Archive of Our Own

Grief is almost indescribable.

It feels like floating in the depths of the ocean, water pressing down on every side of you, never giving you any relief or lightness. It feels like a part of you has been ripped out, leaving a cavern in the center of your being. Muscle, bones, soul cracked and splintered, open to the world where even the feeling of the wind causes a deep-seated pain. A longing for what you can no longer have.

It feels worse than anything Jisung has ever felt in his entire life.

He’s been awake for a while, but he can’t tell you how long. His brain doesn’t process the passage of time anymore. Just one bleak moment fading into the next as his minutes, days, weeks, everything pass by him, and he just stands stock still. A wild blurring of the sunlight of days and darkness of nights zooming past him that he can’t reach out to grasp anymore.

Their bedroom walls are still painted a soft mint, the color Minho picked out when they first moved into the shared loft. It’s adorned with pictures of all their travels and biggest moments. When they went to Paris for their honeymoon—Minho way more romantic than he ever wanted to admit—their lips locked together with the Eiffel Tower as a backdrop. Pictures from their graduations; one of each in their cap and gown next to each other, two years apart. You can see how much Jisung grew into himself between Minho’s graduation and his own. So much more confident and not so rail thin. Other pictures, ones with friends and family, a constellation of all their years together. It’s become a sort of shrine to his husband. To the one person he misses more than he knew possible. It hurts to see them; yet he can’t take them down. Could never manage to pack this away.

Minho. Even the thought of him still makes Jisung’s lungs seize. He already knows he’ll never overcome this hurt. How could he? They spent eight years together, built and entire life together. Everything Jisung has shares a memory of him. Every single inch of this apartment still whispers of their times together. He can’t look at the sofa without seeing their lazy Sundays together, sun streaming through the large windows that had drawn Minho to this particular loft in the first place. He can still feel that caress of sunshine across his face, looking up at Minho as he told animated stories of work or hangouts with their friends. Even if Jisung had been there, hearing the moments from Minho’s mouth always made them sweeter. He can still feel the way his chest had swelled, trying desperately to make enough room for his love.

He sees Minho standing at the stove, cute pink apron tied around his waist as he shimmied his hips and cooked Jisung’s favorite meals. Can see that one time they’d gotten distracted in each other and completely charred their dinner. Breaking apart hastily at the sound of the fire alarm, working together to scrape the pan until they declared it a lost cause. Can still hear their bubbling laughter as they looked at their ruined dinner and ordered takeout from down the street instead. It was a poor imitation of Chinese food, their favorite.

He sees Minho brushing his teeth, barely able to keep his eyes open as he leaned against the counter. Those first years when he opened his dance studio had been so stressful and yet they always made time for each other. Gentle support; easy smiles. He can remember every single detail. Can still feel Minho in his arms as he wrapped around him from behind, the softest kiss pressed to his neck until he received a sleepy grin in the reflection in front of him.

It makes it impossible to get out of bed some days, knowing he’ll be faced with countless memories that bring him to his knees.

Minho was beautiful.

Have you watched the sun rise over the ocean, huddled on the beach as the morning chill wrapped around you? Because Jisung has, and he couldn’t take his eyes off Minho the entire time. The way the gentle, pastel hues had kissed his smooth skin and ignited his eyes like melted chocolate. The most breathtaking sight he’d ever seen.

Minho was way too good in every single way. Many people thought he was intense, especially when they saw him in passing. Those people never got to see what Jisung did. They never got to witness how soft spoken and gentle he could be. They could never know that Minho cried when they watched cheesy romcoms, or the way he always, always thought of Jisung. Special occasions weren’t necessary for him to go the extra step to make Jisung feel his love. Bouquets of flowers waiting for him every few weeks after Minho found out he loved them. His favorite cheesecake from the bakery near Minho’s studio just because it was Tuesday and Tuesdays are secretly the worst day of the week. Only Jisung knew Minho like this; only Jisung got every fiber of Minho’s love and adoration. He basked in it, maybe even taking it for granted knowing what he knows now.

They’d met in university and Jisung was shocked that someone so interesting and handsome could ever look his way. They’d only met through Chan, and Jisung had been smitten the moment their eyes met. Time stopped back then. So different from how it flows now. He can still feel the way his heart beat in his throat on their first date—Minho asked him out in the most awkward way imaginable and took him to a cliché dinner and a movie—and the way his hand had grown so sweaty and clammy as they clung to each other in the dark of the theater. Secret, knowing glances before they ended up at Minho’s dorm room.

They’d become inseparable within days, never even asking each other if they were boyfriends. No, they just casually started referring to each other that way to everyone else and rolled with it. They didn’t even have a set anniversary. Not until the day they’d wed. The happiest day of his life. Minho looked so ethereal standing on the beach in Busan, the very one where they watched the sunrise on their first anniversary, hands outstretched once Jisung was within reach. They’d held onto each other like lifelines as they shared their vows. Jisung can still remember them word for word.

The kiss that sealed them as forever partners was one for the books, Minho dipping him backwards as they locked together. There are so many pictures of it from every angle. All their friends had memorialized that moment for them to never be forgotten.

Then this loft. They’d been living in a tiny shoebox of an apartment for a year before deciding that they could afford a bigger place. It had been such a pain to find, yet they’d spent every free moment flipping through pictures on Minho’s laptop as they vetoed various places. Laughter had roared between them as they debated the importance of a guest room; of a properly sized kitchen. Then, one day, Jisung had looked up from his spot on the floor and saw a radiant, excited smile on Minho’s face. One seared in the back of his brain to this day. They moved in shortly after, customizing the space and filling it with all their meager things.

Through the years, they’d added more and more until it felt complete. Whole. Their entire world was in this loft and yet Jisung has been left to live in it alone.

He doesn’t blame Minho. How could he ever do that? It wasn’t his fault; it wasn’t anyone’s fault. Minho had gradually grown weaker, unable to keep up at the studio and eventually fainting before they went to the hospital.

Cancer.

Such a short, simple word that can never cover the devastation it brings.

They’d been optimistic at first. Cancer could be beat; it had been beat. Many times. Hundreds of rounds of treatment, countless trips to the oncologist, even chemotherapy. Jisung had held Minho in his arms as he shook with sobs, their matching bald heads feeling surprisingly cold despite it being the middle of August. Jisung had been there every step of the way, holding Minho’s hand as his grip weakened. Held him every single night as he grew thinner and more fragile.

When they heard the final prognosis, they’d been silent. Nothing could prepare you for being told that your husband had approximately three months left. That silent acceptance settled over them, a melancholy quietness as they returned to this loft.

They had so many plans for the future. So many things they always promised to do and see together. They’d talked about getting a cat, going to Thailand just to spend a week eating themselves sick. They’d talked about children, not anytime soon, but maybe one day. Jisung still wanted all of that. He wanted to share every single thing in his life with Minho.

It was a late night in November when Jisung woke to an eerie silence beside him. No breathing, no rustling. He knew instantly, and yet it had taken him almost ten minutes to finally check. To see Minho’s empty shell, to finally realize that he had lost his soulmate. Their love, though, never suffered the same fate. That, at least, can be a comfort to him now. They loved each other severely until the very end and Jisung would never stop.

Now, though, all that’s left is the shell of Jisung too. Much like the frail body of his forever love had been. When Minho died that night, he’d taken half of Jisung with him.

He’s lost and he knows it. Everyone knows it.

Chan had been his first call. Three in the morning and the man had rushed to him, held him against his chest as Jisung fell apart on the floor of their bedroom. The EMTs had come to retrieve Minho at some point, but he stayed anchored to his longest friend, unable to handle anything else. Clung to the fabric of his sleep shirt, soaking it with his tears until he had none left.

All of their friends had huddled around him in the days afterwards, never once leaving him alone. They’d come and gone from the loft, helping to sort out everything. Call Minho’s family, call his own family, arrange the funeral. Chan had taken over everything that Jisung couldn’t face. He’d even dressed Jisung in his all-black suit and driven him to the graveyard on that bitter, freezing day. Minho had just turned 30, this wasn’t supposed to happen so young.

Jisung lost another part of himself as he watched the casket lower into the ground, a sort of finality that he could never be prepared for. Chan had held him up firmly as he set a bouquet of lilies onto the sleek, black wood. Lilies. The first flowers Minho had ever bought him.

It still hurts to remember.

Minho’s mother had sobbed in his arms that night, sharing their favorite memories. She tucked a book of pictures from Minho’s childhood into his arms when she left, thanking him for loving her son until the very end. That book is still tucked away on the bookshelf downstairs. He can’t look at it, but just owning it makes him feel a little better. Another piece of Minho that he can hold close.

It’s been six months, and the pain is still just as clear to him. Every passing minute in the loft just reminds him of what he doesn’t get to experience anymore.

--

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but I think you should seek out therapy.”

Seungmin sits across from him, occupying their old, navy blue armchair that had been just ugly enough to be on sale. Yet, Minho had loved it instantly and insisted on getting it. They’d barely managed to fit it into the small space. Now, Minho’s best friend sits against its rough fabric and Jisung fights to not feel bitter about it. He hasn’t been able to sit there, barely allows himself to notice it still exists.

They’d never been the closest, with Seungmin always busy with work. Their friend group had come together, of course, but Seungmin was closest to Minho even after years as a certified group. Since his passing, the man has made a point of coming around more often. Jisung suspects it’s because he misses Minho almost as much as Jisung does. Can he see Minho’s ghost moving around the place just like Jisung can?

“I don’t want to,” he says in reply. He’s heard it enough already. Everyone wants him to seek help and yet he can’t bring himself to. Therapy means talking and he’s not ready to talk about it. Not ready to be forced to move on.

The wine they’ve been drinking for an hour is already pumping through him, a lethal mixture with how little he’s been eating lately. He knows he’s gotten thin again, probably smaller than he was when he first met Minho, but food just makes his stomach churn violently. He does his best to eat when Felix and Jeongin come over with his favorites, but it’s still hard. Everything is hard.

Seungmin nods, accepting his answer. “It’s hard, I know. I… miss him too.”

“I miss him so much,” Jisung says back, voice running thin by the end until it breaks, a sob bubbling out of him in its stead.

How many times is he going to get drunk and cry? He’s done it far too often in the last six months, the inebriation bringing all of his worst feelings to the surface but still so addictive. Even if it hurts, at least there’s the cushion of the alcohol wrapped around him, making it a little easier to deal with. He knows he’s just numbing himself at this point, but he can’t stop.

“We’re worried about you, Jisung,” Seungmin says, his own cheeks shining with silent tears.

He’s suddenly furious, standing on unsteady legs as he begins to pace. That’s been his default lately: anger. He looks at everyone else seeming to move on in life and hates them. He thinks about cancer and gets livid that it’s even a thing and even more upset that modern medicine can’t cure it all. He looks at himself, how he’s shrinking into nothingness and even gets mad at that. “I know you’re worried, but what do you want from me?! Can’t you see I’m trying? I’m trying so hard to keep going but it just hurts. I miss Minho every fucking day! He’s everywhere around me.”

Seungmin bites at the inside of his cheek as he watches Jisung’s frantic pacing. “You have to talk to someone or you’re never going to move past this.” At Jisung’s scalding look, he raises his hands in surrender. “I miss him too! I miss him all the fucking time, but you can’t just waste away like this! I don’t want to watch you keep falling apart, Jisung!”

“I don’t want to fall apart,” he screams back, fisting into his hair. It hurts, pulling at the strands so roughly, but he can’t stop. “I don’t want to feel like this, but I never fucking wanted to lose him. I can’t… can’t fucking cope with it! Do you see all the pictures and shit around here? They’re all of him or picked by him. And don’t you fucking dare tell me to take them down either!”

Seungmin stands, though he looks scared. They’re posed like two villains in a western, ready to shoot each other if anything escalates. “Jisung, calm down a little, please? I’m not trying to tell you to get rid of him, okay? I just want you to talk about all of this with someone. Please.”

It’s all too much. Jisung probably wouldn’t act out like this if he weren’t drunk, but all the alcohol does is rip away the barrier he’s been keeping. It cracks the dam that’s been holding back all his fears and worries. “What if I can’t get past this? What then!?”

“You can,” Seungmin says back, his voice so sure and confident. It makes Jisung see red. Why is everyone so sure he can just move on? Why can’t anyone realize that half of his entire being is gone? That’s what soulmates are and he’s completely sure that Minho was his. Haven’t they heard of wolves and how the grief of losing their mate can make them die too? Jisung feels like that, like he might just wither away and die without Minho in his life.

In a sudden cloud of rage, Jisung stalks to the kitchen and flings open a cupboard door in search of one particular item. His fingers dig into various plates, mugs, glasses, until they wrap around the plate he’s looking for. It’s objectively ugly. A stupid, thick piece of clay that he and Minho had painted together on a date somewhere around five months of dating. Pink and purple lopsided hearts and their initials. He can admit that he cried the first time he pulled the plate out of the cupboard after Minho’s passing.

Now, though, he holds it up in front of Seungmin, eyes barely focused on the man across the room. His vision is so hazy, a mixture of his all-consuming anger and his inebriation. “Do you see this? Do you see it!? You want me to just act like I don’t have a loft filled with all of these types of things? Act like I can just move on from this?”

“Jisung, stop being so dramatic! I’m not telling you to get rid of anything!”

It’s the way Seungmin raises his voice, Jisung thinks, that sends him over the edge. Into a pitfall of broken fury. Of sadness and despair. He slams the plate onto the floor, watching as it shatters into a dozen pieces. The sound is jarring, just enough to slap him out of his irate reverie. They both stare at the shards on the floor, taking in what he’s just done. It’s something he can’t undo.

“Jisung,” Seungmin starts, voice suddenly hushed and so full of worry that it makes Jisung’s eyes sting.

“Out! GET OUT!”

Clearly knowing this is out of hand, Seungmin just nods and skirts around him. Jisung waits for the sound of the door clicking shut before he collapses onto the floor, reaching out to the shards of one of his favorite memories. It’s splintered, just like his heart. Irreplaceable and irreparable.

He’s not even sure how he has anything left to cry in him anymore, but it spills out anyways. A heady combination of snot and tears run down his face as he lays on the floor and just lets his feelings out. Lets all the hurt pour out of him. This is so unfair. Why did Minho have to leave him? Jisung needed him! He needed to have Minho to keep him whole, needed him to come patch up the holes before he took on too much water and sank to never be seen again. Jisung is a shipwreck, ready for the sea to swallow him up.

Why? Why him?

--

When he wakes, his head is throbbing uncomfortably. It feels like someone pumped his skull full of lead and left it to solidify overnight. There’s a distinct ache in his shoulder from where it’s pressed into the hard surface. He just lays on the floor, letting the feeling settle in him and accepting it. There’s nothing he can do to make himself feel better.

