongin gets into trouble and he has to run, so he runs to wherever Chan might be and Chan sees him and Chan knows just what to do.

“Did a kid come through here?” a man asks—burly and out of breath and wearing a security uniform. Not quite a cop, but close enough.

“Yeah,” Chan nods, pointing in the opposite direction of where Jeongin went. “He was sprinting and kind of crying. Like he might’ve done something bad.”

“Thanks,” the security guard says, then takes off again. Chan isn’t sure what Jeongin might’ve done or if it might’ve been bad, but Chan also doesn’t really care. He owes Jeongin this indifference, he thinks.

He owes Jeongin a lot, he thinks. More than he can give him if things continue the way they are.

Chan distracts and evades and guides and protects and Jeongin knows he does it. Lets him do it. Probably wants him to.

They don’t speak about it. Just wave. And that’s enough for Chan if it’s enough for Jeongin.

But when Chan turns nineteen, he realizes that it’s not enough. Not really. He won’t always be able to interfere the way he needs to. Which means Jeongin is going to get caught. He’s going to go to jail. Or worse, end up at a train station.

Chan can’t let that happen. And as much as Chan hates to admit it, there’s only one way Project Find Yang Jeongin and Protect Him From Everything can continue.

“I’m enrolling in the police academy instead.”

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s not a joke.”

Chan wishes it was. But it’s not. He withdraws from junior college and he enrolls in the police academy and when it’s all said and done, everyone calls him Officer while he’s in uniform.

He has a reputation, Officer Bang. Such a hard worker. So dedicated to his job. His juniors look up to him, his seniors give him the tasks they don’t want to deal with. Officer Bang is happy to do it. The more he’s trusted, the more he can fudge.

And he does fudge, quite a bit.

Officer Bang works himself to the bone looking into every petty crime case they get. If the description matches Jeongin, their outdated system loses some files. If there’s security footage, their outdated system erases it. For years he does this.

Not that Jeongin realizes it. He hasn’t seen Chan since they were teenagers, let alone Officer Bang. Or rather, Detective Bang at this point. It’s safer that way. Easier.

But Jeongin gets bold. He gets glitter. He gets into the Seummu. That one’s harder to cover up, but Chan manages to do it anyway. And he takes note of the only piece Jeongin didn’t touch, because it was Jeongin. The CCTV footage was clear enough while it still existed.

Chan looks into Hwang Hyunjin, just to see. He finds a mostly defunct fan forum and then finds photos that would look lovely printed on glossy paper and then he hears about the Park Hosung Memorial Exhibit and then he thinks Jeongin will be there. Because Hyunjin will be there. And they have a relationship, if the forums are to be believed.

He doesn’t anticipate any sort of schemes. Just an evening reminiscing. Mourning. The kind of atmosphere that would lend itself to a sort of hello and a sort of goodbye.

Hello, Jeongin, do you remember who I am? Goodbye, Jeongin, I can’t keep doing this. Hello, Jeongin, it was me helping you all along, did you know? Goodbye, Jeongin, it’s getting too risky. You’re going to be caught one day and there’s nothing I can do about it. I worry my intervention has made things worse for you. Enabled you. I worry I’ve become something I absolutely hate. Goodbye, Jeongin, you’ll be on your own now. Please make smarter choices.

He thought he could flash his badge at the door and they’d let him into the exhibit without an invitation, which was correct. He thought he could find Jeongin next to Hyunjin and pull him aside, which was incorrect. Jeongin is all around. With a serving tray. Working.

Hyunjin is ignoring him. Working, too, but in a different sort of way.

Which is strange. Because they have a relationship. Or they did, at least.

And then Jeongin lingers near a roped-off room. Which is also strange. And then the power goes off. Which is even stranger. And then Chan approaches with his flashlight, then Chan hears glass shatter, then Chan finds the beginnings of a crime scene.

Chan exhales. He wishes he hadn’t flashed his badge. He wishes he hadn’t flashed his light. Because now people can see and now people can shout arrest them, Officer! And now Chan has to arrest them because he’s the officer and people can see.

This was not part of Project Find Yang Jeongin and Protect Him From Everything. But as Yang Jeongin and Hwang Hyunjin are carted away to the station, as Chan stays behind to investigate the scene, he realizes he still hasn’t said goodbye. Which means he can still help. And he’s happy to help.

And then there, in the dark of a planned power outage, Chan finds a ring. Just sitting among the glass. Which is even strangest still.

...

It makes sense in a nonsensical sort of way that Chan is here and has been here this entire time.

Not here as in: the storage unit. Here as in: Jeongin’s life. Here as in: watching over him from the sidelines and the shadows and the CCTV footage.

Part of Jeongin wishes Chan had been here as in: by his side. Here as in: his friend. But part of Jeongin knows now and knew even back then why Chan’s sort of white shoes were also sort of red. Part of Jeongin knows who Chan really sees when he looks at Jeongin.

“So…like a fucked up guardian angel,” Hyunjin says, digesting Chan’s story. It seems to be giving him a stomach ache. Which is strange to Jeongin. He thinks it’s quite a comforting tale. Like warm soup and homemade bread.

Not that Jeongin has ever had homemade bread. Mostly just garbage puke sludge. But this is what he imagines homemade bread would be like.

He opens his mouth to say as much, but a loud banging at the garage-style door causes him to yelp instead.

Hyunjin grabs hold of Jeongin’s shoulders, shifting him to the side as they all stare at the source of the noise. Chan takes a tentative step forward, reaching for a holster that does not sit at his hip.

“I don’t think anyone followed me,” a voice says. Jeongin relaxes. Hyunjin, too. But not Chan. He slowly slides the door back up, inviting a frigid gust of wind inside along with Kim Seungmin. “I was care—oh, shit,” he says, stopping short when he sees Chan. Seungmin raises one fist and one finger gun, both aimed at Chan. “Put your hands where I can see them!”

“You must be the lawyer,” Chan says, looking him over. He steps to the left, allowing Seungmin the space he needs to fully enter. Which he does, weapons still drawn.

“Clearly, I’m a police officer,” Seungmin says, glancing at Jeongin and Hyunjin as if to say, just go with it. God, please just go with it. “And you’re under arrest.”

“Seungmin,” Hyunjin sighs, rolling his eyes. “He’s a police officer.”

“Actually, I’m not,” Chan says. He holds his hands up in a sign of surrender, as if to say, I’m going with it. “Not anymore, I mean. I resigned right after you left. Turned my badge in and everything.”

“How’d you know we’d come here?” Jeongin asks. He steps away from Hyunjin to paw at Seungmin’s fist and finger gun, coaxing him to relax a little. “I thought I really convinced you that me and Hyunjin weren’t together.”

“I didn’t know,” Chan admits. No longer under arrest, Chan closes the door again and moves to stand next to the closest space heater. “I just followed you. Like I said, Jeongin, you aren’t very good at this.”

“So, it really has been you?” Jeongin asks. “This whole time, whenever I got into trouble, you were pulling strings behind the scenes to make sure I didn’t face consequences?”

