Archive of Our Own

Jake doesn’t like calling himself a bum. Sure that’s what his parents say, and probably even his peers (he sees how people stare at him while he wakes up and their filing out of the lecture hall) but a history of skipping class will do that to you.

Keeho, a Canadian exchange student and roommate points out that it’s more likely to be for his visuals, but Jake simply states that’s gay.

“Dude, you’re gay,” he balks.

“Yeah I know,” Jake quickly replies, “That was the point; I’m acknowledging your suggestion. I don’t agree with that usage, but it exists. It’s like pulling an Uno reverse card, except instead of being like ‘haha homosexuality bad,’ it’s an indirect reflection of how I hate myself. Maybe a little more than I should.”

So what if he’s barely awake enough to roll into his morning classes; there’s really nothing bad about working the night shift at a convenience store to scrape up enough funds to go to university. It isn’t his fault society banks on a weirdly capitalistic education system that attempts, but fails devastatingly, to teach its youth the importance of weighing priorities.

If he can’t eat enough to help his brain pass exams, there’s something wrong there, you know.

Or maybe that’s just his sociology and politics class getting to him. Or the lack of sleep. Most likely both. He could probably do well in that English Literature class, especially if he overlaps his classes’ teachings, but he’s too preoccupied taking his customary three-hour nap (one of two) and trying to survive.

For now, a few hours after finishing up the other three-hour nap, he sits haphazardly on the stool behind the counter, the white fluorescent lights above him, beaming harshly onto his face. He was trying to catch up on the social movements his professor had gone over in the last class, but a magazine gaudily laying out Australia’s latest gossip catches his eye, and he truly can’t wait to read which celebrity fucked up this time. It’s some b-list actor he doesn’t know. The few self-help columns are useless to him. And then there’s another page-sized advertisement about the Grand Prix. He’s not sure how the city’s done it, but Sydney became the center for some figure skating competition happening this winter, even though, urbanly, it’s not cold enough to snow or for water to naturally freeze over.

As he’s flipping onto some bright op-ed that criticizes how a woman looks in a bikini (do people not have anything better to think about?), the bell to the door rings. Their movements are quick, at least one of them, in taking off their face masks. He looks up and sees what’s probably the seventh and eighth not bad looking, fit human of the evening. There must be some hotel nearby because he’s seen too many color-blocked zip-up jackets tonight.

He sort of watches them over the lip of the magazine, not at all engrossed by the black block title that describes some big-name celebrity cheating on their partner with their film co-star.

Moments later, the customers stand in front of him with a few familiar green bottles that he knows are definitely overpriced for this part of town, but he’s not going to tell them that, and a large bag of plain Lays chips. He begins to mindlessly scan the items, but he does passively register that the pairing is odd.

One of the men is tall but well built, and can only be comparable to fine wine. His hair is dark, peppered with white strands, and his face twisted into a somewhat smug, very much gut-churning smirk. His arm is wrapped around the shoulders of a much younger man, probably around Jake’s age, and admittedly very pretty. He stands taller than him (but that’s not hard to do) with a little mole on his nose, strong and prominent, but not obtrusively so. Eyes, while expression slightly concerning, are a warm brown tone, both inviting and somehow repellent. His apathetic, harboring more frowning, mouth is accented by very pretty lips.

He’s just, pretty.

So yeah, it’s confusing to him that these two, with such a clear age difference, would be out together so late, it isn’t his place to step in. When he asks them if they want a bag and they don’t seem to understand him, he naturally falls into Korean, hoping he’s not being racist in assuming. Thankfully, he isn’t (and later spots the flag embroidered into the breast of the jacket) but once the older man opens his mouth, he can smell the alcohol in his breath, and Jake has to will himself to not pull away in disgust. The young man finally looks at him with an inquisitive expression, and the cashier mentally notes that yeah, wow, that really is a pretty face.

But he’s gone too quickly while the older man is ushering him out the door.

An off chance encounter, he tells himself. He’s probably from Korea here for the competition. And soon enough, his visage will stay in his mind as just that, and nothing more.

Minutes later, he’s proven wrong when he hears a squeal from outside his store. Jake would normally stay in place, pitting the loud noise as a fight from the bar next door. But this doesn’t feel like that at all. There’s an urgency. While being the main character has never been his calling, his flight reflexes have been initiated, and something internally tells him to check out the situation at least.

He pulls the bat out from under the counter and listens to his instincts. Chris, the manager, told him about it the first time he appeared for the job; he now thanks the older man’s paranoia. He takes a few steps outside, where the shouts get louder, directing him to his right and towards the adjacent alley. The bat weighs unfamiliarly in his palm but it’s a comforting reminder of potential leverage he might have. When he looks around the corner, he spots a taller figure towering over someone, about the same size, but clearly helpless, with all of their personal space invaded.

“You like guys don’t you?” he hears in Korean, “How about me? I’m not a bad-looking guy right?”

“Hyung, please,” the other person replies softly, “Can’t we just go back? I don’t want to talk about this.” Jake sees the man appear from the alley, and he presses his body as closely as he can to the wall. It’s the older person from earlier but now irritated. However, almost immediately, the other voice adds, “You’re a handsome person.”

And that unsettling smile is back. He walks back to the voice. Jake follows, but he can’t make out who it is, but he can assume as much.

“When the larger man slaps his hand next to the younger man’s face, Jake flinches, and he sees the skater similarly react. “Exactly. It’s nice to hear someone like you thinks that.” A pause. “So are you saying you like me?”

“There seems to be a lot of head shaking. “No, that’s not what I said.” He barely gets his words out before the larger figure eliminates all personal space between them. The ice skater’s eyes squeeze shut as the older man extends a finger to push his head up, forcing the other man to look at him.

“You don’t know until you try, right?” His voice is very close to a growl.

And that’s all Jake needs to charge towards the man, swinging as hard as he can. The body crumples to the floor within seconds.

In the low light, he spots a bright blue jacket, identical to the one he’d seen minutes ago, confirming his suspicions. Unconscious man in front of him, he decides that a change of view is warranted and finds himself facing the angel from before.

“Hi,” he breathes, somewhat exhaustedly.

The young man can’t stop staring at the body. “That was my coach for tomorrow,” he murmurs and then repeats the words more loudly, “THat was mY COACH for tomorrow.”