His eyes barely crack open, taking in the broken remnants of the plate in front of him, and he lets them shut again. Block out everything around him for a moment as he centers himself.

Another useless day. Another waste.

Jisung eventually gets up, finds an empty box in the hallway closet, and sweeps the shards into it. Yet he can’t bring himself to throw it away. No, he can’t part with this piece of their history yet. He stashes it in the back of that same closet and closes the door, sealing off the lingering hurt with it.

Another useless day.

--

Jisung lays in bed, staring at the ceiling. It’s probably somewhere near two in the morning, but who even cares? He won’t do anything productive tomorrow either.

His head tilts to the side and then he sees…

Jisung sits straight up, letting the blanket pool around his lap in the process. Minho stands in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe in a familiar way that makes his heart clench dangerously. He’s not delirious enough to think it’s real; anything more than an apparition of his lost love. Yet Minho looks so beautiful that Jisung can’t bring himself to look away. He looks like he did before he got sick. Body still firm and filling out his clothing, dark hair parted on his forehead. The man that Jisung fell in love with too quickly around cheap dates and cram sessions.

“Lost for words, love,” Minho calls to him and it makes goosebumps break out on his skin. It sounds so real. His voice just as magical and soft as he remembered. It’s so soothing, able to take away the pain that’s been resting in the pit of his stomach for months now.

“Minho,” Jisung calls, voice rough from lack of use the past few days.

“Why do you look so sad, Ji,” he asks, walking towards the bed. It makes Jisung’s breath hitch. He can’t put into words how badly he’s missed this. Once Minho is within arm’s reach, he can’t help but outstretch his hands towards him. He can almost feel him against his fingertips already, warm and solid.

But then his hand goes through Minho, like a puff of smoke in the air and it makes the tears form in his eyes. “You’re not real,” he cries. “I miss you so bad, I just want to touch you.”

Minho shushes him quietly, hovering next to the bed. “You can’t touch me, but that doesn’t mean I’m not real.”

Jisung just stares at him. Takes in the picture of his perfect husband. He’s like a carrot dangled in front of him that he desperately wants to reach and yet can’t. He wonders how long he’s gone without proper sleep at this point if he’s making delirious mental images come to life. Judging by the pressure between his brows, too long.

“You need to sleep, love, you look so tired. Go to sleep for me now?”

“I can’t leave you,” Jisung protests immediately. “If I go to sleep then you’ll be gone.” And he knows he’s already lost Minho, but he can cling to this for the moment. He needs to cling to it for right now.

Minho clicks his tongue. “What if I promise to be here when you wake up? Will you sleep for me then?”

“Sing for me,” Jisung asks, voice so small in their bedroom, threatening to be whisked away by the gentle whirr of the ceiling fan. He always loved Minho’s voice, even if his husband argued against him. To him, it was the voice of an angel; enough to take away his troubles and send him into a deep sleep on his worst nights. He remembers all the times Minho sat with his back on the headboard, running his long fingers through Jisung’s hair as he sang him to sleep. Even if he can’t have that anymore, he’s willing to sell his soul to hear Minho sing one last time.

With a rueful smile, Minho nods and starts to sing. It fills the room, delicate and airy. He sings with an unconfident tone that makes Jisung smile for the first time in months, knowing that Minho always grew self-conscious whenever he would sing something so soft. The edges of his vision dull as he listens, breath growing steady as his body sinks into the bed. If he closes his eyes, he can almost feel the weight of Minho’s fingers against his scalp.

--

Minho is gone when he wakes. Jisung already predicted it, yet it hits him like a punch to the gut anyways. He slept a full night, he realizes, when he finds his almost dead phone on the nightstand. Ten in the morning. It doesn’t make anything easier, but he can admit he feels a lot more refreshed.

His day starts decently, with Jisung managing to shower and get dressed into real clothing. He made lunch plans with Chan and intends to keep them, no matter how much he wants to cancel and stay in bed, remembering Minho’s voice from the night before.

The restaurant they meet at is small and silent, one of the only reasons Jisung agreed to come. They’ve been visiting this particular basement for years now. He has many memories here too, but they don’t only consist of Minho which makes it easier to bear.

Chan gives him a long hug when he enters, holding him to his chest and rocking him back and forth a few times before he finally lets him go. That’s been a new thing since Minho passed. Where they hugged from time to time as they grew up together, Chan had never lingered until that fateful night. Jisung knows it’s Chan’s way of trying to give him comfort and he appreciates it.

“How are you,” Chan asks once they’re seated and pretending to peruse the menu as if they don’t have it memorized.

“Fine,” he lies, like he always does. No one really wants to hear how he feels anymore and he knows it. There are only so many times he can tell them he’s fucking destroyed before they give him distance and he can’t blame them. It’s hard to support someone that doesn’t let you.

Chan peeks over his paper menu, eyes open and honest like always. Chan is the epitome of a dog. Loyal, friendly to a fault, and earnest. “Seungmin told me what happened.”

Jisung sighs loudly, letting his own menu drop to the tabletop. “I need to apologize to him, I know.”

“Yes, but also,” Chan starts, but hesitates. It doesn’t take a genius to know where this is about to go, but Jisung lets him get out his piece. “I don’t think Seungmin was wrong. I think talking to someone might help a lot…”

He has to wonder if they’ll ever leave him alone about this, but the answer is in his brain right next to the question. Of course, they won’t. They love him and worry for him, and he ought to be grateful for it, but he’s too numb to really feel anything at this point. “I’m scared to.”

Chan perks up a bit, clearly surprised to not be outright denied. They can both recognize that Jisung has left the door cracked for him, allowing him to open it if he wants to. “Why are you scared, Ji?”

The nickname only reminds him of the night before. How natural it sounded coming from Minho’s mouth. “They’re going to want me to move on, probably try to go back to normal and forget all of this. I… I can’t forget him, Chan. He’s still the love of my life.”

“I know,” Chan says, softening considerably. His hand is warm where it wraps around Jisung’s, engulfing his fingers. “I have a coworker who lost his daughter and he goes to group meetings. They just share grief and talk… but it’s not as direct as one on one. Maybe that could help?”

It doesn’t sound as intimidating, Jisung finds. As far as he knows, he wouldn’t even be forced to talk until he feels ready. Perhaps seeing others grieving and feeling some sort of camaraderie could help. If he hates it, it’s not like he has to pay for it. They do these kinds of group therapies in community centers around town. The only reason he knows is because one of his former classmates was trying to be a therapist and had to volunteer at them.

“Maybe,” he agrees.

Chan gives him a small, appreciative smile in response. It’s timid; always timid these days like he’s afraid a real smile will set Jisung off. He supposes he’s to blame for that, though, when just about everything has been setting him off lately. He’s yelled at every single one of his friends and he’s not proud of it. It’s why Felix rarely visits anymore, too sensitive to having a friend mad with him to face him. He really ought to apologize one of these days.

“Can I look up the meetings for you,” Chan asks.

“Sure.”

That night, Jisung paces in the living room of the loft, mind heavy with doubt. Chan had already found a few support groups that he can try out. One for loss of family, one for spouses of cancer patients, and one that’s just a widow(er) support group. He contemplates them for a long time, not at all sure how he can pick. Minho was his family, but he isn’t sure he can handle listening to parents cry over their lost children. It feels too general, but the one for cancer patients sounds too close to home. Some of them likely still have their spouses and he cannot bear to see any of them lose their soulmates like he has.

He flops onto the couch, the group for widow(er)s up on Naver as he reads more information on it. There are some rules of engagement, and he wonders if he might be able to handle it. People are allowed to speak their minds and their feelings, while the others should refrain from any rude or crass replies. No one is required to speak if they don’t want to, but it’s highly encouraged. You’re allowed to just ebb and flow in and out of the group as you can handle it, no set expectations on attendance. It doesn’t sound terrible, but it’s still intimidating as he contemplates going.

Eventually, he gives up, letting his phone clatter to the floor as he stares at the ceiling. It’s become one of his most common pastimes lately. He can tell you all the spots that they’d accidentally brushed the ceiling while they were painting and even the specific details on a cobweb steadily forming in the corner of the kitchen.

“Why are you moping,” he hears behind him, head falling back to see Minho perched in the same chair Seungmin had occupied days ago. The chair he always read in; cup of coffee balanced precariously on his lap. It takes his breath away to see him again.

“Am I going crazy?” It seems to be the only explanation for why he keeps seeing Minho here. Sure, he had always been able to picture him around the apartment, but not quite like this. No, this feels like Minho is actually here with him even if his body is almost shimmery, like a projection of him.

“You were always crazy, love,” Minho replies, a flash of his signature grin. It hurts to see.

Jisung rights himself, pulling his knees to his chest as he just looks at Minho. He wants to drink this in and cherish it for what it is. Crazy or not, his mind is supplying him with a spot-on picture of Minho. “Why are you here? Is this really all in my head?”

As he watches, Minho’s face grows solemn in an instant. “It’s not just in your head, love. I can’t explain it, but I’m really here. It’s me or at least what’s left of me. And I’m here because you’re still hurting, Ji. I can’t leave until you’re better.”

“Don’t leave at all,” Jisung protests. The words will always haunt him, just like the night Minho had told him he could tell he would be passing soon. They’d been huddled under a mountain of blankets as they watched movies in the living room and Jisung had begged him not to leave him. He can’t face it again, even if this image of Minho isn’t real. Whether it’s his mind playing tricks on him, or Minho is somehow stuck here, he just needs him to stay.

“Ji. You can’t ask that of me,” Minho replies evenly, but carefully. Like he did anytime they fought. Always so patient and caring, even when he was pissed. “I miss you terribly, but… I’ve come to terms with everything. I did before I passed, love. I’m ready to let go.”

His stomach roils dangerously, threatening to purge all of the food he ate earlier. Sure, he knew that Minho had come to peace with his inevitable passing, but hearing it out loud stings. Is he so easy to let go of? Is Minho really ready to let this fade? He doesn’t think he’ll ever reach that point.

“If you’re so ready to leave me, then just go,” he spits out, and the regret is immediate. He doesn’t mean it. He never, ever would. Yet the words are out between them and he can see the momentary hurt flash on Minho’s face. It only makes him keep talking, spiraling into his feelings and unable to stop. “If I’m so easy to leave, then why are you even here? Why do you still fucking care!?”

“I know you don’t mean it, Ji,” Minho says, and his voice is watery. Jisung hates himself for doing that, body trembling with the weight of his emotions. “You’re my everything. You always have been and always will be, but I don’t belong here anymore, Ji. You know that.”

The dam breaks again, ugly tears pouring out of him as he hunches into himself on the couch. He just wants to disappear. Shrink and shrink and shrink until he’s not here anymore. “Please don’t leave me again.”

“I’ll be here until you’re ready, love,” Minho says quietly, face almost unreadable if Jisung didn’t know him well enough. The fact that he knows there’s pain hidden under it makes him cry harder. He’s just hurting himself more by seeing Minho here at this point.

He falls apart until Minho coaxes him to their bed and sings for him again, gently drowning out his cries with his voice.

It isn’t real, he knows that, but it makes him feel better to have Minho close to him again.

--

The next group meeting is the following night. Jisung goes back and forth on it for several hours before he pulls on a pair of jeans, that barely fit him anymore, and a giant hoodie. He kind of hates putting on real clothes these days. They just remind him of how tiny he is now. Like a failure.

He occupies the bus ride to the right spot with music. It’s been his only escape when the world starts crushing him; it always has been. His very first passion in life from the time he could start talking. His mother often reminds him that he was singing voraciously before he could even form words, just odd sounds and babbles. It makes sense why he got a degree in production. One that is currently unused as he lives off Minho’s life insurance and fades away.

There have been countless nights that he tried to put his feelings into words, but they never come to him. Not like they used to. The moment his pen touches paper, he just breaks down. It makes him feel even more hollow to not be able to turn to music. Even worse that he’s been out of work for almost a year, though he knows his spot with Chan at the studio is just waiting for him when he finds the ability to function.

These days he can only seem to listen to melodical music that settles over him like a dusting of snow. Not heavy, not too loud. It’s the polar opposite of what he used to listen to, but chaotic rap just doesn’t connect with him right now. He misses it. He hates that he can’t listen to it.

There’s a table that houses lukewarm coffee and an assortment of muffins in the corner of the community center. A stack of various napkins that say Happy Birthday and Good Luck in bright colors sit next to the muffin tray, obviously left over from various parties that have been held in the building. The room itself is spacious with tall ceilings and walls cluttered with inspiration posters. There’s that one with the kitten that says ‘Hang In There’, one of Minho’s absolute favorites from the library at their university.

Jisung grabs a blueberry muffin before he can stop himself and turns to look at the circle of chairs. It’s intimidating, but he picks a chair next to a man that’s been silent since he walked in. He’s big, with muscles bulging under his shirt. What draws Jisung to him is how sad he looks and the fact that he still wears his wedding band, just like Jisung does. It makes him feel a little better about not taking off the silver band. It’s been a permanent fixture on his finger since their wedding night, not even removed when he showers or sleeps.

The guy gives him a small, almost pained smile when he sits down beside him and that’s that. No words, no expectation to break the silence between them. Just two depressed men willing themselves to keep it together for the next hour or so.

The meeting starts shortly after, Jisung being pulled in by the stories and accomplishments of those around the room. The mood is somber, even when someone shares a good thing like being able to go back to work. Jisung wonders if that will ever be him. He watches the entire meeting through red-rimmed, puffy eyes. He doesn’t cry, but his tears ducts threaten him throughout the entire thing.

Afterwards, Jisung tosses the muffin. He knew before he even grabbed it that he wouldn’t eat it. Instead, it had turned into a sort of comfort muffin, something to occupy his hands so they wouldn’t tremble.

It’s quiet outside as he stands on the curb, just watching the moderate traffic as it passes him by. If he tries to get on the bus right now, he might just suffocate, so he stands in the evening air to try and catch his breath first. At least it’s warm out, so he isn’t left shivering on the sidewalk.

He’s not sure how long he stands there before a body appears beside him. “Do you need a ride home?”

Jisung startles, not expecting to hear any words spoken to him. As he turns, he sees the man he sat beside for the entire meeting. Strangers and Jisung have never mixed. He always relied on Chan and Minho to bring new people around, choosing to interact with them if they passed the proverbial vibe check. Yet there’s something about the way the street lights linger on the man’s skin, the depth of sadness in his eyes that mirrors Jisung’s own, that makes him nod. Yes, he really does need a ride home.

“I parked just down the street,” the man says, pointing in a direction before he starts walking that way.

“Can I ask your name?”