“Not always,” Chan says. “I’m sure there are things you’ve done that I don’t know about. But, yeah, I did a lot of fudging to keep your name clean.”

“Aren’t you worried about being arrested for tampering with evidence or whatever?” Hyunjin asks.

“Not really,” Chan shrugs. “You’d be surprised how many crimes go unsolved due to plain old police incompetence. Or indifference.”

“Damn,” Jeongin mumbles. “I really thought I was just super sneaky.”

“Nope. None of you are,” Chan says. He points at Seungmin, who instantly points back. “I saw the lawyer on the security footage turning off the power. Every single one of you would’ve been caught.”

“Shit,” Hyunjin mutters. “We didn’t consider that the breaker would be under surveillance, too.”

“Where is that footage by the way…?” Seungmin asks, narrowing his eyes.

“Chan said it doesn’t exist,” Jeongin says.

“Yeah, not anywhere people can find,” Chan nods. “I previewed the footage at the studio—which is part of why it took me so long to get to the interrogation, sorry Jeongin.”

“No problem.”

“And then I had security transfer it over to this flash drive,” Chan finishes, fishing said flash drive out of his pocket.

“Do you mind if I…?” Seungmin trails off, extending his hand. Chan places the flash drive into it, then gasps as Seungmin slams the flash drive onto the ground and stomps on it over and over again. It’s not a very good way to destroy a flash drive. Jeongin will make sure it’s properly unusable once they get home. Maybe he’ll flush it down the toilet.

Well.

Maybe not, actually.

Jeongin doesn’t have a great relationship with flushing things down the toilet.

“Wow, Seungmin,” Hyunjin says, his voice monotone.

“Can’t be too careful.”

“The studio still has their own copy, you know,” Hyunjin says.

“They don’t,” Chan says. “It is remarkably easy to be left alone in security rooms when you’re in uniform and you ask for privacy with a very stern tone. And then it’s remarkably easier to just…delete stuff.”

“You don’t think the studio people will get suspicious when their footage goes missing?” Seungmin asks.

“Not really my problem,” Chan shrugs. “The security guard must’ve corrupted the files when he transferred everything onto my flash drive. Oh, you want to see the flash drive? Sorry, that’s classified.”

“Your cop voice is kind of scary,” Seungmin says. “Also? Kind of hot.”

“So,” Hyunjin begins, his face twisting with skepticism. “What happens when some guy straight out of the academy thinks he can rid the police force of corruption, starts investigating unsolved cases, and finds a pattern of security footage mysteriously going missing every time you’re involved?”

“This isn’t a movie, and it’s not every time I’m involved,” Chan says. He gestures toward Jeongin with his chin before continuing. “It’s every time he’s involved, which isn’t actually that often. And the footage doesn’t always go missing. Sometimes it’s genuinely too distorted to really tell. And regardless, I have a good reputation. People like me. I book regularly. The scandal of legacy Detective Bang Chan turning out to be a dirty cop would be so damaging, they’d have to change a lot of things about how the station is run. Or at least pretend to. They’ll cover everything up before they take me down. Assuming they put the pieces together to begin with. Which they won’t. Because this isn’t a movie.”

“Can we get out of here?” Jeongin asks. There’s more to talk about, he’s sure. And they still need to do something with the flash drive that has been stomped, though not really ruined. But Jisung and Felix are waiting. Probably freaking out that it’s taking so long. Probably convinced everyone has died and they’re next. “It’s late and it’s cold.”

“Do you need a place to stay?” Chan asks.

“No, he doesn’t,” Hyunjin says, sliding an arm around Jeongin’s waist.

They hadn’t really talked about this part. Where does Jeongin go once his bed is no longer a bed but instead an art piece? When his house is no longer a house but instead an empty storage unit?

Jisung and Felix probably assumed he’d go there. Hyunjin clearly assumes he’s going with him. And now Chan’s implied invitation, too.

It’s late and it’s cold, but the realization that Jeongin is spoiled for choice in this matter warms him up completely.

Chan slides the garage-style door up again. Then down again. Then they all trudge through the not quite winter, not quite spring early morning air.

“Is nobody going to question why this dirty cop is randomly on our side?” Seungmin mutters. It’s intended for Hyunjin, but Jeongin hears it, too.

“Oh,” Hyunjin says. “You missed that part.”

“Is nobody going to question why Seungmin showed up pretending to be a lawyer?” Jeongin counters.

“I turned off the power and left like I was supposed to. You kept me waiting for hours,” he whines. “So I figured something was up. Checked social media, saw people talking about a weird robbery attempt at the exhibit. Wasn’t hard to connect those dots.”

“So, your next step was to break into my interrogation room?” Hyunjin snorts.

“I’m nothing if not a good friend.”

The three of them laugh in a chorus of casual camaraderie. Jeongin looks for Chan, wondering why his voice failed to intermingle, only to find him far behind and turning away.

Jeongin separates from Seungmin and Hyunjin—quite literally, as Hyunjin does not want to let their arms detangle. But Jeongin breaks free and Jeongin jogs back to Chan, the ground sloshing beneath his feet.

“Hey, Chan,” Jeongin pants, slowing to a halt when Chan waits for him.

“What’s up?”

A lot is up, Jeongin thinks. He was arrested tonight and Chan got him out. Well, Chan arrested him in the first place. But Jeongin understands why he had to do that. And, sure, Chan tried to pin the whole thing on Hyunjin. But Jeongin made it seem like he didn’t care about Hyunjin at all. And, sure, Chan was the last person to ever see his father alive. And that truth hurts every time Jeongin looks at him. But Chan doesn’t like it any more than Jeongin does.

All Chan ever wanted was to keep his promise. And he did. For so long. All by himself.

Jeongin does it quickly because if he doesn't, he won’t do it at all. He lurches forward, wrapping Chan in a hug long overdue.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, the words muffled by Chan’s jacket. “For everything.”

“I told you I’d take care of you,” Chan says, returning the affection.

“You don’t have to anymore. I’ll be safe. Promise.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“What about you?” Jeongin asks, pulling away with eyes pretending they aren't wet.

“Me?” Chan says. His eyes aren’t pretending at all. He lets his own tears fall freely.

“Will you be okay?” Jeongin asks. “You quit your job.”

“It hasn’t really sunk in yet,” Chan says. He wipes at his cheeks, surprised at his own emotion. “It’s like this entire chapter of my life is closing, you know? Looking after you, being a police officer…But I have a plan. And I’m excited for whatever comes next.”

“Good,” Jeongin nods.

“Jeongin!” Hyunjin shouts, much too loud for the late hour. But it’s either shouting or running up to them to be heard. So, of course he’s shouting. “I’m cold!”

“Boyfriend’s calling,” Chan grins, ruffling Jeongin’s hair. “Better get going.”

Jeongin looks over his shoulder at Hyunjin. Then back to Chan. He gives him one last hug and one last promise.

“Just find me if you need anything,” Jeongin says. “Okay?”

“I will,” Chan says.