Jake checks his watch. “Do you mean today because it’s past midnight?” The skater stares back unimpressed. “Okay, that’s like not a terrible joke.” A few tense moments quickly pass. “Oh yeah, sure, don’t thank the guy who just saved you,” he adds, half-joking.

The young man sputters out a response. He’s nervous, quietly fiddling with his fingers, one of his legs rocking against its sole. “I mean- I mean he doesn’t do it often. Only when he’s really drunk.”

Jake can’t help but gape at him. “He’s done this more than once?” He mockingly moves to hit the body again, something that the guy in front of him even moves to try and stop. “Chill, I wasn’t going to.” He offers the end to the other man, “I mean unless you wanna go?” The other man roughly pushes the bat away from him. “Okay, okay.”

“What do I do about...” he trails off, pointing at the man on the floor.

Jake considers the situation. “If he’s as shitty as you say he is, let him be found on the street and watch his reputation go up in flames.”

He cards his hand through his hair nervously. “Won’t that fuck me up too?”

“I doubt it?” he says, “I mean who’s better known in the industry. Some crusty old coach or you, a pretty figure skater who’s here at this world championship.”

“What if I’m some subpar athlete?”

Jake shrugs. “You might be but for some reason that’s not the aura I get from you.” While he had been timid in the store around his coach, the skater stands straight, not necessarily in defense, but genuine intrigue.

A few blinks. “Is it because I’m pretty?”

Jake’s eyebrows raise at the sudden jump; while hidden in an innocent visage, he can see the beginnings of a smirk on his lips. He scrutinizes the other a bit more; the athlete’s head is tilted a bit, staring at him with equally strong curiosity. “It’s just how you hold yourself,” he summarizes, simultaneously leaning down to pick the bag off from the floor and hand it back to the young man, who gingerly takes it from him. After the athlete pulls the bag open to look inside it, Jake, being the gentleman he is, gingerly removes the salvageable parts of its contents; two bottles and soju soaked bags of chips. “Let me re-bag these for you.” From the quick scattering, he hears the other man quickly following him back inside the store.

He leans over to the back of the counter, where finds the small container of wipes; he attempts to erase the stickiness as best he can and puts them into a new bag. He sticks his arm out, the plastic dangling off of his fingertips. The athlete takes it away, but he doesn’t move from there.

“Do you not know how to get back?” A head shake.

“I can take you,” he gently lifts the man’s wrist with his baseball bat, where he sees Korean characters embroidered into it, “Mr. Park Sunghoon, but it’ll have to be until after my shift.”

“When’s that?”

“Around six,” he replies.

The figure skater huffs and looks above Jake, at the clock. He does the same; it’s about 12:30. “I can wait.”

He raises an eyebrow at that. “Are you sure? Security won’t come looking after you if you’re not back in a couple of hours?”

“I doubt they’d say anything,” he mutters somewhat regretfully, “I was with my coach.” Not sure what to say to that, Jake simply lifts the counter barrier up, ushering the taller man through.

He immediately offers him the small stool. Sunghoon rejects, but Jake waves him onto it.

“I’ve been sitting for the last couple of hours, it’s fine.”

After a few minutes of the skater mindlessly spinning on the stool, pulling his arms in to spin faster and then throwing them out to slow himself down, and Jake continuing to flip through the magazine, Sunghoon is the one to break the silence.

“Aren’t you going to google my name or something?”

Jake isn’t sure if he’s just awkward or pretentious. He automatically wants to assume the latter, but based on his reddening cheeks and uneven tone, it’s possible to be the former, or more accurately a mix of both. Fame is more abstract and strongly contingent on more than just visuals; maybe it’s a natural reaction a normal person should have.

So, he pulls out his phone from his back pocket and hands it to the sitting man.

“Do you want me to?”

He points at the corner and the small-phrase that says No Service but then realizes that this person might not be able to read English and repeats it in Korean. Sunghoon hums understandingly and pulls out his own device. It’s shiny and expensive-looking, a good five iterations ahead of Jake’s small rectangle of glass and metal.

He hands it to him, unlocked. Jake does as he’s told, barely able to bypass the device’s automatic Korean nature. He can speak, sure, but his reading is total shit.

Before he even types in the second half of his first name, Park Sunghoon is one of the first few auto-filled results. There are a lot of results, mostly some basic articles about his achievements as a skater. They’re the same age, which is a cool tidbit to pick up. He’s clearly good, qualifying for international championships, but he’s more of a rookie, paving his way into possibly placing only his second year at the adult level. People compare his visuals to those of kpop idols; Jake would have to agree. Maybe he could have been one, in a different life.

What catches his eye most are the gossip articles that speculate the other man’s sexuality. Apparently, one evening during an afterparty of sorts, blurred pictures had been taken of him and a skater from France apparently getting too touchy to the point where it couldn’t just be brushed off on European customs. There were a few eyewitnesses that reported disappearances into rooms, constant contact, and the ever so scandalous kiss.

Humans place value in the simplest of things.

He simply nods and hands the phone back to the skater who’s obviously gauging his reaction. “So?”

Jake looks back up. “So.”

“Anything you wanna ask?”

He shakes his head. “Not really. I feel like that Wikipedia page told me plenty. I know about your age, your early childhood, when you started skating, how you were really good in the minor circuit, and had a little bit of a slipup,” Sunghoon’s expression lights up a little at that, “But now you’ve gotten back on your feet, treading towards much better things.”

There’s a slightly defeated air to Sunghoon’s nod, any energy previously there, now gone.

“Look,” Jake sighs, somewhat relating to the other man’s experience, “if you want me to talk about your scandal, we can talk about your scandal. I don’t wanna pry into your moment of personal identity. It isn’t my place.”

The skater’s mouth gapes open and close at the assertion. Sunghoon rests his hands in his lap, patting his thighs, probably nervously. “Sorry, it’s just a question everyone tends to ask.” He isn’t making eye contact with him, instead, fixating on some place on his shoes.

“My guy. It’s not bad if you’re attracted to guys,” Jake continues, “It’s great; I do it. And it shouldn’t matter how people feel about you, it’s more about how you perceive yourself. I can’t slap a bandaid on your brain or force you to into this way of thinking, but it’s a weird balance between a socially acceptable amount of apathy towards others and figuring out patterns of your behavior and the things he likes,” he mulls, “It’s a slow process, but it helps.”

Sunghoon sighs, smally kicking his feet, “But it’s different from where I am. Even if my parents are super supportive, the majority of people won’t be.”