The man chances a glance at him from under his thick bangs. “Changbin. What about you?”

“Jisung.”

Changbin grunts in acknowledgement and keeps walking. If Jisung were a little less tired, or perhaps cared about his wellbeing even the smallest amount, he might have been suspicious of the man. As it is, he’s just grateful to not have to take the bus home. He can admit it’s kind of nice to share space with someone that doesn’t expect him to talk about his feelings too.

They buckle into a rather expensive looking black car when Jisung starts to feel curious. “How long?”

Changbin’s eyes slide to him again, barely glancing at him as his fingers shift on the steering wheel. “Nine months.” Longer than Minho has been gone.

“Does it ever get easier?”

He seems to ponder the question for a while, nothing but the slightly scratchy, radio-picked pop music in the air between them. “Yes and no.” Jisung thinks he’s going to leave it at that until Changbin sighs and keeps going, “Time helps some, but every day still sucks. I spent a lot of time being angry but I’m just kind of numb now.”

“You were angry?” Jisung isn’t sure why he’s asking so many questions. Wasn’t he just screaming at his friends for questioning him?

“Yeah.”

He feels… relieved. He’s been feeling like such a monster for being mad lately. “I think I’m still in the angry stage myself. I keep pushing everyone away and wondering why.”

There’s a moment of silence between them and it feels almost poignant. A needed breath of air between their quiet admissions.

“When Moonbyul died,” Changbin says tentatively, “I spent a lot of time mad at the world. I was an absolute asshole to a lot of people and I really only have one friend that stuck with me through it.”

Moonbyul. It’s a pretty name. Jisung kind of wonders what kind of woman was married to the gentle, brooding man next to him. The honestly at which Changbin is speaking hits a little too close to home, though. The image of Felix’s hurt face and Seungmin’s worry pop up in his brain. “I think I’m headed that way too.”

“It’s okay to be angry, you know? Your friends just don’t understand how it feels to lose your other half. It’s kind of a good thing though, yeah?”

“What is?”

“That they haven’t lost someone the way we have.”

It strikes Jisung directly in the center of his chest. He feels like he’s had the breath knocked out of him. It makes sense, he’s just never thought of it that way. “Yeah, you’re right,” he admits quietly. He’s actually really fucking grateful that none of his friends have had to feel this way, even if it might make them go easier on him. They just don’t understand how it feels.

“Give them a break, okay? A little grace. They don’t know how much you’re really suffering,” Changbin says between them.

Jisung nods as the night blurs past them beyond the car. He really needs to apologize to his friends. Felix, Jeongin, Seungmin, and especially Chan deserve to know that he appreciates them and all the time they’ve dedicated to checking on him. He sucks at voicing these kinds of things, but they’re worth it.

A slight fear of going home to sit alone starts to fill him as he thinks of his friends. It’s not a good idea to start with them so late at night, but he desperately doesn’t want to be alone. That’s always when the hurt hits him the hardest. “Do you want to get something to eat?”

There’s a look of confusion on Changbin’s face when their eyes meet. “Right now?” Jisung’s eyes focus on the digital clock ensconced in the dashboard. It’s almost nine at night, not exactly an ideal time for dinner.

He can’t help but laugh emptily, feeling self-conscious at his sudden neediness. Especially with a complete stranger. “Sorry, you’re already driving me home. I shouldn’t be springing stuff like that on you.”

Changbin’s eyes on him make him want to squirm in his seat. He feels pinned in place, left to be examined. Can he see how fragile Jisung really is? “Have you eaten today?” So yes, he definitely can. Jisung looks down at the jeans swallowing his legs completely.

He hasn’t eaten today.

“No, but it’s okay. I can eat at home,” he insists, wanting to take the attention off of himself.

It’s like Changbin can see right through him, though. He signals and takes a sudden turn into a parking garage. Jisung can only watch as they park in one of the rows, fitting snuggly between other cars that shield them from the florescent lighting around them. “We really don’t have to do this,” he tries again, feeling bad for even asking in the first place. He has no idea what kind of stuff Changbin might have on his plate. Their only connection is being widowers.

Changbin shrugs as he undoes his seatbelt. “I haven’t eaten either. I try to, so I can keep my gym progress, but…”

“Nothing tastes good anymore,” Jisung guesses.

“Nope.”

Jisung understands all too well.

They walk in silence to a nearby restaurant. It’s small, but very cozy and they find a table against the back wall to settle into. When he looks at the menu, his eyebrows rise. It’s a health foods spot, the entire menu packed with protein dense foods and more nutrients than Jisung has had in months.

“If it’s not going to taste good anyways, might as well be healthy,” Changbin says. “I’ve eaten a lot of sad salads lately.” It makes Jisung burst out laughing. The thought is so absurd. This entire scenario is absolutely absurd. Honestly, nothing about it is even that funny, but the image of Changbin sitting down to regretfully stuff healthy food down his throat hits him just right. Changbin chuckles too, which just sets Jisung off even more. He almost forgot what it feels like to have your ribs ache from laughing so much. It feels… good.

He knows they look crazy as they order two gigantic chicken salads with laugh-induced teary eyes. “I really needed that,” he says as the waiter disappears with their orders and menus.

“Yeah, me too,” Changbin agrees. “I haven’t laughed like that in a long time.”

“Do you want to be my friend,” Jisung blurts before he realizes just how childish it sounds. Was he a 28- or 5-year-old? The awkward, but grateful smile on Changbin’s face makes those thoughts come to a screeching halt in his brain, though.

“I think I’d like that, Jisung-ah.”

Two sad salads and a bit of laugher later, they make their way back to Changbin’s car so he can finally take him home. They exchange phone numbers before Jisung leaves the car and he can admit it fills him with a bit of nervous excitement. Changbin just gets it. Jisung never once had to explain what he was feeling or why, he just knew. It’s also a bit exciting to make his first friend outside of the friend group he’s always had.

Even if he felt a bit happier as he climbed out of the car and gave a quick wave, it evaporates the moment he crosses the threshold into the loft. It slams back into him, the weight of everything he’s been momentarily forgetting. It takes him by such surprise that his knees shake as he finds his way to the couch and flops down.

“Did you have a good night?” Minho stands in front of him when his eyes open again.

“I’m sorry,” are the first words out of his mouth. “I was such an asshole last night and you don’t deserve that.”

“It’s fine, Ji. You act like you’ve never been an asshole to me before,” Minho replies easily, making Jisung indignant.

“Hey!”

Minho’s face breaks into a soft smile, scoffing at Jisung’s antics. “You’re forgiven, but please tell me about the hunk you got dinner with.”

Jisung shoots up into a sitting position, not quite sure how to process the fact that Minho knows. He instantly feels guilty when he remembers their easy conversation and the smiles that had dug into his cheeks over their food. “W-what?”

“It’s okay, love! I’m happy. You looked a lot better as you got out of the car.”

Jisung feels himself deflate a bit. “I went to a group meeting for widowers tonight. His name is Changbin, and he lost his wife.”

Minho looks contemplative for a minute. “That’s really good. I’m glad you went. You’ve always done better in low pressure situations and I think getting to meet others going through the same pain will help.”

“You’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad, love? I want you to be okay.”

Why would Minho be mad? Jisung’s not sure how to answer that. It feels like a betrayal to be taking these steps forward. Especially when he looks forward to a glimpse of the man more than anything else, Minho is still his number one. He feels terrible about the prospect of moving on in life. There’s a deep shame that settles on his chest any time he’s ever even considered it.

“I’m never going to forget you. You know that, right?”

Minho settles onto the couch beside him, though the cushion doesn’t dip like it should. He tries to ignore it. “I know that. I know you’ll always love me just as I love you, but it’s okay to be okay again.”

They sit in silence for a while and Jisung’s mind is an absolute whirlwind. He thinks over the night and how objectively well it had gone. Meeting Changbin was new, but it felt oddly right. More than anything, though, he wonders how Minho would be handling this if their roles were reversed. His husband was always the tougher one of the two. He’d come from humble beginnings and fought his way to the top of his dance program through sheer determination. If Jisung had been the one to get sick, then Minho could’ve had more time to reach his dreams. Meanwhile, Jisung just feels like a waste of space.

“Why couldn’t it have been me?”

“Jisung,” Minho starts, but he holds his hand up to stop him. He needs to get this out, get these words off his chest so they can stop strangling him.

“No, I’m serious. You have always been the one with more purpose in life and people fucking love you. I think… I don’t know, I think people would’ve had an easier time getting over losing me.”

He’s met with a very angry glare, almost sparking with how Minho’s eyes burn. “Don’t you dare say or think that ever again.”

No one seems to listen to him these days. It’s tiring, always having people refute his feelings without allowing him to voice them fully. “No, just listen for a second, okay? You had a ton of followers on social media and your studio was a fucking hit! You brought a lot of inspiration to people and you should be here to keep doing it. All I ever did was ghost write and produce some songs with Chan that didn’t even have my name in the credits.”

“Self-deprecation looks really ugly on you, Jisung. And don’t you dare try to shush me right now,” he warns as Jisung starts to open his mouth to cut in. He pops his jaw shut instead. “You are special. We both fucking are, it’s not a competition, and doing this weird dick measuring contest on who should’ve fucking died isn’t going to do anything. You deserve to be alive and have a good life.”

“Can I argue a little now,” he asks, trying not to grin at Minho. His words, though a little harsh, manage to comfort him a bit.

Minho can only shake his head fondly. “Nope, non-negotiable. Now go get ready for bed.”

--

Although the week passed by inconsequentially for him, Jisung found himself looking forward to the next group meeting. Hearing the others talk about their late spouses and how they were moving forward without forgetting them had made him feel a bit lighter all week.

His nightly routine with Minho definitely helped too. They talked about their old times, dredging up memories and laughing into the night until Minho would eventually put his foot down and force Jisung into their bed. He sang to him every single night, always making the anxiety slowly fade out as he drifted into restful sleep.

As he steps up to the community center, he takes a deep breath before he walks inside. It looks much the same as last week, though there are cookies instead of muffins. Those weird, chalky cookies with the frosting that tastes like pure sugar. He doesn’t even pretend like he’s going to eat one, instead taking a seat next to Changbin once again, who gives him a nod in greeting.

Jisung pays closer attention at this meeting, trying to remember the others’ names as they share stories and little updates. When one of the women, Yerin he thinks her name is, brings up her children asking for appa, he feels himself tear up with her. It helps put into perspective that everyone here is really battling to keep things under control. He isn’t alone.

The meeting wraps up after an hour and Changbin leans closer. “I kind of just want to go for a drive tonight, and wouldn’t mind company. If you’re down?”

Jisung agrees easily, more than a little happy at the chance to hang out with Changbin and maybe forget his worries for a little bit.

They find his car in the same parking lot and Changbin fiddles with his phone for a few moments until music starts pounding through the car. There’s a deep, heavy bass that sounds almost melancholy. “Hope you don’t mind, I kind of listen to angry music when I need a mental break.”

Jisung smiles. He knows what Changbin means, even if he gravitates towards softer music himself. He can’t lie, the music Changbin chooses almost settles him. It reminds him of the music he and Chan made together in university, a bit angsty and intense. “I don’t mind at all, I like it.”

Changbin gives him a small smile before he pulls out of the spot and into the streets of the city. They roll their windows down, letting the breeze wash over them as they pass through. It feels nice, helping to mellow him out. He and Minho never bothered to buy a car with how stupid street parking is around the loft, so this is something he never got to experience much before.

Jisung eventually rests his head against the car door, letting the wind ruffle his hair. He isn’t really paying attention to the music at this point, just letting the beats thrum through his chest as he takes deep inhales. It feels perfect. A calmness he hasn’t felt in years.

“We should get some corndogs,” he announces to no one in particular.

Changbin smiles again, in the gentle way he always does, turning the music down just a bit. “Yeah? We can stop and grab some. I think we’re close to Myeongdong if you’re up for parking and walking.”

Meyongdong. Man, he hasn’t been there in a long time. “Yeah, let’s go.”

The streets are packed as they weave through the crowd, Jisung watching Changbin’s broad back part the sea of bodies as they go. Giant advertisements litter the buildings around them, casting the passerbys in red, yellow, and pink. Various genres of music float around them from street performers and those annoying people that play their music on the speakers of their phones in public.

A collage of conversation surrounds them, and Jisung is relieved he isn’t expected to participate in any of them. The comfortable silence he always maintains around Changbin is one of the best aspects of their acquaintanceship.

Changbin hoists two corndogs—one with potatoes for Jisung and one without for him—into the air like lost treasure as he reemerges from the crowd in front of the stall. Jisung takes his gratefully, blowing on the steaming mound of food for a second before taking a bite.

It’s incredible. Mouthwatering, almost. One of the best ideas he’s had in a very long time, and it doesn’t escape him that he is actually enjoying food for the first time in recent history. It’s definitely because of the almost tranquil environment that Changbin has created for them. No thoughts, no worries.

They walk through the crowded streets for a while, not bothering to try and converse with so many people around. Jisung feels absolutely stuffed after the corndog, knowing he’ll probably regret something so greasy and rich later.

Eventually, they find themselves parked near the river, just listening to music in reclined chairs. They didn’t voice it, but neither wanted to go back home yet. It feels a lot easier to have a companion when the dead of night settles on them.

“Grief is such a hard thing to go through,” Jisung says quietly. It feels nice to be able to just share simple thoughts from time to time, knowing it won’t amount in a pressured conversation to attend more therapy.

“Grief is the price of enduring love.”

Jisung freezes, letting the words fill him. “Say that again.”

Changbin turns to him, looking almost nervous. “I-“

“No, please say it again,” Jisung almost pleads.

“Grief. It’s the price of enduring love. Doesn’t it just mean that we were lucky enough to know and love someone so much that we’re this sad when they leave us? Isn’t that kind of beautiful? That we loved enough to feel like this now? I feel honored to have known Moonbyul and she lives on in my love every day. She can never really be gone if I spend so much time remembering her. So, I’ll gladly endure it, this pain, knowing it just proves the depth of my love.”

Jisung feels his heart racing at the words, trying to ingrain them into his brain forever. It sums up how he feels so perfectly, in ways he doesn’t think he could ever describe. He’s damn lucky to have had the time he did to love Minho. Their eight years were an integral part of him and something no one could ever take away.

If loving Minho until the end of his life might in some way prolong his existence, Jisung will gladly endure this pain too.

“You’re really fucking good with words,” Jisung says in response, not quite ready to get vulnerable like that. Some thoughts are better in his brain.

Changbin grins, turning to look out the windshield again. “I fucking hope so. I work in marketing, so it’s my job to make words sound pretty.”