Jeongin doesn’t think he will. Jeongin doesn’t think he’ll need to. He has a plan, after all. They both do.

...

A plan, when executed, should be executed with care and precision. Chan learned that from the French. Well, he thinks he did, at least. Because the French know a thing or two about executions. But now that Chan considers it, he’s not sure how careful or precise they were about the whole ordeal.

Chan may or may not execute his plan like the French would. But he does execute it. With caution, and with kindness instead.

Which is definitely not French, but it’ll do nonetheless.

He begins with food banks. Just dropping off donations whenever donations are needed. Then, he asks if they want help. Sure, he can lift heavy boxes of canned goods. Sure, he can pick out items that have expired already. Sure, he can come back next week. And the week after. And the week after. He’s unemployed, after all. And he wants to help.

Next, he goes to the community center, to shelters, to protests when they happen—anywhere he can give his time and his expertise.

He overhears a lot of conversations about people getting pushed around by cops, by partners, by anyone who thinks they’re an easy target. He asks them, do you know how to twist out of someone’s grip if they’ve got you by the wrist? Do you know how to throw a punch without breaking your hand? Do you want me to show you?

And of course they want him to. And of course Chan does.

Usually in parking lots outside of food banks, community centers, shelters, protests when they happen.

It looks a little scary, Chan showing all these folks how to defend themselves. Sometimes people think he’s being jumped. Sometimes people think he’s doing the jumping. Eventually, though, everyone knows that’s just Chan.

The community center asks him if he wants to run a self-defense workshop. Chan says, sure! The community center says they can’t really pay him for it. Chan says, I’d turn it down if you tried. Chan says, I’m happy to help.

And he is. And he does. He gets a boring job at a boring office to pay his boring bills so he can spend his exciting evenings at the community center four times a week.

He’s looking, of course he is, but he’s not searching. He’s not asking around. He’s not following leads. Just keeping his eyes peeled. Just in case he comes.

And he does come. Not for Chan, though. There are other events at the community center, after all.

When Chan sees Minho again for the first time in years, he wants to cry. Then hide. Then cry while hiding.

He does neither.

Instead, he approaches the table at which Minho stands, prepared to sign people in for the event once it starts.

The community center is hosting a fundraiser for after school programs to keep youths off the streets. Chan knows because Chan pitched the idea.

“Do you have a warrant?” Minho asks. The same way you might ask, do you have a pen?

“No,” Chan blinks. He pats his pockets as if a warrant might appear. Or a pen. Not that he needs either. Minho has a pen. He’s using it to sign people in.

“Then fuck off.”

“I’m not a cop anymore, Minho,” Chan says. He didn’t mean to say Minho’s name. That’s probably too familiar. Is it too late to cry while hiding?

“Really?” Minho asks. He tilts his head up and sniffs the air once, twice. “Then why do I smell pork?”

“I had samgyeopsal for lunch.”

“Funny,” Minho says. The same way you might say, Kill yourself, Prime Minister! “What do you want?”

“I want to help,” Chan says. And he does. Minho tries to stop him, to say we don’t want you here. But then the other volunteers arrive. They greet Chan. They know him. No, he’s not a cop. He works a boring office job. Yes, he’s supposed to be here. He pitched the idea.

Chan didn’t know Minho would be here. He wasn’t searching. He’s glad to have found him anyway. To have shown that he’s different now. Maybe not good, but definitely not the same. Definitely trying to be better.

That’s where he expects it to end. One chance encounter. But Minho keeps popping up every few weeks. He’s not searching either, Chan is sure of that, because Minho makes it known each time that he’s annoyed to see Chan at the same food bank, community center, shelters, protests when they happen.

Chan gives him space. He doesn’t seek him out. He doesn’t bother him. He just helps. And when Chan thinks of another way to help—a risky way—he musters up his courage.

“They gave me an extra,” Chan says, offering a cup of Bean Town coffee and an overpriced pastry to Minho. Of course, they didn’t give him an extra. Of course, he paid for this himself. Just to test the waters.

“I don’t want it,” Minho says. Not looking. Waters tested, waters failed.

“Okay,” Chan smiles. He gives the coffee and the pastry to another volunteer. It’s received with appreciation. Chan is satisfied with that.

Something changes, though Chan doesn’t know exactly what. The weather, certainly. His day job, certainly not.

Maybe it’s because Chan volunteered to do face painting at the summertime festival the community center put on. Maybe it’s because each child walked away covered in glitter when all they wanted were some tiger stripes.

Maybe it’s because Minho had to take over for him so Chan could have a lunch break and when Chan came back, all the children finally had their tiger stripes. And were also covered in glitter. Maybe it’s because the line for face painting got so long, they both had to stay.

Maybe it’s because they silently turned it into a competition—who can paint the most children with the best results? Maybe it’s because they both ended up covered in glitter themselves. Maybe it’s because they couldn’t stop laughing.

Not the next time and not the next time but the time after that, Minho approaches Chan. They’re picking up trash today. Keeping the streets clean. At four in the morning.

“They gave me an extra,” Minho says, offering a Bean Town cup of coffee and an overpriced pastry to Chan.

“Really?” Chan asks, staring at the gift. The same way you might stare at the sun before you remember you’re not supposed to do that. Minho shrugs. The same way you might shrug when you’re being really casual and stuff. “I’m not—”

“You don’t have to take it,” Minho says, pulling the cup and pastry away so fast, a bit of the coffee sloshes out of the lid. “It’s fine.”

“Minho,” Chan says, reaching out to grab Minho’s wrist before he can run off. Because he is about to run off, both feet already pointing in the other direction. “Thank you. Seriously. I was just going to say…Haeri mentioned she didn’t eat breakfast this morning.”

Chan points his chin toward one of the other volunteers. She’s a short girl with short hair and a short temper, but Chan likes her quite a bit. It’s cute when she’s mad and it’s even cuter when she starts to fall asleep while standing.

“And you did?” Minho asks, following Chan’s gaze.

“I did.”

“I can’t give this to Haeri,” Minho says, thrusting the drink and pastry back at Chan. “She has a crush on me.”

“Poor thing,” Chan laughs, shaking his head at her doomed feelings. “I’ll do it, then.”

“And get all the credit?”

“Yeah,” Chan winks.

“Whatever,” Minho says, rolling his eyes. And smiling. Chan chooses to focus on the smiling.

Chan rouses Haeri from her standing sleep and he does, as promised, take all the credit. Haeri is so grateful to him that she gives him a hug and her number and an invitation to the animal shelter next Saturday. It’s her favorite place to go on weekends, she says. You get to walk the dogs all day long. Well, all shift long. Doesn’t that sound fun?

It does sound fun. Chan loves dogs. And he likes Haeri quite a bit.

“No coffee for me?” Minho asks the moment Chan enters the staff room at the animal shelter. “It’s your turn.”

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” Chan says, taken aback but mostly taken aback that he’s taken aback. It’s rather normal at this point to find Minho lurking in staff rooms.

“Right,” Minho says, rolling his eyes. “You just conveniently showed up during the shift I always take, at the shelter I always volunteer at.”