“Immense homophobia in my traditional Korean family,” Jake jokes while flipping a page, “Felt that.”

The skater lightly kicks the top of his magazine to get his attention. His change in behavior is admittedly very amusing. “But also culturally. South Korea while somewhat progressive has this dissonance when dealing with homosexuality-”

Jake has to quickly cut him off and ask him what dissonance is. “Many syllables; not something I use in day to day conversation.”

Sunghoon tells him it’s almost like irony, but more contradictory. “We’re all about growth, but that is mostly in the tangible parts like technology or research. Morally, I don’t think they can say the same. And when so much of my managing team likes to market me as being a faux boyfriend to my fans,” he fakes a gag at that, “It kind of ruins my branding.”

He immediately cracks open one of the bottles of soju and takes a swig. When he offers the other to Jake, he takes it and gently sets the unopened bottle on the ground. The cashier is a little stuck on the fact he has a management team but lets the skater continue on. His face is a bit disappointed but wistful.

“Appeal to the guys,” he jokes. When his joke doesn’t stick, Jake takes a more serious approach; “As scary as it is, I don’t think you can truly know what happens until you do it.

Sunghoon rolls his eyes at that. “How did your parents react to your sexuality?”

With a mischievous smile and a quick clap, Jake doesn’t hesitate to tell his side, no matter how tragic, and unfortunately contradictory it is. “They disowned me.”

The skater stares at him, unamused. “Literally will be a metaphor for my coming out,” he quips, bringing the bottle to his mouth again. “I can’t believe I just came out to a stranger,” the skater murmurs to himself.

The cashier laughs at this, “The gays have to stick together,” he simply replies. He watches the skater nod quietly in acknowledgment, “So how did you get with a hot French guy? Like you can barely speak English.”

Sunghoon automatically brings his hand to his mouth, cheeks puffed up, in an obvious attempt to prevent the alcohol from spurting out. It just makes Jake laugh harder. After swallowing, the other’s face is a dark red as his hand remains as an emotional barrier between the two nineteen-year-olds. “Why would you ask that?”

When the skater reaches for his bottle, Jake reaches up with his magazine to playfully tilt it up, forcing a distressed noise to come from Sunghoon. “You asked me if I had questions, and that was one of them!”

Before he can reply, the telltale bell rings, forcing Jake to gently roll Sunghoon into a corner and stand directly behind the counter.

They coexist in comfortable silence for the next few hours. The younger man falls asleep throwing his jacket over his head while Jake tends to a few more customers and switches out almost expired food. His head is tucked into the corner, as far away from the cigarettes as possible (he hopes the scent of fresh mint vape cartridges soothes him to sleep).

A few hours later, Jake’s artistic process of making stick drawings with the meat sticks by the counter is quickly interrupted by the sudden sound of the stool rolling. He’s tied the jacket around his neck and is reaching down to finally open the bag of chips. Some of which Jake does take. He even cracks open some spinach dip.

“What is that?” The other man looks genuinely confused at the concoction in the glass jar, but any questions he may have had no longer exist the moment Jake sticks a dipped chip into his mouth.

“I mean it’s not as good as a homemade recipe but-,” He doesn’t even bother finishing his sentence after spotting how excited he is by the new flavor. Jake is slightly relieved to see the man relax, even just a little bit, especially by the small things. From there on out, Sunghoon cradles the bag to his chest and happily dips every chip he picks up.

(It’s endearing.)

Jake already started on the bottle of soju after a particularly annoying customer; an hour full of occasional sips later, he’s about halfway done. He pours half of his remaining liquid into Sunghoon’s empty bottle. The ice skater complains that he isn’t supposed to even be drinking to which the cashier retorts the same, being on the job and all. He doesn’t put it on him being a bad drinker, because that would be a lie, but rather workplace respect (like a more mild version of not fucking your partner in your office). Sunghoon claims he can hold his alcohol well too, but also says that he doesn’t want the possibility of a hangover while competing.

They make a small game of it, playing rock, paper, scissors, with the loser taking a sip every time. For being a world-class athlete, the younger is somewhat oblivious, barely noticing that Jake throws rock consecutively for the first couple of times. However, once he thinks he has a pattern, it’s hook, line, and sinker when he throws out scissors. He’s not sure how they’re doing, but before long, they’ve both consumed a quarter.

If anything, the cashier is more relaxed. Sunghoon’s cupping his face in his hand, letting his elbow rest on the counter. His gaze is pensive; his foot taps repeatedly on the floor. Jake feels himself reach a hand out and brush a strand of hair away from the other’s face.

“You good?”

Jake’s words seem to pull him out of his trance and he nods. The languidness of the movement is somewhat concerning. “I’m just tired.”

“Are you sure it isn’t the alc?”

Sunghoon pushes himself to stand and immediately yawns. “It’s 3 in the morning. I don’t know what you expect from me.”

Jake pulls a lighter from the front display and holds it in front of the younger. When he moves it back and forth, the younger’s gaze is stable, unwavering. Then, he puts his arms out in a T shape and asks him to touch his nose while looking straight ahead. He hears the other’s complaints, but he can’t help but take a picture of the situation.

“I’m not going to send this out,” he reassures. He favorites the picture, an album already full of pictures of his dog Layla, his friends, and a few sunsets, “It’s more for me.”

Sunghoon has the audacity to pout but doesn’t tell him to delete it. Instead, he pulls his own phone out and snaps a picture of the cashier and his small smile paired with nondescript finger guns. Before Jake can act on his instinct to squeeze his cheeks because for some reason that feels like the right thing to do, he takes a few steps back and asks him to stand on one leg.

“This is stupid,” Sunghoon mutters while complying with the request. His knee bends, hovering above the ground. He raises his arms out, and Jake quickly slaps them down.

“Just stand, arms to your side.”

The skater rolls his eyes, “That’s actually so stupid.”

“Are you saying you can’t do it?”

“aRe yOu sAYiNg yOu cAnT dO iT,” the other mimics, “Why would you even ask-”

Sunghoon probably just has really bad luck or something, because he quickly stumbles off his leg. Jake extends his arms automatically, giving him something to brace against.

The younger’s skin burns hot to the point where Jake tries to retract his limb, but the grip on his forearm is firm.