--

They start to hang out more often. Every single time after their group meetings, of course, with late night adventures to feed themselves and then just relax in silence together. Now they’re meeting up other nights just so they don’t have to feel so alone.

Changbin convinces him to watch a few scary movies that result in Minho cursing his name as he tries to soothe him that night. Jisung gets him back, though, by making him sit through four straight Ghibli movies as he points out all the small details.

It’s nice having someone to spend the lonely nights with. Someone who gets it.

In addition, Jisung has started to take up Chan on his lunch invites more often. The food doesn’t taste quite as good without the prelude of driving around the city, but he is able to keep his appetite up. He thanks Chan a lot, telling him how much he appreciates his steady support. They come to a sort of agreement to let Jisung’s past transgressions go.

Now, he stands in his kitchen with his phone in his hand. There are three more people who he needs to apologize to, and he hopes he isn’t too late. Is it better to get the hardest or the easiest make up out of the way?

Easiest. Definitely the easiest.

Felix answers on the third ring. “Jisung? What’s wrong?”

“Lix,” he says, smiling a little at how concerned his friend sounds. Felix is such a softie all the time. “Is now a bad time?”

“Of course not. What’s up?”

Jisung settles into his full apology and explanation. Changbin’s words about going easy on his friends are lodged in the back of his mind as he lets Felix vent a bit as well. It isn’t exactly comfortable, but he’s glad he is doing it anyways.

Jeongin is next and he’s almost too chill about the entire thing. He tells Jisung to stop being a dick, especially to Felix, and then asks him to dinner that week. Jisung’s treat, of course.

Seungmin is the hardest, as expected. He almost psyches himself out of the entire conversation, but the fucker picks up the phone before he can give up. There are a few mean words exchanged, but overall it goes… decent. Damn, the guy is tough with his love.

Jisung sits on his couch after the conversations, feeling significantly lighter than he has in months. It’s not easy and he’s not any less sad, but he thinks that maybe he can live like this. Even if the dull ache never fades from the depths of his heart, he can probably keep going if he has his friends with him. Changbin most of all.

--

Two bottles of wine balance precariously on his coffee table, mixed with an assortment of snack wrappers that have been steadily consumed throughout the night. Jisung is basically wasted and he knows he should’ve gone easier, but Changbin had a bad day at work and they vowed to forget it one way or another.

Some goofy anime is playing on the tv, but neither are really paying attention as they instead discuss the discography of Big Bang. It’s a heated debate over their top tracks filled with laughter and mild insults and Jisung can already tell his abs will hurt in the morning. This is far from their first debate over music, and he loves it. There’s something really fun about being able to discuss something so dear to him like this again.

“Fuck, it’s already one in the morning,” Changbin says when he checks his phone. “I need to sleep before work tomorrow.”

“There’s no way I’m letting you drive and getting a cab is going to be expensive. You might as well just stay the night,” Jisung says, slurring on his words but trying to push through to sound serious. He is serious. It doesn’t make sense for Changbin to try and trek home when he can just sleep over. Besides, it’ll feel nice to have another person here. One that’s real.

Changbin leans back against the couch, weighing his options. “Yeah, okay, I can take the couch.”

“Absolutely not,” Jisung cuts in. “The bed is big enough. We can share it.”

It’s probably their level of drunkenness that makes them both easily agree before they’re tumbling onto the mattress and dividing up the blankets and pillows. It’s all harmless. Besides, Changbin is straight so it’s not like Jisung is inviting a man he has any interest in into their bed. He’s sure Minho would understand.

They’re just getting settled into the bed when Jisung hears a sort of deep, wet intake of breath. Is… Changbin crying? He peeks over his shoulder to see the man brushing his hand over his cheeks in the dark. Mild panic settles into him. Did he do something wrong? “Changbin? Are you okay?”

A quiet sniffle. “Yeah, sorry.”

“What’s wrong?”

There’s some shuffling behind him which causes him to turn over so he can face Changbin instead. “I haven’t shared a bed with anyone since Moonbyul… and I don’t mean anything like that. It just feels really nice,” he admits, more tears streaming down his face.

Jisung smiles to himself, having to agree. He’s so used to the stark loneliness in their bedroom that it feels kind of comforting to have someone else there. “Hey, can I hold you? Is that weird? Like in a bro way.”

Changbin laughs a little, but it sounds rather pitiful. “Yeah, in a bro way.”

It’s pretty easy to maneuver the man until he’s wrapped in Jisung’s arms with his head on his chest. This is the closest he’s been to another body since Minho and while it feels weird, the context is so different that it doesn’t really bother him. Kind of like all those times he and Chan crashed in the campus studio while trying to wrap up projects, or all the times Felix would snuggle up to him when they’d hang out.

They share the quiet together, Jisung’s shirt getting progressively wetter until Changbin’s snores start to fill the room. He can’t help the small smile on his face as he listens and lets them drag him under as well.

When he wakes, Jisung feels uncomfortable and sweaty. It’s been a long time since he’s shared a space so small with another body and the heat between them is enough to have him baking. It doesn’t help that Changbin is pressed flush against his back, something he starts to realize as he wakes up more. It’s very strange. Of course, they fell asleep holding each other. Jisung wasn’t too drunk to remember that, but they’ve obviously moved around in their sleep.

He lets the comfort of being held overpower any uneasiness and starts to drift back into slumber until he feels a gentle rocking against him. He isn’t a fool. It’s pretty fucking obvious what’s happening and what is starting to grow and press into him.

Jisung is quick to wiggle away, calling Changbin’s name until he cracks his eyes open. “Hey,” Jisung greets awkwardly, but it’s hard to look him in the eye. “You uh, I think you were dreaming.”

Realization steadily dawns on Changbin’s face and he shoves himself out of the bed, nearly falling to the floor in his haste. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I haven’t been this close to anyone in a long time, and I think I just got too comfortable or something.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Jisung reassures him. It’s not like Changbin has any control over what his body does in its sleep. It’s happened to the best of them. “I know you’re straight, so you can even say no homo if it makes you feel better.”

Changbin levels him with an unreadable stare. “I never said I was straight.”

Oh.

“Oh… uhm. I’m sorry for assuming,” Jisung says lamely because his brain is still trying to figure out how to compute the other meanings behind that statement.

“Fuck. I need to go,” Changbin says, rushing out of the room and down to the first floor. Jisung’s a little too hungover and confused to properly follow or stop him.

It’s when he’s alone again and he looks at the mess of sheets and blankets on the bed that the panic really hits him. He shared a bed with another man. A man that he thought was straight, but evidently is not. A man that humped him in his sleep this morning.

Shame. That’s all he really feels as he sits on the floor of the bedroom.

He thought that there wouldn’t be any odd innuendo or double meanings behind sharing a bed because he never thought there was a possibility of anything sexual. He already knows that Changbin doesn’t see him that way, but he could’ve. What then? Jisung is just going to climb into bed with any man now? Minho would be so ashamed of him.

Tears fill his eyes and he almost forgot how badly they make his head hurt, but the hangover just exacerbates them.

“Whoa, what’s wrong, love?”

Minho. Fuck, he can’t bare to face him right now. Especially not with him calling him love after everything. His mind is going too fast to process, too many horrible thoughts flooding him to look up at his husband. He can’t face him right now.

“If you’re feeling guilty, then don’t.” The words don’t help because they just mean that Minho knows exactly what happened. Jisung doesn’t blame Changbin, he blames himself entirely.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he cries in response, still not looking at him. “I didn’t know!”

“Jisung,” Minho says, sounding closer. “Stop. It’s okay, I promise.”

“It’s not okay. I slept with a guy, and I didn’t even know he likes guys. What the fuck.”

Minho lets out a quiet laugh that does nothing to ease his inner turmoil. “You make it sound like you guys had sex. Which, if you had I wouldn’t judge you for, but you literally just shared a bed. It’s okay.”

“What if he wants that, though?” It’s the real crux of his issue, and he’s only realizing it as he asks the question. What if Changbin, the guy that eased his problems like no other, was only looking to score some sort of fucked up rebound sex?

The moment he has the thought, he feels even worse. Changbin isn’t like that. He has so much proof that he isn’t like that, that he loves his wife just as much as Jisung loves Minho. He doesn’t deserve to be thought of like that just because Jisung is having a breakdown.

“I think you need to decide if you want that too, then. If not, then just tell him. He seems like a genuine guy that would take no for an answer. But if you do want that, and don’t look at me like that, if you do want that, it’s okay. Remember when I told you about dumping that asshole Suwoon in high school and fucking his best friend as revenge? I’m not going to judge you for having sex ever.”

Jisung does remember that story. Even as he told it, Minho had just laughed about it. There had never been any shame in his eyes because he acknowledged it was just a part of being immature. Jisung doesn’t have that excuse right now, though. He’s a fully fledged adult making stupid decisions.

He tries not to feel hurt that Minho is half encouraging him to have sex again. He knows that Minho is just trying to be supportive, even if it only makes his shame double in on him.

“I don’t want it.”

“Then just say that. I bet he’s freaking out right now thinking he ruined the friendship too.”

--

Jisung doesn’t talk to him. In fact, they almost seem to make a silent pact to avoid each other after that day. No more texts, no more hangouts. Changbin doesn’t even go to the next group meeting which worries Jisung greatly. It makes his guilt grow until it feels like that time he dropped a medicine ball onto his stomach while working out with Chan. Uncomfortable and too much.

Not having his decompression time after the meeting heavily weighs on him too. He’d grown accustomed to spending time driving around the city with Changbin at this point and not having it made the bus ride home feel stifling in the worst way. Only a month and he is already almost dependent on the man to feel some sort of relief from everything. It troubles him.

When he finally makes it back to the loft, all of his energy is zapped, and he feels restless. Minho catches him pacing around the space, eyebrow cocked in question. “Changbin didn’t come to the meeting.”

“Hmm,” Minho replies, watching his incessant pacing. Back and forth. Over and over. “You really should reach out to him.”

He knows that Minho is right, but it’s daunting. How do you tell your newfound friend that kind of dry humped you that you don’t mind letting it be water under the bridge and can he please start driving you around after group meetings because otherwise you’ll asphyxiate on the bus ride home? Exactly. It’s not that easy.

Still, Jisung forces himself to type out the message. In reality, he types it about fifty times before he gets so frustrated that he just hits send. No takebacks now.

Jisung:
Hey, I really don’t want things to be weird between us. I like our friendship and hanging out and I don’t want something small to ruin it. I’m not upset or anything so can we still be friends? Please?

Not at all desperate sounding.

“He’ll reply,” Minho encourages him for the hundredth time. “How about you get some sleep instead of worrying about it?”

Jisung pouts. “But I’m really good at worrying about things.”

--

He wakes to a singular text that has him scrambling for his phone when he sees the name.

Changbin:
I’m so glad you messaged me. I’ve been feeling awful about it and didn’t know what to say. Truce?

Jisung:
Truce!
Pizza and shitty comedies tonight?

Changbin:
Deal

Just like that, he feels his world orient itself the right way again. Probably a curious feeling, but one that he’s going to choose to ignore for now.

The more pressing issue is that he agreed to go to the studio and hang with Chan while he works for the day. He hasn’t been to the studio since Minho’s final prognosis, and it feels incredibly daunting. Sure, it’s just Chan, but there’s a heavy meaning behind him being there. Almost a promise that he’s going to return to work and maybe isn’t quite so broken. He’s not sure he can back that promise up.

A pair of jeans and hoodie later, Jisung leaves the loft and hops on the bus he used to take every day. It’s kind of nostalgic to be on his old routine again. Has time really even passed? Sometimes it doesn’t feel like it and other times it feels like he’s spent a decade hiding in his bed. There’s never an in-between.

Chan is positively brimming with excitement when he arrives, practically bowling him over with the force of his hug. “Ji! It feels so awesome to have you back here. I have so many projects to bounce off you.”

Bounce they do. Jisung listens to countless songs as they go about tweaking different parts. It feels really nice to be able to bicker over changes like this again. It feels even better to get into the little recording booth and belt out stupid renditions of his lyrics as Chan laughs in the headphones. They make a few joke songs instead of actually creating any serious ones, but it’s exactly what he needs to warm to the idea of returning full time.

--

The months start to merge together as Jisung gets back on his feet. It’s small steps, practically wobbly little baby steps, but he puts them together until he starts to patch himself back up. He’s working with Chan mostly full time again and finally able to put some of his feelings into real words. Of course, he enlists the help of Changbin from time to time to make them more coherent.

Speaking of Changbin, they’ve become velcroed together as time passes. Five nights out of the week, Changbin is over at Jisung’s place and they swap alcohol and snacks for legitimate meals most of the time now. It took a while before they felt comfortable sharing the bed again, but they finally broke down and admitted they slept better that night than just about any other night since losing their spouses. Now they sleep with the security of a few pillows between their bodies. Changbin’s idea.

Jisung makes a point of going to see Felix at his bakery at least once a week and the smiles on his face make it worth it every single time. He also treats Jeongin to, quite frankly, overpriced dinners every couple weeks when the guy finds time. He’s practically a vacuum cleaner so it’s a hidden blessing that he’s busy more often than not.

Seungmin had taken a while to coax back into his life, but they spent an entire evening pouring over the book of Minho’s childhood pictures that Jisung was gifted all while crying and hugging. Rather therapeutic, even if it sounds sad.

Overall, he’s feeling… okay. Just okay, really, but it’s enough for him and makes him proud every time Minho gets excited about his progress. That’s one thing that hasn’t changed. He still sees Minho every night that he isn’t passed out with Changbin in his bed and the steady appearances have helped console him on more than one occasion.

--

After a particularly rough group session in which a newcomer spent the majority of it sobbing, they’re both feeling a bit out of sorts. “I kind of just want to go drinking,” Changbin says as they walk out of the community center and Jisung is right there with him. It’s not healthy to drink to cope, but Jisung has been doing a lot better lately. At least he thinks so. A couple drinks now and then won’t hurt.

They drive back to Jisung’s loft before setting out to find a cheap bar near it, which is surprisingly easy. The place is a hole in the wall, filled with old men who are talking about their glory days. It’s kind of fun to take their seats at an empty table and hear the men gossiping away.

“We’re doing somaek,” Changbin says as soon as an old woman approaches their table. “Can we have four to start?”

Jisung is a bit shocked to hear the order, but he can’t help laughing at the way the woman looks at them disapprovingly. So tonight will be a wild night, then. He prepares himself for it before their drinks arrive.

It’s a fun trick to do at a party, but it feels a little silly to do back-to-back ‘soju bombs’ at a place like this. Even still, Jisung grabs one of the beer mugs and lifts a soju shot above it. “Are we cheers-ing to this?”

Changbin picks up his own shot glass and ponders for a minute. “Cheers to Eunhae for reminding me how much this shit sucked at the very beginning.”