“Haeri invited me,” Chan shrugs. He sets his bag down next to all the other bags.

“Oh,” Minho blinks. “You’re on a date.”

“I—what?”

“She invited me here on our first date, too.”

“But you—” Chan stutters. “She—wait, hang on…”

“I didn’t know it was a date,” Minho says. “But it was. This is her go to move. Something about seeing if he’s good with animals. If she invites you to get dinner after, it’s because she wants to see if you’re good with waitstaff, too.”

“...Um…”

“She invited you to get dinner after, didn’t she?”

“Holy shit,” Chan mutters. “I’m on a date. Should I have brought her flowers? I wore my ‘getting dirty’ clothes!”

“I’m sure she’ll forgive you,” Minho says, rolling his eyes. He studies Chan for just a moment, something whirring inside his head before it quickly calms. “She’s a nice person, you know. And pretty.”

“Yeah,” Chan nods. Then smiles. Then blushes. “She is.”

Chan does go to dinner with Haeri and he pays for it even though he didn’t know this was a date until he was already on it. But if it’s a date, he wants to show her a good time.

And he does.

For the next several months, Chan shows Haeri a wonderful time and she extends the same to him.

“I need you to explain something to me,” Minho says. He’s very sweaty. But so is Chan. That’s what happens when you teach an after school youth boxing class while your ex-boyfriend and first love teaches an after whatever-you-have-going-on adult boxing class.

“Okay,” Chan says. It’s not like they planned on teaching boxing classes at the same time. They hadn’t planned on doing face painting at the same time, either. It just happened that the need was big enough to require them both. And Chan can’t say no to youths.

“How do you go from being scum of the earth and an absolute bastard to a guy who spends all of his free time either volunteering or pampering his sweet girlfriend?” Minho asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh,” Chan says. He stares off into the gym—definitely not suited for boxing. There’s no ring. Just two punching bags—donated from an actual boxing facility and, frankly, falling apart—and a bucket full of gloves. Chan sets the bucket down. It needs to go back into the sports closet and then Chan needs to go home but Minho is here because Minho is always here and Minho is asking him something real for the first time in a long time.

“And you don’t even bother me,” Minho continues. “I mean, you do. Just because of your personality. But you aren’t here begging for a second chance. You haven’t asked for my number. You barely even initiate conversations with me. Half the time I feel like I’m the one bothering you.”

“Sorry, I think I’m confused,” Chan says. Which isn’t true. He knows he’s confused. “Do you want me to bother you more? Are you mad?”

“Yeah, I’m mad,” Minho huffs. “Because it doesn’t make any sense. If you showed back up in my life trying to turn a new leaf and win me over, I’d understand. I’d tell you to fuck off, but I’d at least understand. You’re not doing that, though.”

“A little egotistical, don’t you think?” Chan laughs. Minho doesn’t join him because yeah, it’s a little egotistical but yeah, it also makes sense. Chan clears his throat, then tries to clear the air. “This isn’t a movie, Minho. I’ll admit, when I quit the force, I wanted to see you again. I mean, I wanted to see you every day from the moment we broke up. But I knew that wasn’t mutual and I knew even though I quit, it still wouldn’t be mutual. I started volunteering because I genuinely just wanted to help. And I knew you might be around and if you were, that’d be great. But if you weren’t, that’d be okay, too. I’m not trying to impose. I’m just…”

“Trying to help?” Minho finishes for him.

“Yeah,” Chan nods. “I can leave you alone if you’d rather.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I think you’re full of shit,” Minho shrugs, looking away.

“What!”

“You never quit the force,” he continues. Hiding a smile. Not very well, though. “You’re undercover.”

“Oh, am I?” Chan chuckles.

“Yeah.”

“To arrest you or something?”

“How am I supposed to know?”

“It’s okay if you don’t believe me,” Chan shrugs. “I know I broke your trust a long time ago. Seriously, though, if my presence is upsetting, I’ll make sure—”

“It’s fine, Chan,” Minho interrupts. “I already said it was.”

“Okay,” Chan nods. He picks the box of gloves back up again, then walks slowly to the closet. Minho follows him. Minho opens the door. Chan tucks it away, nice and neat. “If you want…” Chan begins. “I can explain more about the first part. Being scum of the earth and an absolute bastard. If you want.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you hungry?”

Of course Chan is hungry. He just taught half a gym full of youths how to box.

So, they go to dinner. But not in a romantic sort of way. Chan is dating Haeri and Minho doesn’t see him like that anyway. Doesn’t trust him anymore.

“Did I ever tell you about the boy who saved my life?” Chan asks once the food comes. Minho says no, you didn’t. Chan says yeah, I couldn’t. But now I can.

And now he does.

Chan tells Minho about the man at the train station, the boy at the train station, and the promise he kept for much longer than he needed to. That’s what Minho says, at least. He didn’t have to do all that for Jeongin. Especially not in secret. Chan disagrees, but he understands where Minho is coming from.

In a few months, Minho gives Chan his number. For emergencies only. In a few more months, Minho tells Chan they can be friends again. If he’d like. In a few more months, Haeri tells Chan it’s over. No hard feelings.

Of course, feelings are always hard. Especially when they’re negative in nature. But thankfully, Minho gave Chan his number.

“I just feel stupid is all,” Chan says. He sits in the exact center of Minho’s couch, which isn’t a good place to sit because he’s sinking, quite quickly, between two cushions. Minho seems to recognize his plight, but Chan already feels stupid. Minho won’t add to that by telling him to scoot over. Which is very kind.

“You are stupid,” Minho says, adding to it anyway. “But not for this.”

“I shouldn’t have told her I love her,” he sighs, covering his face with his hands. “It’s too early.”

“No. I think it’s good to be honest about these things.”

“She hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you. She just doesn’t love you.”

“Might be worse.”

“Might be,” Minho says. He flicks Chan’s fingers until he separates them enough to peek through. “But at least now you know. And now you can move on to someone who does love you.”

His vision is a little crowded on the edges and blurry, too. Unshed tears remain stationary, but they well up nonetheless. That makes it hard to see the look in Minho’s eyes. But not impossible. It’s still there, Chan thinks. A softness. A concern. How familiar.

“Is this weird?” Chan asks, lowering his hands. He sits up as much as he can given the current conditions. “Should I not have called you?”

“Aren’t we friends?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Didn’t I say you could use my number for emergencies?”

“Well, this isn’t really—”

“Stupid,” Minho says. He flicks Chan’s forehead again. Again. Again. Chan doesn’t try to stop him. He just watches. And waits. But that look in Minho’s eyes doesn’t fade. “Stupid, stupid, stupid. Always have been. Really pisses me off.”

Chan stops going to the community center. And the food bank. The shelters. The protests when they happen. Just for a while. Just so he doesn’t run into Haeri. It doesn’t matter that Minho calls him to say Haeri stopped going to the community center, too. He still can’t bring himself to do it.

Which seems to annoy Minho very much, because he sends him an angry selfie when Chan doesn’t come at his usual times. Chan gives each of them a thumbs up. Moreso to say, I’ve received the message than to say, I like this photo. He does like them, though.