“You’re freezing cold,” Sunghoon observes, holding the elder firmly. He quickly unties his jacket and gently puts it over Jake’s shoulders. “Put it on.” The cashier tries to shed the garment but instead finds his arms being guided into its sleeves. “Nope, just wear the jacket.” Sunghoon seems satisfied as Jake complies. “This blue is a good color on you,” he thoughtlessly observes. “You’re probably the kind of guy who only wears black. Wear more colors.”

Jake chuckles. “Neutrals, so I think you’re close.”

The skater nods. “A significant difference.” His fingers quickly move over the edges, smoothing the collar out and adjusting the middle. It’s a simple, but fond gesture that brings more warmth to his body than the jacket is. “But what about you?”

“This weather is literally nothing to me, and you’re probably freezing your arms off.”

“It’s not my fault the heater doesn’t work!” he complains.

The ice skater checks his phone. “It’s almost 13 degrees outside,” he deadpans.

“Exactly!” The exasperation in Jake’s voice makes Sunghoon tumble down in laughter. “You really just said fuck all Australians.”

Sunghoon takes a while, but the skater does eventually settle down, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. “It’s not my fault you can’t handle a little chill.”

“13 IS ONLY A LITTLE CHILL TO YOU?!” And that starts his reaction all over again.

He offers the younger a microwavable sandwich and a can of coffee when the horizon starts to glow a hazy orange. A glance at the clock tells him he’s about an hour away from his shift ending. After warming it up, Sunghoon traipses out of the store and towards the dew coated chairs. Jake quickly follows him, a fistful of napkins high.

Now sitting on the significantly less damp chairs, the cashier quietly admires the man before him as he munches on his food.

“How about you?” The younger looks up at him curiously while taking a gulp of coffee. “Tell me about yourself.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Major?”

Jake laughs. “History, but it’s more so I can argue with people on the internet about political discourse.” Sunghoon stares at him, clearly not knowing what to say, “I’m half kidding,” he placates, “I think time is weird, and learning about what happened in the past is interesting enough.”

“And after you graduate?” Sunghoon ponders, “Any plans?”

The cashier shrugs. “Not sure. We’ll see. Maybe I’ll find something I really want to study and do research. Or write a book. Or like go into law. Or probably just find a corporate job and work for the rest of my life,” he mutters bitterly.

“You’re lucky,” Sunghoon says, “Able to think about more than one thing.”

“What do you mean? You seem to be living the dream. Doing something that you love and you’re amazing at for your whole life.”

The athlete nods, “But literally one false step, and it’s all gone. And it makes me think, like what would I do after an accident happened? I didn’t do the best in academics, and I barely passed high school. I would probably have to take my CSAT again to get into a decently good school and then what? I’ve just never really thought about anything but ice skating.”

Jake smiles at the crumbs and the wrapper before him “We love having insecurities,” he adds. His eyes flicker up to find the younger staring at him intently. “I think that’s more of a bridge for you to cross later. It’s good to consider, but for now, you should just bask in what you currently have and enjoy it. The future will come eventually, and as humans, we always have things to worry about, and sometimes it requires us to acknowledge the future, but focus more on the things you have to immediately think about, like getting you back to your hotel.”

“It’s fine,” Sunghoon insists, “There’s no real rush.” He leans his hand against his cheek. “Tell me more about yourself.”

“Hi, I’m Jake, I’m nineteen, and I never fucking learned how to read,” he starts in English, in his slightly tipsy haze. When Sunghoon blinks at him confusedly, the cashier giggles and continues. He doesn’t go in-depth about the family thing, and the skater doesn’t prod, which he appreciates. The disownment is a sufficient summary. But he does mention how he kidnapped the family dog, showing the skater pictures of Layla. The cooing comes naturally.

“I don’t think I took her by force,” he explains, “But she followed me out of the house when I’d gone back to get all of my stuff, and that was that. Like if anyone called after her she might have gone back, but I’m really happy she’s stayed with me.” He can’t stop talking about her; technically while not a person, she’s definitely his best friend. He details her favorite foods, places to go on walks, and even points out her little mannerisms. All the while, Sunghoon nods and smiles a little bit.

“She does this really cute thing,” he explains with his hands, “Where I’ll be sitting at my desk, and when she wants attention, she’ll,” He places his palm up and lightly pats the skin, “put her head on my legs so I can pet her, and of course I can’t say no to that.”

Before he can even think of retracting his head, Sunghoon leans forward, letting his chin replace his hand. “Like this?” The movement is totally unexpected, but he looks straight into the elder’s face, expression almost pleading.

“Yeah,” he says, still taken aback, “Yeah, exactly like that.”

Sunghoon tilts his head to the side, letting Jake’s hand cup his cheek. “So am I cute too?”

The cashier’s face grows warm at the question. “We’ve established this,” he replies simply, patting the skater’s face in an attempt to shatter the tension, “You’re pretty attractive.”

The younger pouts at the contact lost, “But that doesn’t answer my question.”

Jake leans back on his chair and lets his folded hands rest atop the table. “Never have I,” he scoffs, “Ever seen a closeted boy flirt that confidently. Is that how you bagged a hot French man?”

And he watches the confidence drain from the skater’s body. Sunghoon brings his hands to his face, a physical, albeit ineffective shield to the other’s words. “Stop,” he whines (cutely).

“Now you’re worried?” he teases, poking his forehead jokingly, “Forgot that we were in public?”

Sunghoon whips his head around them, “There’s no one around.” However, he falters at the last word. Jake follows his gaze and spots a grey-haired figure heading in their direction.

“What is this?” Felix Lee asks in his deep voice, “Jake Sim looking happy?”

“Is it already 6?” he replies. The skater does the same, looking the freckle-faced boy up and down curiously.

Felix nods. “Usually you’re up and ready to dip,” he laughs, “but here you are with-” he spares a glance at Sunghoon. The shock is immediate, his eyes growing wide and into saucers. “Park Sunghoon? PARK SUNGHOON.”

The skater gets up and bows in greeting. “Hello,” he says in quiet, accented English.

“He speaks Korean,” Jake quickly explains.

Sunghoon, like the perfect person he is, bows again and repeats his salutations in Korean.

“How the hell do you know him?” Felix points to Sunghoon but then redirects to Jake. Very soon, his finger just oscillates between the two. Jake explains what happened and Felix looks ready to yell at him the moment he says he whacked the coach over the head.

“Do Hyunsuk?” The cashier stares at the skater, who nods in confirmation. Felix quickly runs around the corner; his gasp is loud enough to be heard from the front of the store. “Oh my god, it is.” Jake is a bit surprised the body is still there, but it’s also not the right time to mention that.