They click the glasses together before pouring the soju into the beer and subsequently slamming a spoon down into it to make it fizz. There’s an art to drinking somaek which is chugging it down as fast as you fucking can. Jisung feels a bit like he’s going to suffocate before he gets the contents of his mug down, but it’s already hitting him by the time he sets the glass down.

“You get to cheers the next one,” Changbin says with a laugh, maneuvering the glasses around until the fresh ones are in front of him.

He’s not sure what to say for a moment, until he lands on something and nods, indicating he’s ready. “Cheers to no longer having to eat sad salads for every meal.” They repeat their actions, guzzling the second drink down until their mugs land on the tabletop.

Jisung is now entirely too full of liquids and knows he needs to take a breather before they drink anything else. Changbin seems to be on the same page, looking almost sick to his stomach at the amount they’ve just shot-gunned.

They talk for a while until more soju ends up on the table and eventually a few of the old men gather to talk about things that hardly make sense. Jisung and Changbin’s eyes meet several times as the men tell their fables and it’s hard to bite back their laughter. Somehow, Changbin keeps asking them questions that have the stories growing wilder by the minute.

A few hours, and far too much alcohol later, they stumble down the street in the direction of his loft. “Those old men can talk forever,” Jisung says as he stops to hold himself up against a random building. Changbin slumps against it next to him. “Why did you keep encouraging them so much?”

“They clearly wanna talk about the old days, so why not let them? I bet this was awesome for them,” Changbin says with a grin.

They stand there for a minute, trying to steady themselves and Jisung feels both light on his feet and close to making acquaintances with the sidewalk. He notices Changbin staring at him at some point, cocking his head to the side. “What?”

“You’re just really pretty,” Changbin says, slightly slurring his words. “So pretty all the time. I just like looking at you.”

“Shhhh,” Jisung shushes him, trying to press his finger to Changbin’s lip and completely missing. “No more lies. I wanna go to bed.”

Somehow, they make it back to his loft and subsequently pass out on top of his bed, not bothering to cover themselves with the blankets.

When Jisung wakes, it with a killer headache and patchy memories of old men and somaek.

--

Chan:
Hey, I’m having a get together at my place tomorrow night
Wanna come?
And bring Changbin, we’re all dying to meet him!

--

Anytime Chan has guests over, he claims that it’ll be a lowkey get together, but it never really is. Chan is a social butterfly that somehow manages to keep a ridiculously large number of friends. How he does it, Jisung isn’t sure. It feels akin to black magic to someone as introverted as himself.

Which is why Chan’s apartment is crammed with people when they arrive that Friday night. It had been almost too easy to convince Changbin to come along, and he even agreed to DD in case Jisung wanted to drink and let loose with his friends. Somewhere along their planning, Changbin also asked if he could bring his friend Hyunjin.

The moment Jisung saw him, he felt like a little kid dressed in his father’s clothing next to a literal model. How the fuck a man like that existed was a mystery to him. Regardless of the guy’s good looks, Jisung liked him. He was goofy and a little dramatic—Jisung learned this as Changbin drove and the guy overreacted to every little thing—which suited him just fine. A good addition to the night.

What was significantly more interesting, however, was the way Felix had completely combusted when they were introduced. Jisung had never, not once, seen the guy act so flustered. But honestly, he couldn’t blame him.

Somehow even more interesting than that, Hyunjin practically interrogated him the moment Felix stepped away under the guise of grabbing drinks. Even Changbin looked entertained by the turn of events. As a faithful wingman, Jisung gave Hyunjin a few tips to ensure Felix would be a blubbering mess by the end of the night. Just a little skinship was enough to make the guy almost fall in love.

After the ordeal of the star-crossed lovers, Jisung finds himself catching up with JB and Yugyeom, two of the guys that he and Chan work with from time to time. They’re fun and always extremely lively, which tends to drain him, but Changbin stands by his side and engages in most of the conversation for him, so he only has to follow along. It gives him a bit of… déjà vu.

Chan is already pretty far on the path to drunk when he crashes into their conversation, and Jisung is finally able to introduce them. He’s got no clue where Chan even came from, but it’s very welcome nonetheless. “Hey, Chan! This is Changbin,” he says, motioning towards Changbin at his side. “Changbin, meet Chan. He’s my longest friend and kind of stuck with me.”

“Great to finally meet you,” Chan says way too loudly, extending his hand.

Changbin takes it easily, giving a quick shake like they’re making a business deal or something. Who shakes hands anymore? “Likewise. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Awww, Ji!! Are you talking about me,” Chan singsongs as he lunges forward and wraps his arms around Jisung, not giving him a chance to dodge it. Jisung is all too familiar with drunk Chan and how he steadily turns into a koala the moment alcohol meets his system. He turns to give Changbin a sort of what can you do? expression, but is met with a dark, stormy gaze instead. Weird.

“Not by my own will,” he says instead, wiggling out of Chan’s grasp. “Geez, you turn so clingy when you’re drunk!”

“You never let me cuddle you anymore,” he says with a laugh before finally stepping back and closer to JB. When his eyes meet Changbin’s, he gulps and redirects his gaze. “Well, it’s really good to meet you, man. I hope you guys have fun but I’m going to go mingle.”

“Single and ready to mingle,” Yugyeom says with a laugh, wrapping his arm around Chan’s shoulder and steering him away.

The entire conversation seems weird, but Changbin is smiling when he turns back to him, so maybe it was all in his imagination. He feels a hand at his lower back after they’ve gone, steering him over to find Hyunjin and Felix and promptly forgets all about it.

Turns out, it wasn’t in his imagination. Jisung finds that out when Chan corners him in the kitchen as he roots around in the fridge for something non-alcoholic. He feels bad drinking if Changbin is staying sober.

“What’s up with Changbin?”

Jisung peers back at Chan, backing out of the fridge to shut the door once he’s found a Fanta. “What do you mean?”

“He seems kind of protective of you or something.”

Jisung isn’t sure what Chan means. Changbin’s never been protective of him. “What? No, he isn’t.”

“Ji,” Chan says, wrapping an arm over his shoulder. “He was giving me a death glare when I hugged you. Are you guys like… involved?”

Jisung tries very hard to not smack Chan with the can of soda in his hand. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“You know, like are you guys sleeping together? It’s totally not my business if you are, but it kinda feels like it.”

Jisung levels him with his hardest glare, the one he tries to use when he’s acting angry but not quite there yet. To be honest, he’s just confused. What is Chan even talking about? He and Changbin just hang out a lot, there’s nothing more to it. “We’re not like that. Jesus, I can’t make friends without wanting to fuck them? You’re aware I just lost my fucking husband, right?”

“Whoa, I’m not trying to insinuate stuff. Well, I guess I kinda did, but what I’m trying to say is that if you’re dating it’s okay. Don’t get so mad at me, I’ve been worried about you. Maybe a relationship wouldn’t be bad for you.”

Now he’s mad. Jisung slams the can down on the counter and shrugs Chan’s arm off his shoulder. “How dare you. You have no right to say that to me!” With that, he heads straight for the door. It’s a bit of an overreaction, but he can’t believe Chan would say something like that. Chan. The person that held him when he was sobbing and knew his life was ending.

He barely make it ten steps before the door is opening again and he rears up for another fight, ready to give Chan the lashing he deserves. Instead, he spins on his heel to see Changbin standing just outside the door. “Hey, what happened? I saw you leaving.”

All the air whooshes out of his lungs, leaving a bit of sadness at how he just yelled at his best friend. “Chan said some stupid shit and we got in a fight. Nothing too major, but I don’t really want to be here anymore.”

Changbin nods in understanding. “Okay, no problem. Let me check in with Hyunjin and we can go. Just wait here for a minute, yeah?”

Jisung watches him disappear and then reappear a few minutes later. “I think Hyunjin and Felix are going to end up dating,” he announces as he walks up. “Found them kissing in the hallway and Felix insisted he’ll get Hyunjin home.”

A smile spreads on his face at that. “Damn, they both move quick.”

“You have no idea. They’ll be boyfriends by morning if Hyunjin’s pattern stays consistent.”

When they pull up to the loft, he’s stewed in the conversation long enough to be angry again. Chan was such an asshole for being so insensitive and he can’t get over it. He even tells Changbin that he wants to be alone for the night, ignoring the way he looked put out over it.

“Fuck!” He’s barely got his shoes off before he’s cursing into the empty loft.

“Uh oh,” Minho says from the couch. “What’s got you upset, love?”

“Chan’s a fucking moron and an asshole, that’s what,” he spits, picking up his usual pacing. “Fucking telling me to date. It’ll be good for you. Yeah, fucking right. What a prick.”

Minho looks like he doesn’t know what to say, head tilting slightly and eyes blinking. “Channie told you to date? Who?”

Jisung spins towards him. Is that really what he’s focusing on right now? “Changbin! I took him to Chan’s stupid party and Chan claims that we act like we’re hooking up and that it would be a good thing!” He feels near hysterics at this point.

“Jisung, love, it’s okay. I know you aren’t like that with Changbin, but I can see where Chan is coming from too. I think he just doesn’t know what to do for you anymore and the thought that you might have met someone is easier for him to comprehend. I highly doubt he was trying to be an asshole about it. For the record, I also don’t think it would be a bad thing if you did want to date someone, but I know you aren’t interested and that’s okay.”

He can’t help but deflate a bit at Minho’s words. “Everyone keeps assuming that I’m just going to start dating again. I don’t understand why.”

Minho gives him a small smile, looking into his eyes for a few moments. “It’s because you have a big heart, and you always have. It’s not a bad thing at all.”

He’s not entirely sure that’s true. Yes, he does adore his friends and he had many relationships before he met Minho, but part of him feels like his heart is already too full. At least what’s left of it after losing Minho. How could he possibly think about loving someone else again?

--

The makeup with Chan is awkward and a bit stilted, but they somehow manage to get through a lunch together. Jisung really hates fighting with his friends, so he’s at least grateful that they’ve overcome the animosity, although he’s still on edge about the whole thing.

“I wasn’t trying to imply anything bad, just so you know,” Chan adds after they’ve gotten their apologies on the table. Their empty food bowls are stacked beside them, but they aren’t quite ready to part until everything is fully patched up. “I actually think it was really sweet how much Changbin was looking after you.”

Jisung sighs, leaning back in his chair. “We’re just friends, hyung. He gets the struggle and we don’t really have to explain it. I think he just doesn’t want me to feel sad or overwhelmed anymore.”

“Like I said, it’s sweet,” Chan replies and they’re back to the tentative smiles. “I do think he might have feelings for you, though. Just a thought for you to have.”

He isn’t sure what to make of it. There hasn’t been any indication that Changbin feels anything more than friendship for him, and he’s quite thankful for that. Even if he is really nice and he takes a lot of time out of his day to check on Jisung and spend time with him, it’s nice to have a no-pressure friendship. “I’ll keep it in mind,” he promises, although he doesn’t think there’s any merit to Chan’s words.

--

At the next group meeting, Jisung thinks that it’s finally time for him to try and speak. For the first time. He’s been attending and listening for so long and he kind of wants to share his own story. Tell all these people he’s grown fond of about his husband and their love. If anyone will let him gush about Minho, it’s everyone at the therapy session. They’ve all shared countless stories of their own spouses, to the point that Jisung feels like he kind of knows them even if he’ll never get to meet them.

Changbin gives him an encouraging nod when there’s a lull in the conversation and their group leaders asks if anyone else wants to share. He’s tentative when he lifts his hand, but everyone zeroes in on him with kind, open expressions. It makes it a bit easier.

“Hi, I’m Han Jisung for anyone that I haven’t properly met. I lost my husband, Minho, to cancer just under a year ago.” He pauses, not entirely sure how to proceed now that he’s started. With a quick glance at Changbin, he takes a deep breath and settles in his chair more firmly. “We met when we were in university and he is the love of my life. He’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen and I was so gone for him the moment he asked me out.

“We got married in Busan, right on the beach. Not technically, since Korea doesn’t allow that, but in our minds we were married. He was a dancer. I’m not sure if any of you are interested in dancing, but he had his own studio called Three Cats. It’s kind of an inside joke of a name because he always dreamed of owning three cats one day and he also had a random interest in Picasso at one point who used to go to a bar named Four Cats in Spain. Anyways, he was so talented and I was always so in awe of the way he could dance and express himself that way.

“He got sick a few years into our marriage and we had hope for a long time. He went through treatments all over the city and sometimes we thought there was hope. He’d make some progress towards recovery, but it never really… stuck. Then they told us that he wasn’t going to make it and it was the second worst day of my life.

“He was so frail at the end, always freezing even when we had the heat on full blast and he was under three layers. I felt so hopeless having to watch him suffer like that, but I loved him through it all. I still love him so much. Sometimes it’s hard to accept that he’s truly gone. I know I shouldn’t still hope for him to walk through the door and drop his dance bag in the entryway. I shouldn’t wake up on the weekends and hope to hear him rustling pots and pans in the kitchen, but I can’t help it. I just want him to still be there. But I’ve made some progress I suppose. I’m back to working mostly full time again and I try to take care of myself when I can. It hasn’t really gotten easier, but I think my ability to cope with everything has gotten a little better.

“So… yeah. I think that’s everything I wanted to share today.”

There is a loud murmur of people thanking him for his story and wishing for him to find happiness, but a hand on his shoulder is what draws his attention the most. He turns to see Changbin looking at him, eyes red and slightly swollen. “Good job, Jisung-ah. That was beautiful.”

After the hour is up, Changbin pulls him to his car right away. He looks so insistent that Jisung walks as fast as he can behind him. It’s once they’re buckled into the car that Changbin takes a deep breath and looks at him. “I want to tell you more about Moonbyul too.”

Their drive is mostly quiet, the music a bit subdued this time around as Changbin drives them back to the river where they initially bonded after their corndogs. They roll the windows down despite it being a bit cold outside, letting the breeze waft through the car as they recline their seats to look at the stars above. Jisung waits, wanting Changbin to start talking when he feels ready and not a second sooner. He knows how hard it is to share a story like theirs.

“Moonbyul was a friend I knew since I was a kid. We grew up in the same circle because our parents were friends. She was so sassy and tough all the time that I didn’t really like her as a kid. It’s kind of funny to think back on now, the way she’d put her hands on her hips and demand I let her play with me. She always had these lopsided ponytails.” Changbin smiles to himself, clearly remembering his wife and their antics.

“We started dating in high school. I think I always loved her, but I just never understood what the feeling was until she kissed me one day. The second she did, everything kind of fell into place for me, you know? We dated for a few years and got married while we were in university. It wasn’t easy, both of us struggling to pay our rent and navigate becoming adults together. I studied marketing because I didn’t know what else to do but she was a nurse. A damn good one. She always loved people and loved helping them.