By the time four months have passed, Minho is at Chan’s door. Which is surprising, since Chan never gave Minho his address.

“Stalking me?” Chan asks. Minho pushes him aside before Chan can make room for him to enter. Which he would have done. But Minho doesn’t participate in pleasantries such as being invited inside.

“Just abusing my power,” Minho says, hauling two plastic bags over to the dining room table. “Your information is on the volunteer applications at the animal shelter.”

“Lee Minho!” Chan gasps, scandalized.

“Not nearly as corrupt as all the shit you’ve pulled, disgraced Detective Bang.”

“Touche,” Chan says, even though he’s not disgraced. Not technically, since nobody ever found out about anything. Or if they did, nobody ever cared enough to bother him with it.

Minho’s two plastic bags contain ten plastic containers full of more food than either of them can eat in one sitting. It’s not very environmentally conscious, all this plastic, but it is very delicious. The food. Not the plastic.

Next week, Chan shows up at Minho’s place unannounced with dinner in hand. He’s extremely apologetic about it, but Minho assures him it’s fine.

Next week, Minho shows up. Next week, Chan. Back and forth like that.

By the time seven months have passed, Chan isn’t so devastated about Haeri anymore.

“I’m going on a trip to visit some old friends,” Chan says, sinking into Minho’s couch. Directly in the center of it, as usual.

“I didn’t know you had friends besides me,” Minho says. Pouting a little.

“Do you want to come?”

“No.”

“They live on Jeju Island.”

“When do we leave?”

In just a few weeks, they decide.

Chan worries that Minho regrets the decision, so he gives him ample opportunity to back out. Minho thinks Chan is trying to rescind his invitation. Chan insists that no, he wants Minho to come! But only if Minho also wants to come! Minho tells Chan he’s being stupid. He flicks Chan on the forehead. There’s probably a permanent indent at this point. Chan kind of likes the idea of that. He won’t examine why.

They leave in just a few weeks and they arrive in just a couple of hours and their bed and breakfast is just beautiful on the inside and the outside both. A traditional style house with detached units—remodeled for safety, but kept as preserved as possible.

Chan likes it quite a bit, except for when the host leads them to their room. It was supposed to have two beds. He’s certain he booked the room with two beds. Minho, is this okay? Minho, should we switch? Go somewhere else? Minho—

Flicks him again. Definitely an indent now.

Despite their travel weariness, Chan insists upon going to the beach which means Minho insists upon following him even though he doesn’t want to.

Minho watches Chan swim and splash and laugh and then Minho watches Chan sprint toward him and snatch him off the ground and run back into the ocean, heedless of Minho’s screams. Minho watches Chan grin and his eyes soften and his mouth form the words thank you for coming with me over and over again.

When they sleep, they do so together. Not like that, of course. Just side by side. Because their hosts are very unprofessional. There should have been two beds.

But the one they got is big enough, Chan supposes. And quite cozy.

“Are you asleep?” Chan asks, halfway between a considerate whisper and an inconsiderate regular speaking voice.

“Yes,” Minho grunts.

“I just wanted to say…” Chan begins, shifting beneath the covers so that he faces Minho.

“Thank you for coming with me?” Minho scoffs. “Yeah, I heard you the first twenty five times.”

“Do you want to hear me the twenty sixth time as well?”

“No,” Minho says, turning to face Chan as well. “I want to sleep.”

“Okay,” Chan says. He doesn’t shut his eyes. Neither does Minho.

“Chan,” Minho begins after a moment.

“Hm?”

“Will you start volunteering at the animal shelter again?” he asks. “Please?”

“Sure,” Chan says, his eyebrows shooting high on his forehead. Minho doesn’t usually participate in pleasantries such as please. “Yeah, if it’s important to you. I just needed some time for myself.”

“Will you go to dinner with me afterward as well?” Minho asks. With caution and with kindness.

“Yeah, of course,” Chan says, running through a list of places he’s been wanting to try. “There’s this—”

“Will you bring me flowers?”

“Flowers?” Chan asks. It’s dark, but the moon shines through their window just enough that Chan can see Minho chewing his lower lip. Nervous. Uncertain.

“Mhm.”

“Minho,” Chan says, taking a long, deep breath. Because he’s nervous, too. Uncertain, too. But he thinks he understands. “Are you asking me on a date?”

“Mhm.”

“The same way my ex did?”

“...Well,” Minho blinks. Then blinks again. Then squeezes his eyes closed. “It sounds really shitty when you say it like that. I was going for a romantic callback.”

Chan laughs. Probably loud enough for the hosts to hear. The neighbors, too. But it’s a real laugh, not nervous at all anymore. And it feels good to laugh with Minho next to him.

It feels good to laugh with Minho on top of him, too, because Minho begins to laugh himself, then to shift, then to climb into Chan’s lap. As a way to silence him, of course. To cover his mouth and get in his face all scary like. But he’s not scary. He’s Minho.

“If that’s the case,” Chan says, wiggling until he’s free enough from Minho’s grasp to speak again. He places his hands on Minho’s hips, asking him to stay here, please. I know it was for a joke, but stay here, please. “I’d rather go to an internet cafe and play games.”

“Should I give you a ring, too?” Minho smirks, staying here, please.

“A plastic one.”

“Okay,” Minho says. “Let’s go to an internet cafe.”

It’ll be just like old times in that they’ll go and they’ll play and they’ll be awful at it. But they’ll have fun and they’ll want to do it again and again and again and they will.

And it’s just like old times right now in that they’re sharing a bed. Minho is in his lap. Chan’s heart is beating so fast it hurts. Minho is leaning down. Chan is leaning up.

Their lips meet and it’s so gentle. So cautious. Because it’s been so long for them. Because Chan is still a little sad about other things. Because Minho is, too. But their lips meet and it’s like everything will be okay. Everything will be forgiven. Everything already is.

...

When people say money is no object, they must be referring to bank account money. That’s just numbers. You can’t hold it except for when you swipe a credit card. But that doesn’t have any sort of feeling to it. Just routine. No gravitas.

Carrying a bag full of fifty-five million won down the street at two in the morning. Now that has gravitas. That money is definitely an object.

True to his word, Seungmin is able to sell the Beholden ring to a couple of freaks. Collectors of some sort. Not exclusive to Park Hosung memorabilia, but definitely inclusive of it. Thank God. Because without those freaks, Jeongin wouldn’t have this bag full of fifty-five million won.

He only needed forty-eight, technically, but the extra seven is an apology present. Sorry for taking a shit ton of cocaine and then dealing none of it and then being really late paying you back, here’s several million additional won so that you don’t kill me!

They don’t kill him.

They say well done, Jeongin. Faster than we thought, Jeongin. We have something else for you to do, Jeongin. If you’re interested.

Of course Jeongin says, no thank you. They say, we insist. Jeongin says, I can’t. They say, why not? Jeongin says, because I’m dying.

Jeongin should really stop improvising.