The cashier feels a warmth next to his ear and a few puffs of breath. “This would be the perfect time to run.”

Suppressing the urge to shiver, he turns to look up at the skater, who surprisingly does not retract even with their very close proximity. “Only if you’d given me the name of the place.” Sunghoon smiles sheepishly, and Jake can’t help but grin back. “Give me your phone and I’ll look it up.”

Just as the phone lands in his hands, he hears Felix before he sees him. “Oh my god and then there’s…” The cashier looks up to see his friend pointing emptily at the two of them. “What the hell.”

Jake quickly gets to work on trying to google where Sunghoon’s hotel is. Luckily he has a key card, and with a few taps on the keyboard, it comes up quickly. “And it’s less than fifteen minutes away,” he says.

“I don’t need to be at the rink until 7,” the skater says hopefully.

As nice as it would be to talk to the younger more, he knows he can’t keep him longer. “You still need to get ready for the day. Take a shower, maybe just try to collect yourself after last night.” The expression in the skater’s eyes changes. “I know you’re probably still super conflicted about the situation, but just think about the situation more. I’ll like call the cops about a guy who passed out in the back alley and we can see how it goes from there.”

“So, I’ll have to practice without him,” Sunghoon states.

Jake nods, “I’m sure you know your routine inside and out. You’ll be magnificent on the ice doing your twirls-”

“Spins.”

“Doing your spins,” he reiterates. His hand seems to move on its own, resting firmly on Sunghoon’s shoulder. “Regardless of his existence, you don’t need that creep. You have yourself.”

“You’ve never seen me skate, though,” the skater points out.

And then Felix pulls up next to Jake, easily wrapping his arm around his shoulder. “And he doesn’t have to. I can attest that you are definitely the next big Hanyu.”

The cashier is baffled, but his friend seems to have complimented him, with how red his cheeks are taking, “Yuzuru hyung won’t be retiring for a while, so-”

“HYUNG!” Felix exclaims, “Holy crap. Do you know other people? Like Nathan Chen?”

“My English is actually terrible, so my manager stands there and talks for us,” he laughs nervously.

The older man looks ready to ask him many a question, but time doesn’t stop for even a curious mind, and Jake knows they should leave soon.

“I’ll just get my stuff and we can dip,” he tells the younger before rushing into the store. He scrimmages around for his backpack, finding it soon enough, and quickly picks something off the shelf to take with him.

He comes back out to see Sunghoon signing a piece of paper. In a desperate rescue, he links his arm with Sunghoon’s and pulls him away.

“Bye Lix!” he says, waving back, “He has to go back to his hotel now.”

Sunghoon bows and slowly trails behind him. Felix is to his credit, quiet, but he obnoxiously gesticulates to them in goodbye.

“What’d he make you do?” Jake asks. The skater pulls his face mask on and then adjusts his arm so they can walk more comfortably.

“Sign the table. And his vest.”

The cashier sighs in exasperation; Chris will probably give him hell for the technical vandalism, but he’ll leave it to Felix to bring out clear pleading eyes to barely get a scolding (and the fact that their manager is obviously whipped for him). His reaction is apparently funny enough because Sunghoon starts giggling, a sound he’s heard a few times tonight, ranging from something full and hearty to light and airy, and even these in-between pops and he can’t stop thinking about it.

Stupid for him to grow affection towards a public figure.

“Are you sure this is okay?” he says, gesturing towards their linked arms.

Sunghoon considers their position for a bit. “I mean, you’ve already told me to screw what my coach does.” Then he pulls Jake closer to him, and presses his cheek into his shoulder, “So why not ignore my PR team.”

“That’s not what I meant at all!”

But the skater laughs again, and any common sense he might have had disappears.

“You’re lucky it’s a weekend,” he murmurs as they’re about a block away from the hotel.

“I’m lucky that I found you,” Sunghoon easily replies.

Jake smiles to himself. “You actually have no right to be this endearing. Especially to someone like me.” He looks up at the pink sky.

“I mean, you’re the one who saved me.”

“And that’s that, isn’t it?” he asks, “As much as I think you’re cool and would be open to maybe exploring something, I don’t think you’re in the same place as me, both literally and figuratively. You’ll be back in Korea by next week and I’ll still be here, working my 10 to 6. I don’t want to rush any revelations you’ll be having about yourself. And part of me wants to say that I just don’t want to be a stepping stone, but we’re kind of all just stepping stones of experience in the path that is life.”

Sunghoon stares at him, not sure of what to say. Suddenly, he drags him into an alley, removing his mask and taking a deep breath. “Come watch me skate.”

Jake doesn’t believe what he hears. “Excuse me?”

“I’ll work something out,” he continues, “I think my manager will be fine with it. He always told me there was something about my coach-”

“I told you,” he interrupts, unable to help himself.

“Whatever. Just come by 7 and you’ll make your shift after; I promise. I just want you to see my free program. Watch the short one when you get home.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“And bring the jacket; it’s a rental.” Sunghoon winks at him and then speeds off into the distance.

Jake’s reflexes are faster, and he grabs his wrist. “Wait.” He digs through his bag and pulls out the jar of spinach dip.

“You know, that would’ve been so cool,” the skater complains taking the jar from his outstretched hand, “I could have just gone and it would have been super chic.”

Jake hums in agreement, already taking the jacket off. “Mhm, but we both know you’re a fool,” he says fondly. However, before he can finish, he leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek.

“See you!” he vaguely registers. The shock is too much for Jake to even move towards Sunghoon and he’s gone.

When he gets home, he does do as he was requested and watches the short skate. And wow it’s a hole he can’t stop falling down after that. Jake’s no aficionado in the artistry of figure skating, but he can’t deny there’s something fantastical about how Sunghoon slides over the ice so smoothly, the way his sleeves whip in the blowing air around him, and the constant but quiet sound of skates against the ice. His expression is mostly neutral, but in the details, the way his eyes close and body seems to move like it’s second nature, simply absorbed in the music around him is engaging. He gets why all of his friends are so fixated on the sport.

And he gets to see that live tonight.

He won’t tell anyone this, but he spends all too long standing in front of his closet deciding what to wear. Well, it doesn’t matter what he wants, because Keeho traipses in with his friend Eric in tow as he’s adjusting his jumper. Layla leaps to the door, welcoming the guests.