“When we finally graduated, everything settled into place for us. We were suddenly able to afford a proper apartment and I got my car. We started saving and talking about starting a family. I was always a bit nervous about becoming a father, but I knew she would be an incredible mom so I’d never hold her back. I was so happy back then; everything was so perfect.

“Then she had to work a double shift at the hospital and didn’t get off work until late. She called to tell me she was about to head home and I told her to be careful that night. I’m so glad that we ended the phone call telling each other that we loved each other because she never made it home. I started to worry after half and hour, but then I got even more worried as more time passed without any sign of her. I tried to call her, but she didn’t answer.

“I got a phone call from the hospital she worked at two hours later and they told me that she’d been hit by a car on her way to the bus stop.” Changbin pauses in his talking, hunching over as he starts to sob. He’s always been so terrible at comfort, but Jisung turns to the side to run a hand through Changbin’s hair anyways. Just something to try and soothe him. His own chest feels hallow, like it’s been carved out. How terrible would it have been for Minho to be suddenly gone? It was terrible enough to have to watch him slowly withering away, but at least they knew it was coming. Changbin hadn’t had a clue. There was no preparing for his sudden loss.

“I’m so sorry,” Jisung says softly, still running a hand through Changbin’s hair. “I’m so sorry that you lost her like that.”

Changbin wipes his eyes roughly before looking at him. “I was so angry for so long. The guy that hit her had worked a double shift at some company and fell asleep at the wheel. I wanted to fucking strangle him for what he did to Moonbyul and I spent a long time angry at the world because of it. Moonbyul was beautiful and caring. She didn’t deserve to die so young, not when she did so much good. She spent so much time taking care of sick and injured people at that hospital and they couldn’t save her in the end.”

They share silence for a moment as they both contemplate over everything. Although Jisung has already felt connected with Changbin throughout their time together, he thinks that he understands him significantly more now. He understands why he was so mad at the world and why he pushed everyone away.

“All I can do now,” Changbin says after a while, “Is try to live life like she would’ve wanted me to. Try to be kind and caring for her now that she isn’t here to do it herself.”

“I think you’re doing a good job at that,” Jisung reassures him, and he believes it. Changbin took him under his wing when he saw how lost Jisung was and he still offers his comfort and soothing words consistently.

Changbin gives him a plaintive smile. “Yeah? You think so?”

“I definitely think so.”

The other man stares at him for a while, seeming to contemplate everything they’ve learned tonight. It’s quiet in the car, a cozy little bubble that’s just for them. “I’m really glad I met you, Jisung-ah. There’s something really special about you.”

--

“We’re having a Christmas party at work next weekend, do you want to come with me?”

Jisung pauses with a french fry halfway to his mouth, looking at Changbin curiously. A work Christmas party? He kind of wonders why on earth Changbin would want to take him to something like that, and the thought must be plain on his face because it has Changbin scrambling to give more details. “They’re always kind of stuffy and boring and I think it would be more bearable to have a familiar face there. But you don’t have to if you don’t want to!”

It definitely makes sense. Jisung would probably want to have Changbin with him too if their company had holiday parties. “Sure, why not. Is there a dress code or anything? I don’t think any of my nicer clothes will fit me anymore.”

Changbin looks relieved when he hears the answer. “It’s supposed to be semi-formal but wear whatever you feel comfortable in. I’m not too worried about what anyone thinks.”

“Kind of you, but what are you wearing so I don’t look like an idiot next to you,” Jisung asks, shoveling a few more fries into his mouth. If Changbin is about to show up in a suit, there’s no way in hell Jisung is going to stand there in a sweater next to him. He already hates unknown people, so drawing attention to himself is literal hell.

“I’ll probably wear one of my suits, but only because I have a million of them. We all wear suits to work every day.”

“Oh my god,” Jisung practically yells, “You were just going to let me show up in whatever when everyone else is going to be in a suit. That’s just rude!”

Changbin laughs, but it’s more so one of his ‘hehehe’ laughs that makes Jisung sigh. “I’ll get a damn suit I guess.”

--

The night of the Christmas party, Jisung stands in front of his bathroom mirror cursing everything about himself. Of course, he fell asleep on the couch and how has a bad case of bedhead where one side of his hair is smashed against his head and the other is way too fluffy. He looks like an overgrown child.

“Just wet a comb and run it through your hair, then blow dry it,” comes Minho’s voice from the doorway. Jisung frantically grabs a comb to do just that. “You’re going to look fine, love, so stop stressing over it.”

Jisung whines as he practically douses his hair in water. “Changbin’s colleagues are probably all put together businessmen and I’m going to look like an idiot surrounded by them.”

“I’m not sure that’ll be entirely your hair’s fault,” Minho says with a grin before Jisung tries, and fails, to splash water at him. “Geez, okay! I was just kidding. You’re going to look good, Ji. You always look nice when you dress up.”

Half an hour later, his hair looks as full but tamed as he likes it and he’s slipping into his suit. It’s nothing too fancy, just black slacks and a black jacket that he’ll throw a burgundy button up under. It’s a little festive without being too much and he’s so grateful we went and got a fitted suit because the others looked like he’d stolen them when he tried them on in his room.

Just as he’s connected the last button, Minho whistles. “Looking good, love. That suit looks fantastic on you, but I have an idea.”

He’s not sure if he should be worried or not. Minho has either the best ideas or the most damning ones and his husband has been in a teasing mood so far today. “What is it?”

“Grab the black belt. You know the one.” He does know the one. It’s a thick, leather belt that Minho had purchased for him years ago. It’s tiny and meant to go around his natural waistline to tug his clothing in around his narrowest part.

“I don’t think I need that. Isn’t it too much?”

Minho tsks at him. “Please just trust me. You need to wear that belt.”

Not feeling like putting up a fight, he heads to the closet and rummages around until he finds it. Now that he’s a bit thinner than he was before, it’s even easier to fit it over the suit jacket and tighten it until it bunches the fabric around his slim waist. He thinks it looks a little ridiculous and definitely like he’s trying too hard. His fingers slip around the belt to try and remove it.

“Don’t you dare. You leave that belt right where it is, Han Jisung. It looks amazing on you, and I really want you to wear it.”

Jisung rolls his eyes and he kind of wants to ask Minho why he’s so insistent on the stupid thing, but a knock at the front door pulls his attention instead. It’s too late to battle over the belt any further, so he decides to just trust his husband on this one. “Fine, you win,” he sighs before trudging over to the door and yanking it open.

Changbin stands on the other side in an all-black suit that hugs his body perfectly. It’s got some silk accents that make it look very expensive and flattering and Jisung is kind of frozen, looking at the way the jacket strains to fit his muscles under it. If he’s honest, he’s a little stunned by how good Changbin looks like this. His hair is even parted and pushed back off his forehead. If Jisung didn’t know him, he’d be immensely intimidated by him.

When Jisung is able to shake himself out of his stupor, he realizes that Changbin is also in a bit of a fog, eyes trained on the belt around his waist. Shit. “Sorry, is the belt too much? I can take it off! I feel kinda goofy with it on anyways.”

“No,” Changbin says almost immediately, voice a lot harsher than he must’ve intended before he quickly clears his throat to try again. “I mean, no, you should leave it on. It looks very nice with your suit. You look very nice.”

Jisung can’t help but preen just a little under the attention, which makes him feel a little bad after he realizes it. This is Changbin. His friend. A fellow widower.

“You look really nice too,” he says instead, drawing the attention back to Changbin. “That suit looks awesome on you.”

He doesn’t miss the way Changbin’s ears turn a bit red at the compliment, but just figures that he isn’t used to hearing such words from Jisung. Instead of worrying over it, he struggles to get into his dress shoes before grabbing a coat. “Ready?”

The drive to Changbin’s company is relatively quick, easily finding a spot in the parking garage beside it. The building is posh and upscale, denoting how prestigious it must be. Jisung has only really been able to gather than Changbin is in marketing and that he’s in charge of several projects. Now that he sees where he works, Jisung has the feeling that Changbin might have downplayed his success a bit.

It’s a bit odd to see all these people greeting Changbin with excitement while he feels like a sore thumb sticking out, but Changbin makes sure to introduce him to everyone that stops them, letting him drift out of the conversations as he sees fit. It’s kind of nice, a lot lower pressure than he expected.

By the time they make it to their seats, Jisung has met half the room and he sees the way that people gravitate towards them. He can’t blame any of them. Changbin has this quality about him that makes it easy to talk to him, and Jisung is grateful that the man has chosen to have him at his side for the evening. He also kind of wonders why Changbin claimed he wanted a familiar face here when he seems pretty damn familiar with everyone.

They’re sat with a couple of Changbin’s favorite colleagues and their significant others, which makes a lot of them assume that he’s here with the man in that capacity, but he lets it slide. It’s a bit easier than explaining that they’re widower friends, which would surely put a damper on the mood of the night.

At some point after they’ve had dinner, an old man climbs onto the stage and starts to give a speech. Jisung assumes he’s the CEO of the company with the way everyone gives him their undivided attention. He seems like a kind man, making everyone laugh with his goofy jokes as he thanks them for coming. Next, he announces that they have a few games that they’d like to play and Jisung shrinks a bit in his seat. This is not his forte and he’s grateful he’s not an employee here or he might have to participate.

“First up is the partner gift wrapping competition. We’ll have a present that you and your partner of choice will have to wrap together. Fastest present wrapped wins. There’s a catch, though,” the old man says with a glint of mischief in his eyes, “One partner will be blindfolded while the other has to stand behind them and guide them through the wrapping with only their voice.”

It sounds fun and Jisung is looking forward to watching the pairs fumble through the competition. A few pairs start to walk up to the table where the items are in display, but it’s clear they need a few more volunteers. To Jisung’s horror, the old man at the front locks eyes with Changbin and grins. “Come now, Changbin-ssi. I know you can do this!”

Changbin laughs and tries to wave him off before eventually getting goaded into doing it. Just before he makes his way to the table, his hand wraps around Jisung’s and drags him along. He’s both terrified and mortified. There’s no way in hell he can do something like this without making an absolute fool of himself.

“Sorry,” Changbin says to him in a whisper as they reach one of the boxes on the table. “I tend to get roped into this stuff. Would you rather be the wrapper or the guider?”

“I’d rather be blindfolded so I can’t see anything going on,” he replies easily. If he can’t see what’s happening, he doesn’t have to worry about feeling embarrassed. Besides, he can kind of wrap presents. Minho had subjected him to the task pretty much their entire relationship.

The blindfolds are handed out, with Jisung slipping his on after one last glance at where everything is located on the table. Changbin steps up behind him and all he can really focus on is how warm his body feels against him. It’s… nice.

“On the count of three,” the old man says from where he’s still on their little stage. Jisung braces himself until the countdown is over and the sound of wrapping paper crumpling fills the room.

“Do you remember where the scissors are,” Changbin asks next to his ear. Jisung knows he’s so close and talking directly into his ear to make sure Jisung can hear him distinctly, but it makes a chill go down his spine anyways. There’s something innately intimate about someone whispering in your ear.

He pushes past that, confirming he remembers where they are before Changbin guides him through the motions. It’s difficult to get everything right when he can’t see, but Changbin is patient as he leads him through each step. There are a few chuckles when Jisung fucks up cutting the paper and when he folds something so completely wrong that it feels like he’s making a paper crane.

Eventually, it’s time to grab the tape and finish up his wrapping job. As far as he can tell, no one else has finished yet so they’re still in the race. He curses to himself a few times as he tries to get the tape out of the dispenser and Changbin’s hands settle on his waist. “Hey, calm down, you’re doing fine. No need to rush.”

The hands on his waist only make him fumble the tape down onto the table, though, trying to recover from the feeling. It’s starting to overwhelm him a bit and he just wants this to be over with so he can get some space and breathe again.

When he finally finishes taping everything down, he feels Changbin step back, taking his warmth with him. “Done!”

The man on the stage laughs and announces that he and Changbin have won, which is exciting, but he just wants the damn blindfold off. He tears it over his head, not caring about messing up his hair. In front of him, his box looks a bit like one of Santa’s reindeer tried to eat it, but the box is covered entirely which was the main stipulation.

He turns to see Changbin grinning at him. “Good job! You did really well!” He can feel his cheeks grow warm when Changbin reaches out a hand to smooth his hair back down, still smiling at him the entire time, but tries to write it off. He’s just filled with adrenaline from the competition. That’s all.

They take to the stage where they’re gifted a certificate to a fancy restaurant in the city which Changbin takes graciously before leading Jisung back to their table. His heart is finally starting to settle into his chest when they start to wrap up the rest of the party.

Jisung is extremely grateful when they finally emerge from the building and the cold air wraps around him. It settles him, making him feel like his lungs are fully operational again. “Thanks for coming with me,” Changbin says at his side as they walk to his car. “We’ll have to go grab dinner at this place sometime to celebrate!”

Good food always sounds like a good time to Jisung, so he readily agrees. He’ll just need to figure out what the fuck is going on with his body in the meantime.

--

They do end up getting that food together one night the following week. It’s a rather swanky restaurant, so different from their usual choices but it’s kind of nice to feel pampered every now and then. They’ve got French-Korean fusion food which sounds confusing as hell as a concept but the food on the tables around them looks really good as they settle into their seats and sip the wine Changbin ordered.

“I have no idea what half of this means,” he admits as he skims through the options available on the menu. While he recognizes about half of the ingredients listed, the other half is a total mystery. He’s never been a connoisseur of French food and hasn’t got a clue what to order.

Changbin laughs as he looks over his own menu. “I don’t really know what any of it is either. Want to just order two things and share in case we hate them?”

They spend ten minutes trying to decipher the menu enough to place their orders, fingers crossing that they’ll get something good once the waiter leaves. Jisung settled on some sort of miso-flavored ceviche while Changbin went more extravagant with some foie gras plate. Whether the food is good or not, they’re sure to have a fun experience either way.

“How’s producing been going,” Changbin asks.

Jisung has to contemplate the answer for a moment. “It’s been okay. I think I’m finally getting a little better at writing again, but I don’t think I really connect with anything I’ve been making still.” It’s been a big problem for him, but Chan always knows how to bridge the gap for him. Sometimes he feels like he’s forcing himself to make a genre that he doesn’t identify with anymore.

“I think it’s really cool that you make music. I always kind of wanted to get into music, but I was more focused on schooling instead. It’s really awesome that you followed your passions.”

The compliment feels really nice. After all the hard work and uncertainty, he’s very proud of where he is and what he’s accomplished so far. “Thank you. Hopefully I’ll get my groove back soon.”