Soon, he won’t have to anymore. But first, he has to assure these gangsters that no, actually, his mysterious disease could be curable with some luck. They don’t need to prepare a funeral service just yet. No, actually, his medical team is just fine. They don’t need to give him recommendations.

Who knew gangsters could be so caring?

Executing this part of the plan at two in the morning was not Jeongin’s idea. Gangsters, in addition to taking mysterious diseases very seriously, also take meetings at odd times. But Jeongin is happy to get it over with and he’s happier to go back to his apartment with Jisung and Felix and he’s happiest to see that they waited up for him.

Just to be safe, they say. Just to make sure you come home.

“How’d it go?” Felix asks, sitting on one of two air mattresses in their living room. Jisung lounges next to him, reading some textbook. Pretending to, at least.

“Good,” Jeongin says. “They weren’t even mad at me.”

Jeongin throws himself onto the second air mattress, not bothering to change into pajamas. They have to be up again in just a few hours. Turn in the keys to their apartment, head to the airport, get on a plane, never look back.

The landlord tried to give them shit for breaking their lease, but then Jisung brought up how technically, the landlord is running an illegal business here. Some of his units are rented to foreigners on vacation. You can’t have an Airbnb without a license, can you? And you don’t have a license, do you?

The landlord stopped trying to give them shit for breaking their lease after that. Instead, he offered to help them sell their furniture, their kitchenware, their decor. Just about anything they can’t take to Jeju, which is just about everything.

It’s not that they need the money. Seungmin sold the ring, and not for fifty-five million won. He sold it for five hundred million won. Split evenly between the five of them. Which Jeongin thought was a little unfair. He did most of the work.

Well.

Chan did quite a bit of work, actually. And he didn’t get a cut at all.

So, Jeongin doesn’t complain. Especially when he still has forty-five million won leftover.

It’s not a money thing at all. Rather, it’s difficult to travel with everything you’ve ever owned. It’ll just be easier to start fresh. Buy pots and pans from a thrift store. A couch, too. But not their beds. They’ll buy their beds new.

“Hey, um,” Jeongin begins even though they have to be up again in just a few hours. “I know we’re okay now. But I just wanted to say one more time. I’m really sorry.”

“If you were sorry, you’d let me sleep,” Jisung says, his textbook long forgotten and his eyes long shut.

“I won’t pretend that getting my wrist broken because of you didn’t change some things for me,” Felix says, not for the first time. “That was really scary. And it hurt me to know you’ve been keeping all these secrets. But you’re sorry. And you’re changing. And I believe you when you say that.”

“Thank you,” Jeongin says, not for the last time.

“We still love you or whatever,” Jisung mumbles.

“And maybe crime isn’t so bad if it pays literally millions of won,” Felix adds. Jisung elbows him. Felix elbows him back. “I mean, seriously Jeongin. How were you always short on rent if you were doing shit like this on the side?”

“I may have been severely undercharging,” Jeongin admits.

Thankfully, Jeongin doesn’t have to undercharge anymore. Or do crime. Unless he really wants to. But he doesn’t! Because he’s changing. For the better. And not just because his guardian angel has left his service. He’s changing because he loves Jisung and he loves Felix and he loves Hyunjin best of all. He can’t put them in a position where his love causes only harm. Not again. His love has to become more than the worst thing to ever happen to someone.

And it does. Of course it does.

Jeongin’s love means a fresh start. It means a quick flight to Jeju and a long drive to their new two bedroom apartment. It means welcoming Hyunjin into their roommate dynamic with open arms. It means sharing a bed with him every night, because even though they all walked away from Seoul with heavy pockets, none of them have a steady income right now. It means living frugally like they’re used to because these days, frugality is the only familiarity they have.

And maybe they’re all a little shaken up from the whole ordeal. Maybe Jisung and Felix want to keep Jeongin close and maybe Jeongin wants to keep Hyunjin close and maybe Hyunjin does, too, even though it’s a bit fast.

Maybe the idea of living separately after what they’ve been through is too much to bear. So, they live frugally and more importantly, they live together.

For now, at least. Until they all find new ways to make money, at least. Because Jisung can’t TA online, though he can still tutor. Which isn’t very lucrative, but it’s a start. And Felix can find a new daycare or a new catering company or a new anything, really, but he wants a bit of a break. To heal his heart the way he healed his wrist, he says.

And Jeongin, of course, does not take seedy jobs from seedy people anymore. But he does take a job at a coffee shop and then another at a clothing store and then another at a hotel front desk.

It’s too much all at once. That’s what everyone tells him. But Jeongin is determined to be a provider. He owes them that much, doesn’t he?

Especially when Hyunjin has to start all over again. Because it’s a bit of a scandal, as anyone can imagine, when news gets out that disgraced child actor turned tragic lover turned up-and-coming artist winds up in police custody for alleged theft.

Of course, Hyunjin was never prosecuted for that. Nobody was, to the Park family’s extreme ire. But the public loves drama and Hyunjin has always provided it. And after he’s provided it, he’s changed himself entirely to avoid permanent damage. He’s had to, for his own sake.

But not this time.

It starts very slowly at first. Just a single article taking his side. Lamenting the abuse, the neglect, the scorn he’s faced. Lauding his perseverance, his relentless skill, his innocence in the scandals that have plagued him.

The writer of that piece is anonymous. Hyunjin accuses Seungmin, then Jeongin, then Felix. He doesn’t accuse Jisung, but he does narrow his eyes at him quite often.

Nobody fesses up.

Then, somebody writes another article about him. Another. Another. Interviews, exclusives, photo opportunities. And best of all, commissions. It’s just like the aftermath of the Seummu glitter incident, only bigger this time.

And this time, no long dead ghosts of any kind come back to haunt him.

It gets to the point that Hyunjin completely overtakes the living room with canvases. Then the dining room. Then the bathroom, which is when things become very dire. Soon, Hyunjin rents another apartment entirely just so he can have space in which to work.

The success is nice. A little overwhelming. And it leads to an argument or two, which Jeongin does not expect. But, he supposes, perhaps he should have.

“I’m just saying. There’s no reason to have three jobs when I make enough to cover rent and bills for all four of us.”

“And I’m just saying I don’t want to leech off of you or anyone else anymore.”

“You can still contribute financially if you only have one job.”

“That feels irresponsible to me.”

“I never get to see you anymore.”

“We share a bed every single night. We wake up together every single morning.”

“What happened to going on dates? Sharing meals? Having conversations?”

“I don’t know what the right thing to do is.”

It turns out that when you begin a relationship on the premise of grand romantic gestures, blatant lust, and melodramatic criminal activity, everything feels very big all of the time. Every kiss, every touch, every word is monumental and special.

But when things calm down. When there is no more vandalism and no more drug dealers and no more heists, the small things are what become important.

Nobody needs saving, nobody’s in danger. But nobody’s there to have dinner with you in the evening. Nobody’s there to go explore your new city. Nobody’s there to say darling, you look lovely today. Because nobody’s there to see you looking lovely.