“You don’t go out,” his roommate eloquently observes. He walks closer to him, scrutinizing his outfit and slightly styled, “Something’s up.” Like the dramatic person he is, he snaps and states, “Is it a date?” He jumps up and down so much that Jake crosses his fingers that the neighbors don’t file another noise complaint. “Is it! iS iT IS IT.”

As he’s about to tell him off, Eric gasps, looking at his phone. “You met Park Sunghoon last night?”

“I have no idea who that is, but it sounds like a big deal.” Keeho leans over Eric’s shoulder as he shows him a picture, and immediately picks the device out of his hands to hold the screen closer to his face, “Holy that’s a very attractive person.”

Eric tries to chase Keeho around, honestly a miracle in itself with how small of a space they’re in. Layla wags her tail excitedly, obviously wanting to join in, but a hand down from Jake is enough to help her heel. She walks towards her owner, taking the indirect offer of head scratches. At the same time, he goes back to straightening out his clothes and checking how far of a walk it’ll be. If he’s just going to walk the half-hour, then maybe there’s no use in being so detailed. Yeah, that’s true; Sunghoon saw him at his crustiest so why should he-

There’s a loud clap. Layla's ears perk up and is head turns and he sees Eric cupping a hand to his mouth. She walks to him, and resting her head on his lap, sensing some distress.

“Yes,” Keeho says, gripping his shoulders and shaking him, “This is what you deserve.”

“You’re wearing his jacket,” Eric continues, “What is this timeline?” He shows him a picture that Felix must have taken of him inside the store, bright blue and all. And then the vandalized table, and his vest.

“Oh thanks for reminding me,” he says, retreating into his room.

When he comes back out, Eric immediately charges for it. “AND YOU HAVE THE JACKET.” Like a matador, the jacket as his cape, he flips it away.

He sighs. “Don’t do that, dude; that’s just weird.”

Keeho cups Jake’s face like he’s a child. He tries to struggle out of the grip but fails. “Jakey, my boy, I told you, your visuals are fuckin powerful.” He takes a few steps back to look him up and down, “Good fit too. And the actual effort with the contacts is heavily appreciated.” A hand raises, expecting to be met, but all Jake does is stare at him for a bit, unimpressed. He silently watches Keeho complete the high-five himself.

“Are you going to return the jacket?” Keeho asks. Jake nods.

“I thought,” Eric mumbles, “You would at least deny it a little bit.”

“I don’t know what there is to deny?” he explains, checking his pockets that he has everything, “He just waited with me until my shift was over so I could take him back.”

“Why not just go back himself? Isn’t he like our age?”

Jake shrugs. “It’s a different area. Could get lost.”

“But google maps?”

Jake is already at the door, ready to leave. Layla bounds towards him, looking up with pleading eyes. He bends down, pets her head again, and fondly boops their noses together. "Bye, baby," he sings. He does know, but it really isn’t his story to tell; he was already a bit hesitant to tell Felix, and he’s glad to hear he hasn’t spread it more. “Not sure, but I just helped him out.”

As he turns the knob, he hears a fake sob that can only be from Keeho, “My son,” he proclaims, reaching out to Jake, “He’s all grown up.”

Eric, who has been stuck on his phone, presumably texting Felix more, interjects, “I thought Haku was your son.”

“He is my son, but-,” and at that, Jake heads out, not needing to hear his roommates spiel about his paternal adoration (again).

At the venue, he stands by the entrance, waiting to get in. The front is crowded, filled with media people, and saturated with vans. After a few, definitely too awkward, minutes of hugging a wall, he sees a figure walking around with his name written on the back of a box. A few arm waves later, the tall man is heading towards him. He introduces himself as Kim Namjoon, Sunghoon’s manager.

“Sunghoon is a ballsy little shit sometimes,” he mutters while they’re speed walking to the back of the building. (Jake mentally agrees). “Jacket on to blend in. And this too.” He’s also handed a lanyard with too many badges on it. He complies as quickly as he can, although he’s sure he looks like a fool scrambling to everything on. “He could have told you earlier, like someone with common sense, but no, try to predict the future.”

They reach a backdoor that the man pushes open. “Are we late?”

“He’s about to go on the ice,” he explains quickly. Jake weaves in under the arm and runs as fast as he can to keep up with Namjoon.

They eventually reach the front end of the dim tunnel, glowing bright white, delicate music playing loudly, all accompanied by the scratching of ice skates.

“Thanks for doing what so many of the staff have wanted to do for years,” he adds.

Jake chuckles, half out of breath, “Almost committing homicide?”

“Essentially. Minus the almost.”

“Damn really?”

“Hyunsuk is insanely popular with older generations and regarded as a legend overall, but he’s always been weird around the kids he coaches. I heard some stuff through the grapevine about the girls, but that was it. So, I don’t think he was actively trying to mess with Hoon, but the moment he came out to him last year, and a week later he got divorced, shit got super weird. Like I was talking to his parents maybe about changing his coach, but they were like ‘no, we’ve had him for years, and Sunghoon hasn’t said anything bad about him.’”

“Do all of you just have no fear of the press?”

Namjoon chuckles at that. “None of the teams we’re passing by can speak Korean.” He pauses to think. “Probably.”

Jake hadn’t even realized he fell into Korean. “Sounds like lowkey grooming to me.”

“Which is what I said,” the man replies, “But I don’t know; I’ve never been able to get through to him. You somehow did.”

“What do you mean?”

Namjoon retells the events from this morning, and how Sunghoon had quietly walked into their shared hotel room. There was no hesitation in his retelling, but no accusations either. He simply presented it as it was. Of his own volition, he told his parents about the situation, who then made the decision that yes, they should find a replacement as soon as possible.

“The police then got into contact with us, saying they found him picked up by the police behind a convenience store where the manager has cameras back there for who knows why putting video evidence to any claims Sunghoon will want to make in the future.”

“That’s good,” Jake summarizes, feeling some of the tension in him dissipate, “And he’s okay?”

“I would say he’s just okay,” Namjoon explains, “He got hell from his PR team, which wow I absolutely despise because let the poor boy exist; he didn't do anything wrong. And the head coach was also hard on him because he didn’t have his jacket for the opening ceremony and had to borrow mine.” His voice falls a bit lower. “I’m too soft on him? Maybe try to be more understanding,” he says to himself.