They settle into easy small talk as they wait for their food surprises, joking back and forth about a couple of the movies they’ve watched recently. It’s always so comfortable with Changbin, but Chan’s words have been haunting him more and more frequently since the holiday party. Is there a chance that Changbin feels more for him that just friends? If so, why does the thought of it not make him scared or guilty anymore?

“I really like being around you, hyung,” he says, although he’s not entirely sure how he meant it. Just an amalgamation of all his thoughts coming out of him.

Changbin looks at him, searching his face for a moment but Jisung doesn’t know what exactly he’s looking for. “I like being around you too. I think you’re the first person since Moonbyul that makes it easy to just exist and be myself.”

He isn’t really sure how to take that in the moment. Being compared to Moonbyul is both a very high compliment and a little fucking worrying. I think he might have feelings for you. The thought leads to an avalanche of emotions running straight through him. It feels nice, but it feels like way too much. Could he see Changbin that way? He is very handsome and his body is drool-worthy. He’s also unendingly patient and considerate. Fuck. Fuck Fuck. Time to detour these thoughts.

Jisung is saved when their food arrives, two plates of significantly less food than either of them were expecting. They manage to hold in their laughs until the waiter departs and then they’re simultaneously leaning in to look at them. “Do they only feed babies here,” Changbin says in astonishment.

“Looks like we each get one bite from each plate,” Jisung says with a small laugh. They use their chopsticks to divide the meager offerings in half and then they take their own portions first.

The ceviche is divine, even if it will only last for one solid mouthful. Jisung takes his time chewing, eyes widening as he takes in the full flavor. Changbin’s own eyes are lighting up on the opposite end of the table, chewing his food in awe.

“You have to try this,” Jisung says as soon as he swallows his bite of food and Changbin instantly hoists his plate up, offering to trade. They swap dishes and the entire thing happens all over again. The food is damn good, despite their original interpretations.

Changbin whines when he finishes the ceviche. “That was so fucking good, and yet I’m still starving.”

Jisung can’t help the loud laugh that leaves him, leaning back in his chair and drawing some attention to them. “Was it worth the 200,000 won your company is dropping on it?”

“Hell yeah, but only because I don’t have to pay anything at all for it! If I paid for it from my own pocket, I think I’d be a little pissed right now.”

“How about we go for barbeque after this,” Jisung asks, and Changbin instantly nods.

“Yes, please, I can’t go home like this. My mouth feels teased.”

Jisung could make a horrible jokes about that sentence, but he decides to keep things in safe territory instead. He’ll think about everything later.

--

Minho is waiting for him the moment he steps through the door. “Tell me about the restaurant. I’m dying to hear about the food!”

His husband has always been a foodie and Jisung almost feels bad that he’ll never get to taste the food they dined on. Even the barbeque had been really freaking good after their ‘appetizers’. “It was so good, babe. I can’t even explain it! I got this ceviche thing and Changbin ordered foie gras which I’d never heard about before but apparently it’s duck liver? I dunno, but they were both so good! Although the portions were so pitiful that we went for barbeque afterwards.”

“Ah, that’s probably one of the things I’ll miss most. You, dancing, and food.”

Jisung feels his heart kick in his chest at Minho’s words. It’s just a simple admission, but it means so much to him anyways. “I love you.”

Minho looks a bit surprised at the sudden words, tilting his head a bit. “I love you too, but something is clearly on your mind. What’s wrong?”

He kind of hates how easily Minho can see through him, but it’s something that comes with spending so long together. His thoughts are a jumbled mess inside his brain, though, and he isn’t really sure how to word them. “I think Changbin maybe likes me.”

“Yes, and,” Minho prompts, like it isn’t surprising at all. Does everyone see something that Jisung doesn’t? “What do you think about that?”

“I’m confused,” he admits. “I don’t know what to think about that but I also feel almost… excited. Which then makes me feel like the worst person in the entire world because I don’t know if I’m excited because I feel the same way or because I just like the attention he gives me.”

“It’s okay to be confused, love,” Minho says gently, likes he’s worried about crossing some line that Jisung can’t see. His mind is such a mess, but he just wants some clarity right now. “Just think about how you feel around him. You don’t need to have an answer right now.”

“Yeah, I guess I’ll think about it,” he concedes.

--

Jisung does think about it. Perhaps too much, with the way it starts to plague him. Even when Changbin is sitting on his couch beside him, he hasn’t got a clue how he feels. Changbin is awesome, of course, he wouldn’t spend so much time with him if he wasn’t. He’s handsome and he’s cool and he’s good with words. He knows how to pick up on Jisung’s feelings almost as much as Minho does, which is scary as hell but also really comforting.

Does he like him? He doesn’t know. He really, really doesn’t know.

He starts to focus on the little things when they hang out. The way Changbin lingers around him consistently, always there to offer a supportive hand or words of advice. He likes it, but is it in a friends way?

When Changbin hands him a pair of chopsticks and their fingers touch, is it normal to feel a zap of excitement from it? Probably fucking not, but he thinks that Changbin just energizes him in general. He’s a really interesting person.

After a few weeks, Jisung is still nowhere nearer to figuring out what he feels.

--

More alcohol. They really ought to stop drinking together, Jisung muses, as he slumps against the back of the couch and just lets the fuzzy feeling consume him. He feels good, if not a little warm. They’ve been playing rounds of old games on his Sega that he saved from the thrift store. He still can’t believe his mom almost donated it. Blasphemy.

Sonic, Streets of Rage, ToeJam & Earl.

There’s no telling who’s really winning anymore, and Changbin seems to give up, letting the controller fall to the floor. Jisung’s just about zonked out himself, so he doesn’t even mind it. They let the background music fill the space instead.

“God, I miss her,” Changbin says beside him, scrubbing a hand over his face as if it’ll sober him. This happens often, the alcohol breaking through the walls around their hearts and thoughts.

“Tell me more about her,” Jisung asks, figuring it’s better to have Changbin just let it all out. He had his own complete meltdown about Minho last week so it’s only fair.

It seems to help, with Changbin sharing his favorite things about his late wife. It’s sweet. The love he still holds and how easily it pours out of him is something precious and he feels honored to get to hear all of it. Jisung briefly wonders if his eyes light up the same way when he talks about Minho. They have to.

“She was just so lovely in every way, I don’t think there’s anyone that comes close to her. The kind of wonderful that’s so rare in the world,” Changbin says after a while. Jisung’s slightly blurry vision zeroes in on the man in front of him. How he’s got this tough guy exterior that’s really just armor for the absolute marshmallow of a man he really is. He thinks of all the beautiful things he always says about Moonbyul and grief. Everything in general, really. Changbin is a wordsmith.

“You’re lovely too,” Jisung says, filter completely obliterated at this point. But he means it. He really does think Changbin is a lovely person and the kind of genuine you’d be hard pressed to find anywhere else.

“What?”

He turns a bit, albeit wobbly in his movements, until he’s facing Changbin on the couch. “You. I think you’re lovely too. It’s no wonder Moonbyul loved you so much.”

He smiles at his admission, and he can tell it’s one of those dorky ones that make his cheeks puff out too much. A second later, Changbin is closer and Jisung isn’t exactly sure how he got here, but his thoughts are cut short by a press of lips against his own.

Jisung’s eyes flutter shut on instinct, brain malfunctioning. Changbin is kissing him? Why is Changbin kissing him? Yet his lips keep up when the man starts to evolve their kisses into gently making out. His mind is screaming at him that this isn’t supposed to be happening, but he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t miss this. It feels so good.

Fingers brush through his hair and he melts on the spot, low hum of a moan tumbling out of him. It seems to encourage Changbin as he presses closer and tilts his head to slot their mouths together even more. He’s sure the kisses are sloppy from an outside, sober perspective but they feel divine to him anyways.

Another hand wraps around his waist, settling on the small of his back. He’s always been so sensitive there and it makes him gasp a little, just enough to let Changbin’s tongue slide into his mouth further. Jisung feels like he’s thirteen years old again, kissing with tongue for the very first time. It’s uncoordinated and definitely messy now, but it’s also addicting.

With a tug on his body, the world spins just a bit until he’s anchored back on the couch, legs straddling over Changbin’s lap. His body is so hot, like a thick, wool blanket covering him where their limbs meet. Even if he feels like he might burst into flames from it, Jisung relishes in the feeling. It’s comforting and… exciting. He has to admit this is getting him very aroused which is another foreign feeling to his at this rate. When was the last time he even got hard?

Those are questions his inebriated brain can’t quite answer at the moment, so he lets them fade and focuses on basically eating Changbin’s face. Their tongues are fully rubbing together between their parted mouths, hot breath exchanged in the space between. The fingers on his lumbar flex, pressing into him harder and drawing him closer. The need in his core is urgent now, enchanting him into rolling his hips down until they’re both groaning in sync.

A hot surge of arousal fills him and he’s flat out humping Changbin now. There’s really no other way to word it. He’s once again reminded of being an awkward teenager. The cherry on top would be cumming in his pants.

Changbin prevents that, however, by abandoning his grip in his hair to grab onto his hips instead. “You have to slow down,” he warns against Jisung’s lips. “I haven’t touched myself in months and I’m about three seconds away.”

Jisung whines, embarrassingly enough. Even if he knows shooting in his pants would be a nightmare, he’s so needy he could cry.

“Can I suck you off,” Changbin asks, still holding him firmly and that almost sends him into climax too.

“Fuck,” he pants, eyes screwed shut to will himself back from the ledge. “Please?”

The world spins again and it takes several seconds for him to reorient and realize he’s been laid back on the couch, Changbin hovering over him. His sweats and briefs are yanked down, the other clearly impatient. It gives him about 0.2 seconds to prepare for the wet heat that envelops his cock, making him arch his back almost painfully. The entire feeling is so foreign by now that it feels like his very first blow job all over again.

Changbin’s tongue is too skilled as he swirls it around the head of Jisung’s cock. The sensations make the hair on his arms stand on end. Every hormone receptor in his body is set to full blast. “Oh my god, I’m not going to last at all,” he complains, feeling his legs tensing.

A soft chuckle vibrates around him and he might just kill the man on the spot if he keeps teasing him. Changbin follows through a second later, taking almost all of his length into his mouth and sealing around him with his lips. His entire body feels like television static. When he starts to bob his head, Jisung’s fingers claw into the couch below him for something to hold on to. If he doesn’t, he might just plummet right off the face of the earth.

His orgasm bulldozes through him and he can feel it pulsing all the way to his toes, spilling into Changbin’s mouth with a filthy whine. He doesn’t think he’ll ever come down, cursed to stay in the post orgasm bliss-purgatory that buzzes through him, brain unable to focus on anything else.

Eventually, his breathing and pulse slow, but he still feels oddly euphoric. Has he ever cum this hard before? Probably, but the alcohol throttling his cognitive functions definitely enhanced the feeling.

As his eyes crack open, he sees Changbin on his knees, looking at him with flushed cheeks and sweaty bangs. He looks like a wet dream, straight from puberty-addled Jisung’s bedroom walls. The posters had been of women back then, anything to prove he wasn’t a raging homosexual, but the thought and intention is the same.

“My turn,” he says, trying to give a sexy smile and no doubt failing spectacularly.

Even still, Changbin grins and pushes back until he’s seated on the couch properly again. Jisung slithers down onto his knees, ignoring the way the wood floor offers exactly zero cushioning for them. It’s easy to slide over and settle between the other man’s knees, reaching out to pull his sweats down now.

Changbin’s cock is very fitting. It’s not long, but it’s pretty thick with a prominent vein running down the side. It’s a bit red in color, no doubt from Changbin holding himself back, but it suits him very well. Jisung doesn’t really refer to cocks as pretty but it’s a nice one.

He doesn’t waste time, diving forward to wrap his lips around it. There’s a distinct salty taste to him, one that Jisung associates with sucking dick in general, and he doesn’t dislike it. It’s a bit awkward being so out of practice of this, but he’s determined anyways.

Changbin appears to appreciate the efforts, eyes scrunched shut as he leans his head back. He’s very vocal about it, which Jisung appreciates. It makes it easy to follow the pattern of his moans and determine what his preferences are, which just leads him to making the man putty in his hands in a matter of minutes.

His jaw is just starting to ache a bit when fingers slide through his hair again. “Close,” Changbin says, giving a courtesy that Jisung hadn’t thought to. He doubles his efforts, licking into his slit a little and sucking just a bit harder. He’s rewarded with a lewd groan and the feeling of Changbin’s cock pulsing against his tongue, cum spurting over it.

He swallows, because who doesn’t these days?

“You’re so perfect,” Changbin says above him, still petting through his hair softly. “That was so good.”

Jisung rests his head against the man’s thigh, just peering up at him. He’s really quite drunk still and also certain that his knees will pop uncomfortable when he tries to stand again. The view it affords it very sexy, though. Post coitus Changbin is almost a heavenly sight.

“We should probably sleep,” Changbin says after a moment. It’s true, they need to sleep off all the soju and perhaps have panic attacks in the morning.

Jisung lets himself be lifted to his feet, and it’s honestly kind of unfair how easy Changbin makes it look. He can’t complain though, letting himself be pulled by the hand towards the little staircase that leads to his bedroom. He giggles as they go, legs trying so hard to stay coordinated until they make it and settle onto the mattress in a pile of limbs. He’s out almost as soon as his head hits the pillows.

The next morning, everything comes back to him in more clarity than he would’ve ever hoped for. They had sex. Not full on, but oral sex is still sex. He and Changbin. Sex. What the fuck.

Changbin wakes around the same time he does and they sit in silent, tense panic beside each other on the bed for a little while.

“So,” Changbin eventually says and Jisung wants to shove a sock into his mouth to prolong the inevitability of this conversation. Literally anything to not have to talk about it. “Last night.”

“Last night,” he agrees, still pensive about it.

“Will you at least look at me,” the other asks and it feels like a loaded question, but he does it anyways. Uncertainty is mirrored there when he does. “I don’t regret it.”

That’s certainly a relief, but it doesn’t mean that Jisung doesn’t regret it. Does he? He can’t even make sense of his emotions enough to know right now. “Okay.”

Changbin squirms a bit, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to his chest. “It doesn’t have to mean anything more than finding comfort in each other.”

Huh. He hadn’t thought of it like that, but it does make sense. Two lonely widowers fucking the sad right out of each other. “Is it wrong, though? For us to do that with each other?”

“What do you mean?”

What does he mean? “Ugh, like having sex. Is it wrong for us to have sex when we’re still mourning?”

“I don’t think that’s anyone’s business but our own, Jisung-ah. I’m not just using you for your body either. I’ll always love Moonbyul. You know that, and I know that. But I can love her this much and still like you too.”