Jeongin realizes that it all happened very quickly. Meeting Hyunjin, falling for him, relying on him. And that’s okay, because it’s all real. He does love him, undeniably. But he doesn’t truly know him, not entirely. And Hyunjin doesn’t know Jeongin, either.

“But I want to, though,” Jeongin says. “More than anything, I want to learn everything there is to learn about you.”

“I guess we were too distracted by being tragic lovers that we forgot to be regular lovers first,” Hyunjin sighs.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have tried to flirt by vandalizing an entire museum for you,” Jeongin smiles. “Maybe I should’ve just asked for your number.”

“Maybe,” Hyunjin giggles. “Or, maybe I shouldn’t have liked that you vandalized an entire museum for me.”

“Maybe.”

“So, we agree, then?” Hyunjin asks.

“Yeah. We agree.”

First, Hyunjin moves out. Not far—just into his studio. The distance will do them good, they think. They’ll have to be much more intentional about spending time together and they are.

At least once a week, they go out. They eat dinner or have coffee or watch a movie or this or that and it’s all very normal, the way they date. Very sweet and simple. How it’s supposed to be.

And Jeongin gets to know Hyunjin quite well and Hyunjin gets to know Jeongin, too.

Not in all the big ways, because they know each other in the big ways. But in the small ways. In the, I can order a meal for you at a restaurant we’ve never been to before, ways.

In the, I bought you new socks because you have several pairs with holes in them that you won’t throw away unless someone makes you, ways.

In the, I know you would steal for me, kill for me, die for me, live for me, ways. But more importantly, I know you’re about to sneeze when you wrinkle your nose, ways. I know all the little things about you. The things that make you a person.

It’s a bit out of order, their romance. But it’s a romance nonetheless, and by no means ill-fated. Not even doomed by the narrative, though the narrative did try.

Eventually, Jeongin is able to relax enough that he takes Hyunjin’s advice. There is no need for him to work three jobs. Especially when one of his jobs likes him so much that they offer him a full time role. The hours are so-so and the pay is underwhelming, but the novelty of having an actual, steady position anywhere is so alluring that Jeongin accepts without any sort of negotiation.

He does, however, negotiate when his friends try to celebrate the accomplishment by booking a room at the hotel. Where he works. Full time. And where he’d technically have to serve them as guests. Which isn’t a good celebration, if you ask Jeongin.

Unfortunately, Kim Seungmin did not ask Jeongin. Nor did Hwang Hyunjin. And they don’t respect that Jeongin is busy and can’t talk right now and, oh, my God, guys, he really can’t talk right now, there’s a line. Can you please go hang out somewhere else?

No, they cannot. They can only hang out at the front desk, it seems.

“So…” Jeongin begins once his last guest is all checked in and out of earshot. He hopes they don’t leave a negative review—the young man who gave me my room key was lovely, but there were two people standing at the desk staring at me the entire time. They didn’t appear to be employees, but they weren’t sent away, either. Some new security measure? Two stars. “You’re, like, together now?”

“We’re getting down nasty style, if that’s what you mean,” Seungmin nods. It’s nice to see him after almost an entire year away, but it's not nice to hear him speak.

“Not what I meant even a little bit.”

“Horrible,” Hyunjin sighs. “Horrible to hear.”

“You don’t want me to be happy?” Seungmin asks.

“No,” Hyunjin says. “Especially not with a cop.”

“What if I told you he quit?”

“Did he?” Hyunjin gasps, perking up at the prospect of Detective Seo Changbin just being Seo Changbin.

“Mhm.”

“Why? What happened?”

“I told him that the police are inherently evil and to prove it I would light myself on fire in front of the precinct.”

“How does that prove anything?” Jeongin asks.

“That’s what he asked, too,” Seungmin says. “So I said I’d never sleep with him again due to the charred dangly bits I’d be left with.”

“Dear God,” Hyunjin mumbles. “After everything he’s seen and done. That’s what convinced him to change for the better?”

“Yeah,” Seungmin nods. “That, among other things.”

“What does he do now?” Jeongin asks.

“He’s a firefighter,” Seungmin grins.

Jeongin doesn’t know much about Detective Seo Changbin first hand, but everything he hears from Seungmin is simultaneously deplorable and delightful. He seems like a good person who fell into a bad job thinking it was a good job for a good person. Jeongin understands, at least a little. He’s a bad person who fell into bad jobs thinking they could provide him with the means to be a good person.

Which…is kind of what happened. Perhaps for both of them.

Seungmin comes to visit quite often and quite loudly. He’s known among Jeongin’s coworkers as a problem guest, though Seungmin himself is clueless to the label. Hyunjin probably would be referred to similarly if he wasn’t beloved as a local celebrity. And technically not a guest at all.

Within several months, Seungmin visits four times in total, each trip lasting multiple weeks. He pesters Felix to show him around town because Felix is the only one with enough time and patience to consistently entertain him. They make a pleasant pair, Jeongin thinks. If by pleasant you mean obnoxious and endearing. Which, of course, he does.

Within a year, Felix breaks the news.

“We’re going back,” he says, only addressing their group, but of course the entire hotel lobby hears it. Jeongin wishes they could hang out anywhere else. And wait for him to be off work to do it.

“To the apartment?” Hyunjin asks.

“To Seoul,” Felix says, taking hold of Jisung’s hand as he says it.

“What!” Seungmin gasps. “No!”

“I need to start taking internships,” Jisung says. “And Seoul has better law firms for that. Plus, it’s been long enough. I don’t think anybody’s going to jump us for something Jeongin’s done.”

“Yeah,” Felix nods. “If we get jumped, it’ll be our own fault.”

“You can’t leave!” Seungmin whines. “Who’s going to hang out with me?”

“Seungmin,” Hyunjin sighs. “You also live in Seoul. You can see Felix way more often this way.”

“...Do you need help packing?” Seungmin asks.

It’s a bittersweet thing, saying goodbye to Jisung and Felix. They offered, of course, to take Jeongin with them. Come stay with us, come find a new job, come live the way we’ve always lived.

But Jeongin says no, thank you. My life is here now. My happiness is here now. And he means it, too.

Finally, Jeongin is making a decision based on what he wants—not what he needs, not what he’s scared of, but what brings him joy. It’s a wonderful sort of freedom to have a choice like this.

“Do you think we should try again?” Jeongin asks, holding Hyunjin close beneath their shared blanket.

“I don’t think I have it in me to go another round, my love.”

“No, I mean,” Jeongin laughs. “Jisung and Felix are moving out once the lease is up. I don’t want to live in a two bedroom unit all by myself. So, if I’m going to be finding a new place to live anyway…”

“I don’t know,” Hyunjin sing songs. “I love living in the same place I work and huffing paint fumes all day and all night. It’ll be hard for me to give that up.”

“How can I convince you?” Jeongin asks, tilting Hyunjin’s face toward his own. “I promise I’ll be a better roommate this time around.”

“As if I want you to be a roommate,” Hyunjin scoffs.

“Live in boyfriend. Attentive lover. Considerate life partner who always cares for your needs. Man who never takes things too fast or too slow.”