Jake stares up at the giant monitor detailing the lineup for the evening. The order is by score, and right now, Sunghoon seems the one set to go on stage next. “I was gonna ask if I could go say hi to him or something first,” he murmurs to himself.

“He’s in a zone right now,” Then, there’s a flash of darkness against the white ice. He quietly watches Sunghoon skate out onto the ice in a black billowy shirt, hands tucked politely behind his back. Jake’s bad with words, but what he sees feels so much more cohesive, almost more natural than him walking on land.

“You’ve never seen him skate before, right?” Namjoon presses a hand into his shoulder, pushing him forward. He hadn’t even realized he’d slowed down.

“I mean, he told me to watch his short program.”

“But not the free skate? You’re in for a treat.”

His eyes never leave the ice, but that seems to work in his favor when his eyes meet Sunghoon’s. Surprise flashes through his expression, but it quickly returns to his starting pose.

“You should go up,” he says, “Get a better view of him.” Even if that may be the case, Jake’s feet cement themselves on the floor, and he just quietly watches from where he stands.

And simply put, it’s breathtaking and indescribable. Jake’s never seen anyone move that fluidly, both in ease and passion.

In elementary school, he almost didn’t go up a grade because he simply didn’t know how to play a recorder. A bit unfortunate, honestly, and probably one of the first signs he simply wasn’t meant to do much in today’s world. However, even a fool like himself can feel the emotion of want and clear sadness, sway even to Sunghoon’s movements and feel like he’s a part of the narrative he’s telling. Maybe he’s what’s desired, or could be the person to fulfill that desire.

He wants to be both.

Jake can’t take his eyes off of the skater; it’s like if he does, he’d miss something irreplaceable and this whole experience just wouldn’t be the same. His mouth opens in awe as he sees him do two jumps in a row, landing perfectly and skating around the rink in a wide arc. He’s bracing himself against the banister, fingers tight in concentration.

Before he knows it, he’s in the center of the rink, just spinning and spinning, the soundtrack blooming and bursting at its apex. And a simple pose, arms out into the air, in a V shape, chest moving up and down as he basks in what should be a triumph.

“What was that?” Namjoon murmurs under his breath. He darts towards the exit, where Sunghoon is skating towards with a large plush penguin in his hands and a wreath of golden wattles around his head. Jake follows, not wanting to lose his only guidance in the building. “What was that!” He hears the manager repeat much loudly. In front of him, he engulfs the skater into a tight hug.

He sees Sunghoon’s lips move in explanation, but doesn’t really hear anything interesting until the mention of his name.

“Jake!” he exclaims excitedly and slightly breathless, yet still has enough energy to throw himself into said boy’s arms. He naturally pulls him into a tight embrace. “You’re wearing my jacket!”

Jake pulls back for a moment, resting his hands on the skater's waist. “Are you okay?” He focuses on his face, looking for any indication otherwise, but is met with a bright smile, red cheeks, gleaming eyes, and insistent nodding. As Sunghoon is about to take the jacket offered to him, Jake sheds his own garment and hands it to him.

“I’ll be fine,” he states, taking the other jacket, “Plus, I like how you look in my clothes.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices that Namjoon looks close to having a mental breakdown, but in a good way. His arm squeezes tightly around the round penguin. “We gotta go to the kiss and cry!” he declares.

Sunghoon nods, leaving an arm around Jake to guide him towards the whatever was said. “The what?”

“Waiting area for my scores.”

Jake looks over at the nicely decorated area. “Is it a literal name? Because you kiss or cry when you hear your scores?”

The skater confirms his assumption. “I tend to do neither, though,” he jokes.

As they're a few steps away, another person charges towards them, irritation clear in his expression. “Park Sunghoon, what the hell do you’re doing? Get your hand off of,” there’s an honestly kind of offensive arm wave in his direction, “him. You can’t just go around doing stuff like this; people are going to know-”

“Nope,” his manager interrupts, pulling the man away, “Nope, nope. You’re not doing this now Woojin; just let him bask in his new record.”

“What record?” Woojin immediately replies, “We haven’t even seen the scores.”

Namjoon hands Sunghoon the stuffed animal and lightly pushes him, and by proxy Jake in that direction. “It’s a hunch,” he reasons.

As nice as that would have sounded in a movie, Woojin automatically dissents, listing reasons that Sunghoon’s homosexuality could jeopardize his brand and by proxy him. There’s a small breeze behind him, and when Jake turns around to see what it is, he sees panic and presumably a failed attempt to lunge for him.

Sunghoon pulls him in and takes a seat, patting the spot next to him. When he sits down, Jake notices the camera in front of him.

He leans into the skater’s space, whispering, “That’s a camera.”

The boy looks in front of him and then back at his Australian counterpart. “Yes.”

“Is this being broadcasted live?”

“Yes.”

Jake stares at Sunghoon in disbelief. “I’m-” he shakes the overextended sleeves of the jacket, and points down to the ground, and then back at the skater. “No wonder your PR manager was having a heart attack.”

“Do you agree with him?” he asks, genuinely concerned.

Jake pats the head of the stuffed penguin in the Sunghoon’s lap. “If you're comfortable doing this, and you don’t think you’ve rushed it at all, then I’ll support what you want,” he reasons, “I just want you to be happy.”

(It’s been less than a day, but that smile is stupidly addicting).

“Announcing scores for Park Sunghoon.” The skater has his hands in front of his face, eyes barely peeking through his fingers. Jake rubs his back reassuringly.

He stares up with Sunghoon at the screen above them, which reveals numbers he doesn’t understand, but the crowd roars in excitement. His technical score is 104.49, performance, 95.53, with no deductions, for a total of 200.02; and then with his short program score of 91.23, he has a total score of 291.23. There’s a small PB next to the number. And he’s in first place.

Sunghoon stares at Jake, shock clear in his expression. “Holy shit. I beat Shoma.”

“I have no idea what’s happening,” he admits, “But it seems to be really good.”

“You know that thing I said like a minute ago.”

Jake smiles, “You said a lot of things.”

“The kiss and cry thing!” he explains, “I’m seriously considering doing one of the two.”

“I mean, crying is a natural reaction to something so, monumental?” he states, but is unsure of what he’s said is correct, “no harm or foul there.”

The skater’s smile broadens. “The other thing.”

Jake’s eyes widen at that. “Oh!” he pauses to think about it, “No!”

“You don’t want to kiss me?” Sunghoon pouts.

He simply adjusts a few of the younger’s hair strands, wet from sweat and sticking to his forehead, to accommodate the crown of flowers. “I’m not going to answer because that would just fuel your ego more than it already is right now. Also, I think it’s the adrenaline, and I don’t want to take advantage of that; if that’s what you really want, take me out on a few dates first, and we’ll see where things go.”

The look of shock on the PR manager’s face is priceless, especially when the two of them leave the kiss and cry with their hands intertwined.

“You can’t-” he says exasperatedly, “What. Just listen to me!”

“I KNEW YOUR PERFORMANCE SCORE WOULD BE WEIRDLY HIGH TODAY!” Namjoon declares very loudly. “Your expressions were amazing; like I’ve never seen them so deep and emotional until today.”

“It’s the gay pining,” Sunghoon replies with a deadpan expression.

“You’re guaranteed a spot on the podium, most likely third, but that's okay; we celebrate your medal, nonetheless,” his manager continues, “And then your parents immediately called me when they saw you and Jake and not me there, but they also now want to meet him because I don’t blame. Like, I’m pretty sure you’re trending on Twitter.”

“I mean, that happens every-”

“No, I meant Jake.” Namjoon shows them his phone, where masses of people are constantly complimenting him under the Grand Prix hashtag. They’re pretty nice, others more explicit than others, but what really catches his eye are the screenshots people took of the interactions between him and Sunghoon. He hadn’t been aware the moment looked as sweet as it felt.

"Cute," he murmurs to himself.

“Can we take him with us?” Sunghoon asks, eyes wide and pleading. Everyone turns to face the skater.

“What?” both Jake and Namjoon exclaim simultaneously.

“Like, just have Jake come with us for the rest of the season.”

“Are you okay?” his manager asks, “There’s no rest of the season.”

“Plus, I have classes and a job to take care of,” Jake adds, “I can’t just up and leave.”

“It’s the adrenaline,” Namjoon reasons.

“Figured. He asked to kiss me on live TV.”

His manager sighs at the newfound knowledge. “Sunghoon, as much as I love you like a brother-”

Sunghoon simply places his hands around Jake’s face, as if he was presenting a product. “But, look at him.”

“Can you kiss me now?” Sunghoon asks as they hang out in the back of the skater’s (team) rental car. Jake figured that it wouldn’t be the best for him to go to the airport, so he took Chris’s offer and didn’t show up for his shift. For some reason, his driver’s license was surprisingly enough for them to simply hand the keys over, and probably more since he was the main person who got Do Hyunsuk fired. (“Was he really THAT bad?” “Oh, definitely.”)

Jake considers the setting. They’re sitting in an empty Woolworths parking lot at 2 in the morning, sharing a bag of chips and the gifted spinach dip. And some more reasonably priced soju. “No.”

“Why not?” he whines

“The sanctity of the space,” Jake repeats, “Spinach dip isn't an ideal kissing flavor. And also I think we should just get to know each other more. Beyond trauma bonding.” He surveys Sunghoon’s intrigued expression, “If you’re genuinely interested in exploring what we have as more than just a one day stepping stone. Like I’m happy you’ve become more comfortable with your identity, and I hope I wasn’t the only catalyst to that. Actually, I know I wasn’t. If anything, you probably had the energy in you and needed someone to give you that final push. But, I would be open, albeit kind of hesitant because I'm not sure how your status as a celebrity will affect our dynamic.”

The skater nods. "I can't tell you anything definitively about the future," which Jake completely understands, "But I will say, I want that kiss the next time we meet,” he continues, lightly patting Jake’s leg.

“Flirt,” he mutters fondly, “I was planning on going to Korea anyways with my friends for winter break; they’re covering the costs as a collective birthday gift to me, and are being super super pushy about me going, so.”

Sunghoon immediately brightens up. “You’re coming to Korea!”

“I was going to decline as much as I could,” he says, “But I guess for you.”

“OOoooo,” the skater says, “Jake Sim has smooth words.”

“I’ve learned from the best.” Jake takes the hand resting on his leg and brings it to his mouth. “You’re good at giving crash courses.”

Jake doesn’t like calling himself a bum. Not because societal standards have expected him to think that he is one, but more that, it isn’t true anymore. In some ways, he wishes he still would be because that way his parents wouldn’t be asking him for money, his peers wouldn’t try to pry into his or Sunghoon’s personal life, and he could work quaintly in a convenience store. He does still work there, but at least once a day, a fan or some media person walks up to him and asks him about the skater.

His friends are the same for the most part. Keeho clowns him, forever documenting that he trended on Twitter for his visuals, the ones that Jake had so vehemently denied. Chan has this glint of jealousy in his eye whenever Felix stops by the table and looks at the signature fondly. He and Eric, the two inseparable pieces of chaos, never stop asking him how his partner is doing.

And every time, he tells them they’ll see Sunghoon when they go to Korea.

The consensus is, however, that Jake is different with the ice skater around. In the little time they had together, the Ice Prince ironically thawed his frozen heart (that’s actually so cheesy and he despises it). And without him, albeit gradual, he retreated into his typical, caustic personality. As Keeho put it, “I’m glad you have something else to think about besides fixating on the world’s social problems. You deserve a mental reprieve sometimes, and I think that’s what he is for you.”

The sensation he has when he finally sees Sunghoon after that long haul flight is so pleasant; he can recognize him even with his mask covering half his face and layered in a puffer jacket and hoodie. While the possibility of it just being jetlag and slight dehydration causing the sensation is possible and thoroughly logical, he pushes those thoughts away.

It’s more of an emotional bond.

Rushing towards him was an instinctive response. With the younger’s arms tightly put around him, Jake grounds himself in the feeling. Any tension he might have felt in his body automatically disappears, as he relaxes against Sunghoon. He doesn’t know what love is, but he’s sure this isn’t it. Whatever it may be is probably the beginning threads of something similar, a path towards love.

Thinking about it all, with Sunghoon only sort of just out, not denying any claims but never confirming them, and Jake having to swerve the media as best he could with no responses, the circumstances are understandably off-putting. But even with all the things that could happen, only time will tell; he won’t know what will happen, and that shouldn’t prevent him from doing what he wants or feeling how he feels.

It’s what he told Sunghoon that one fateful night, and the best he can do, is live up to his advice.

“I missed you,” Jake feels murmured into his hair.

“Missed you too.”