“Tempting…”

“Think about it,” Jeongin says, closing the distance between their lips and proving Hyunjin wrong about not having another round in him.

The next day, Hyunjin packs all of his things. Which is foolish, because they don’t even have a new place to live yet. And he’s keeping the apartment he already has anyway. He still needs a place to work.

The next day after that, Hyunjin unpacks after realizing what the timeline will actually be. Jeongin helps him. He’s endeared by Hyunjin’s excitement and even more endeared by how seriously Hyunjin takes their search.

He makes a long list of all the things he wants in a home with Jeongin. An apartment would be fine if it has a view of the ocean, preferably right on the beach, but wouldn’t a house be better? Somewhere they can put down roots. Because they do want to put down roots, right? They like living here? So, might as well buy if they can find a place worth buying.

And they do find a place worth buying, but it’s nothing like Hyunjin’s list.

It is a house, but not the sleek, modern, beachfront type Hyunjin was after. Rather, it’s a traditional style with multiple detached units. Like something out of a story.

At first, it’s a joke.

“We can’t get this place. Seungmin will stay in one of the separate rooms and never leave.”

“We could charge him for that, though. Like a hotel.”

“And when Jisung and Felix come to visit, too.”

“I love the idea of having a business license just to charge our friends for basic hospitality.”

It’s a joke, but the longer they consider it, the more they really do love the idea of having a business license. To charge everyone for hospitality, though, not just their friends. Because it really is a beautiful house. And the detached units are like little hotel rooms, sort of. It would be a cute bed and breakfast.

“It would be expensive.”

“We have some money saved up.”

“It would be a lot of hard work.”

“But it would be ours.”

And it is theirs.

Though it scares him to do so, Jeongin quits his full time job at the hotel to focus instead on fixing up their house, preparing it for guests, getting all the paperwork settled, listing it online, and all the other tricky things involved in developing a bed and breakfast.

Hyunjin helps by decorating the walls with his paintings for a very good discount (free) and by mentioning to all his wealthy clients that there’s this lovely new bed and breakfast on the island they should visit sometime soon.

Jeongin doesn’t like when Hyunjin does that. It stresses him out to think that rich people are going to be in their backyard.

That is, of course, until rich people are in their backyard and recommending said backyard to their friends and to their friends’ friends and suddenly their bed and breakfast is actually viable. Actually booked up a year in advance, actually well rated, actually quite fun to run.

There is, however, one particular rich person who comes so often and stays for so long, they consider banning him. Something of a problem guest, this one.

“What!” Seungmin gasps. “Am I not allowed to support small businesses?”

“Two months is too long,” Hyunjin says, shaking his head at Seungmin’s booking. “It’s a bed and breakfast. You leave after the breakfast part. This isn’t a hotel.”

“But this is where I get my best writing done.”

Which is probably true, if his illustrious career is anything to go by.

Fine. He can stay.

Jisung and Felix visit, too, when they can. When their trips align with Seungmin’s, the bed and breakfast is less of a business and more of a sleepover. It’s unprofessional, probably, for Hyunjin and Jeongin to join their guests in their rooms to tell scary stories and eat junk food and beat each other with pillows and occasionally with open palms, should it be deserved. But it’s also wonderful.

This life—it’s peaceful in a way Jeongin didn’t know life could be peaceful.

Peaceful, that is, until they get a very surprising booking.

“Are you sure it’s him?” Hyunjin asks.

“It has to be,” Jeongin nods.

“But he hasn’t reached out or anything? To be like, hey! I’m coming to stay at your bed and breakfast!”

“Nope. And it’s a booking for two people.”

“Interesting. Changbin, maybe?”

“No. Seungmin would’ve told us.”

“Did they book a single bed?”

“No. Double.”

“What if we changed it to single…”

“We don’t even know if they’re a couple. It could be a business associate or something.”

“At a bed and breakfast? Doubt it.”

Jeongin looks at Hyunjin. Hyunjin looks at Jeongin. Jeongin changes the booking to a single bed. Just to see what happens.

What happens is, Chan walks in with a devastatingly beautiful man in tow. Chan panics at the sight of a single bed. The beautiful man doesn’t seem to mind. Chan has never seemed less cool. Jeongin is glad he switched the rooms.

“Checking out already?” Jeongin asks, smiling at the possible couple, possible friends, possible complicated situation standing before him.

“Yeah,” Chan nods. “Really nice place, Jeongin. You’re doing a great job.”

“Thank you,” Jeongin grins, proud of Chan’s pride in him. “You seem to be doing great as well. Right?”

Chan glances back at Minho, who is pretending very hard that he isn’t listening.

“Yeah,” Chan says again. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Don’t be a stranger, okay?” Jeongin says. “My doors are always open. Unless we’re booked. Then my phone is always open.”

“Mine, too,” Chan says. “And if you’re ever in Seoul…”

Jeongin will, someday, return to Seoul. Not to live necessarily, but he’ll suffer worse consequences at the hands of his friends than he would at the hands of his debtors if he never shows face.

When he does arrive, it’ll be a battle choosing where to stay. At Jisung and Felix’s, at Seungmin’s, at Chan’s. Maybe at a seedy love motel for old time’s sake.

Well. Maybe not.

For now, though, Jeongin stays at the home he shares with Hyunjin, enjoying the life he shares with Hyunjin, wanting for little and getting it anyway.

“That’s really nice,” Jeongin mumbles to himself, watching the sun set over the ocean as he and Hyunjin stroll along the beach, fingers intertwined. It’s a common practice between the two of them. And yet, it’s still really nice. “One second, babe.”

Jeongin pauses, then fishes his phone from his pocket to take a photo. He has about one million sunrise and sunset pictures already, but it’s still really nice and he still really wants to admire it.

The phone, however, has a plan of its own. It slips from his hand as it often does and Jeongin scrambles for it as he often does and his efforts make things worse as they often do. He smacks the phone mid air by mistake, sending it flying into the pushing and pulling waves.

“No!” Jeongin shouts, betrayed yet again by Big Technology.

Hyunjin laughs at him. And laughs and laughs. It would be cruel if it weren’t beautiful. But Hyunjin is beautiful and Hyunjin walks out into the water and picks up Jeongin’s dripping phone.

“Uh oh,” Hyunjin mumbles. “The screen won’t turn on.”

“Damn,” Jeongin sighs. “I may have to sue you for damages.”

“Me!”

Hyunjin slips the phone into his pocket for better use of his fists during what may become a very serious legal battle. Jeongin notices the theft, but he lets him have it. All he actually wants is to hold Hyunjin’s hand again—one battle that’s easily won.

“Are we still going to see Seungmin’s movie on Friday?” Jeongin asks.

“Yes! I already got the tickets.”

“Do you think it’ll be good?”

The reviews all say it is. And after they see it, Hyunjin says it is, too, and Jeongin says it is most of all. Because Seungmin’s latest film is about a lot of things. A train station. A romance. A heist. But most of all, it’s about a boy with sticky fingers and a boy with butter fingers.

It’s about something incredible.