Jisung’s eyebrows pinch together. Is this some sort of confession? It’s not exactly shocking to think that Changbin might like him romantically and but he’s not sure what to make of it being out in the open now. It feels a lot more… real suddenly. “Really?”

“Yes really. I thought it was obvious.”

It wasn’t. Not entirely, at least.

He examines himself. Really examines himself, which is hard to do with a raging hangover headache looming for him, but he manages. Changbin is nice and funny. He’s been there for Jisung in ways that no one else could be. He’s offered quiet comfort and enough distractions to keep Jisung afloat. Hell, anyone would be lucky to catch the guy’s attention.

Then his mind goes deeper, thwarting the guilt before it can even start. If he had met Changbin and never known Minho, would he have dated him? Yes. He can confidently say that Changbin is the kind of guy he would’ve gone for. He brings out the best in Jisung and makes him feel safe. Makes him want to be a better version of himself. Would he maybe, by chance, consider sucking Changbin’s dick again? Yes…

He likes Changbin. It lights up in his brain like a marquee in front of a theater. You like Changbin, you fucking moron, it says it brightly lit letters. Oh, fuck. Minho is going to have a field day with this one.

“I had no idea, but I think I like you too. Even if it’s selfish.”

“Is it selfish,” Changbin asks, tilting his head to the side.

“Isn’t it? We’ve already been in love and met our other halves. Isn’t it selfish to want to fall in love for a second time?”

“If it is, then let’s be selfish together.”

--

When Changbin leaves that morning, Jisung paces around the room waiting for Minho. There’s this nagging need to get this off his chest as soon as he can and he knows part of that is rooted in the fact that Minho can always talk him through what he’s feeling. Now that he’s connected all the dots in his brain, his crush on Changbin is practically radiating out of him. All the little things he kept trying to write off come crashing into the foreground.

As if on cue, he sees Minho in his navy chair like usual when he turns around. “What’s got you so anxious, love?”

He doesn’t have a clue how to approach this conversation, so he word vomits instead. “I sucked Changbin off and he did it to me too. I think I realized that I like him and now I’m freaking the fuck out.”

There’s an almost deafening silence in the room that causes him to practically skid to a stop, looking at Minho in fear. What he finds is his husband grinning at him like the cat that caught the canary. “I’m so excited for you, love! How was it? Did you confess your feelings?”

Jisung has a feeling that Minho knows the answers to all of those questions already, but Minho is also the type to make you say things that embarrass you. He always has been. “It was good and I feel awful that I liked it so much. And I kind of did confess to him.” Minho’s hands clap together inaudibly, and he looks so gleeful that Jisung doesn’t even know what to do with him at this point. He feels exasperated at his husband and how much joy he’s getting out of this. “Why are you so excited about this? Doesn’t it make you angry or jealous?”

“Absolutely not. I’m not here anymore, Jisung, and it’s been a year since I passed. I’m genuinely excited for you and if it makes you even a little happy, I’m going to encourage you.”

It feels nice to get Minho’s blessing, but part of him is a bit angry at it. It feels like Minho is trying to get rid of him sometimes, even if he knows better than to think that way. It’s just hard to understand how your soulmate could ever want you to want someone else. “Thanks, babe,” he says instead, choosing to take the blessing for what it is.

--

They fall into a steady routine of dates which neither of them refer to as dates. It’s pretty similar to how they’ve always hung out, except now half the nights end with one of their dicks in each other’s mouths or jerking off together. Jisung still feels guilty about it sometimes, but it’s a nice escape and he hasn’t felt desired in so long that it’s a nice reminder.

They don’t try to escalate to full on sex, though, both agreeing that they aren’t ready. It suits Jisung fine and helps him not feel as bad about the whole thing. Sometimes he wonders how long it’s appropriate to grieve before you fall into bed with someone else, but there doesn’t seem to be a clear answer. Not in his heart and definitely not on Naver. (He only searched about thirty times).

--

One of their not-dates consists of walking around a spring festival by the river and Jisung kind of wonders how it’s spring again already. The weather is warming up again, although there’s a significant chill at night still, and the trees and flowers are starting to bloom again. It feels almost like it’s calling him to make another step forward in life, but he’s not exactly sure what that step might be.

Changbin shivers a bit as they walk past rows of food vendors and Jisung can’t help but unravel his scarf to instead wrap it around the other. Changbin tries to protest for a minute before Jisung hushes him and insists on wrapping the fabric around him. When he finally relents, he does so with wide, glistening eyes. Jisung pecks a quick kiss on his cheek before he grabs his hand and pulls him along.

These types of affection are easier to share as the days stack up behind them. Holding hands, kisses, and hugs are readily shared between them when they have the chance and Jisung finds himself missing them when they go long stretches without them. It’s still a bit scary at times, but he’s starting to get more comfortable with his own feelings.

Having Minho to gush to about his dates, his husband listening with soft smiles, makes it even easier to accept that maybe he does want this and maybe he can love again. One day.

They walk around the festival for a while longer before Changbin pulls him towards the shore. The wind is a little less forgiving the closer they get to the water, but the sight is beautiful and calming so Jisung doesn’t mind. The sun is just starting to set, casting the water in warm, orange hues when Changbin turns to him, looking into his eyes and once again searching for something.

Jisung is never sure what that is, exactly, but Changbin does this from time to time. Like he can read his thoughts just by looking long enough.

“Will you be my boyfriend?”

The question feels like a surprise, and Jisung can’t help the way his eyes widen at the words. They’ve been sort of dating for a while now, despite neither wanting to put a label on it. Because labels make things more real. Making someone your boyfriend means that you want more, that you are considering making this a permanent thing.

Jisung finds himself searching Changbin’s eyes instead, trying to decipher what’s hidden underneath. All he can see is longing and hope, like he’d give anything to hear Jisung say yes. To be able to call him his. He finds that he wants that too. It would be really nice to be able to call Changbin his.

The man in front of him is so handsome, with a big heart that he’s so willing to gift to Jisung if he’ll take it, and even if it’s frightening to take another person’s heart into your hands for safekeeping, it’s a precious thing to be offered.

As the world blooms around them, bringing on new life and new experiences, Jisung wonders if maybe he can bloom too. “Yes.”

--

Life as boyfriends isn’t easy, but it’s not hard either. They’ve already got a comfortable routine in place and the new title on their relationship doesn’t really change much. Well, aside from making Chan rub it in Jisung’s face for a bit and Minho sneaking him little, happy smiles when he thinks Jisung can’t see.

They keep attending group sessions together, growing attached to the other widows and widowers that have shared their stories so freely. It’s a bit awkward when they announce they’re dating to their makeshift friends there, but they get well wishes and warm welcomes once the shock wears off. Now Jisung can get away with holding Changbin’s hand while he shares stories about Minho to the group.

At some point, Jisung’s passion for music reconnects with him and he finds that it’s easier to create music that means something to him again. He doesn’t go back to the heavy, bass-filled music that he used to make but instead finds himself making his own melodical healing songs that give him peace.

It feels… nice. And maybe he feels a little more than just okay these days.

--

“What is your favorite memory of us,” Jisung asks one night as he’s lounging on the couch. Minho is in his usual chair, watching him fondly as he shuffles around a bit. There’s too much energy pulsing through him, a product of an evening coffee date that’s left him basically wired.

“Our first kiss,” Minho says without preamble and it makes Jisung groan where he sits. His husband just smirks at him. “Remember when you asked me three times if I was sure before you squeezed your eyes shut and ended up kissing my chin?”

Jisung has immediate regret for bringing this up at all. “I was really nervous, okay! You were the hottest guy I’d ever seen and I couldn’t believe you actually wanted to kiss me and I just completely flailed about it!”

Minho can’t help snorting at him. “It was a very nice chin kiss, though.”

“Ugh, I can’t believe you still won’t let me live that down!”

“I never will, love, it was perfect in every way even if you thought you were going to be smooth about it. One of the things that won me over,” he says with a big smile. “I did notice that you said ‘I was the hottest guy you’d ever seen’. Did I get dethroned by Changbin?”

Jisung freezes, eyes going wide, and he sits straight up. He hadn’t even noticed that, but it wasn’t what he meant at all. The real thing he meant is more daunting to wrap his head around. He was referring to Minho in the past. As past tense. Like he’s fully accepted that he’s not really here anymore and he’s not sure how to take that. What does that mean?

“That’s not what I meant!”

“Whoa,” Minho says at his outburst, looking at him for a moment. “I was just teasing you, Ji. I actually… like hearing you talk about me in your past and knowing that you have new memories to hold dear. You don’t have to idolize me or our love story forever.”

He feels a bit like crying. Jisung didn’t mean for it to come across that way, but it’s how things are starting to become for him. He can focus on Changbin and the present. Sometimes even the future now. He spends a lot less time dwelling on the past, even if he misses Minho every single day still. He wonders if this is what healing looks like.

That brings another thought to mind. If he’s healing and he’s starting to focus on the present and future… is it time to let Minho go? He knows it’s the right thing to do, but he doesn’t think he’s quite there yet. Just a little longer. He needs just a little longer with Minho in his life.

--

When Changbin comes over later that week, it’s to find Jisung sitting at his coffee table with a bottle of glue and a box of clay shards. “What are you doing, Sungie?”

Jisung feels a bit embarrassed when he peeks up at him from behind the pieces in his hands. “I’m trying to glue this plate back together. It was a keepsake from Minho and I broke it when I was being an asshole. I just feel like I need to fix it for some reason.”

Changbin looks him over for a moment before slipping his coat off and padding over. He kneels across from Jisung and starts to rifle through the box, slowly looking for pieces that will fit together.

He won’t voice it, but the silent and judgement free support from his boyfriend means a whole hell of a lot to him. Who else would sit here and help him piece together a broken plate like it’s the most important task they’ve ever had?

He keeps sneaking glances at the way Changbin picks the pieces up with gentle care, making sure he doesn’t break anything further and handing over the pieces he finds one by one.

It’s tedious and it takes them almost two hours before they’ve got the plate almost entirely put together again. Jisung’s a bit guilty when he looks at how uneven the plate looks now. All the knobbly bits where chunks were too small to properly be put in place again but it feels better having it all back together anyways.

Changbin doesn’t question him when he tells him that he wants to hang it on the wall. It’ll be an eyesore for sure, something that no one will really understand when they first walk into the space, but he needs to do it anyways. They settle on a spot near the kitchen, somewhere that Jisung will see it every day and they work together to get it properly placed on the wall.

This is definitely what healing feels like.

--

Jisung has a particularly grueling day with Chan where nothing seems to come together. They argue about the direction a song should go until neither of them are inspired anymore and they just collapse into the couch in the studio instead.

When he gets home, things aren’t much better. He forgot to put his shoes up from the night before and trips on them the moment he enters the house, landing on the floor in a painful heap. To top it all off, he forgot to take the pork they’d planned to make out of the freezer and now it feels like their dinner will be ruined.

Essentially, he’s just a little ball of bad attitude when the door opens to reveal Changbin. Changbin who has a box of takeout in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other. White carnations, if Jisung can properly identify them. The ones he’d pointed out in passing one day. “I think cooking sounds tedious as hell tonight, so can we save the pork for tomorrow? I got us some noodles instead.”

A mixture of relief and overwhelming fondness flood through him until he can’t contain himself. Changbin always has the answers, even when he doesn’t know how badly Jisung needs them. He’s safety and comfort all rolled up in a sexy package that Jisung can’t wait to unwrap.

Actually, that just makes his mind drift, and he can’t get the image out of his head. He’s already known that a seed of love has planted itself into his core and started growing like a fucking weed. There’s no more denying it, but it feels almost compulsory at this point. “Will you fuck me?” Probably the least eloquent way he could’ve ever worded that, but it gets his point across very succinctly.

Changbin falters, utter bewilderment crossing his features. “Right now?”

Jisung can’t help but snort, jumping off the couch to bound over to him. “Not like right now, right now. Maybe after dinner?” He plucks the flowers from Changbin’s hand and goes to find one of the many vases he has under the kitchen sink. It’s a good thing he never let Minho throw any of them away.

“…Wait, what? You actually want that, Jisung?”

“Mmhmm,” he says, choosing to deliberately keep this conversation light. He knows for a fact that it’s important. They’ve had extensive discussions about the weight of sex on their healing. Yet it feels right and Jisung will stand by his decision. “If you aren’t ready, that’s okay. I won’t be offended. But I’m letting you know that I’m ready.”

The package of noodles is practically thrown to the side as Changbin wraps him in his arms. They’re both acutely aware that his is a roundabout way of Jisung admitting his deeper feelings. ‘No sex before we feel genuine love’ is pretty damn straightforward.

Their lips meet eagerly, Changbin pressing him against the kitchen counter as he slots them together from lips to hips. Their arms are woven around each other, already basically frantic. Perhaps the noodles can wait, after all.

The decision is made for him the moment Changbin rolls his hips into him. He can feel the familiar bulge forming beneath his pants and it makes him wrap his arms just a little tighter around Changbin’s neck. “Is this a yes,” he asks against the man’s lips, eagerness filling his voice.

Changbin foregoes answering directly in favor of picking Jisung up in his arms, causing him to wrap his legs around his waist in panic. He’s not used to being carried, obviously, but it’s pretty fucking hot too. He wonders if Changbin can throw him around a little bit. Not now, not their first time together, but in the future? Yes please.

The climb to his bedroom is a little nerve-wracking, so he presses kisses against Changbin’s throat to distract himself from the potential doom of them falling down the stairs. It only serves to rile the other up, though, which culminates in Jisung being dropped onto the bed and then thoroughly covered by Changbin’s body a second later. He loves this feeling, something about someone’s full weight pressing down on him makes him both comforted and extremely turned on.

Changbin’s mouth finds his easily, and their tongues are already twisting together before they connect. Although they’re both on the verge of begging each other for more, they keep the pace slow and controlled. This is uncharted territory for them both after going so long without that Jisung fears one wrong move might make them both skittish. It’s easier to fall into the steady rhythm of their mouths.

His teeth nick Changbin’s bottom lip just enough to pull a groan from him, hands firmly gripping the back of Changbin’s shirt to hold him as close as possible. Changbin’s arms are propped on either side of Jisung’s head, elbows caging him in as they make out. It’s safe and he wants this so badly.

When Changbin breaks their kisses, they just stare at each other for a moment. It’s a bit breath taking being looked at like this, like he’s everything and more. He knows the same feelings are reflecting in his own eyes. “I’ve been ready for this for a while,” Changbin says quietly, and they both know the he means more than just this. I’ve loved you for a while is there, between the lines, but Jisung doesn’t need him to say it right now. He doesn’t need him to say it at all when he can feel it in the time they spend together; in the way Changbin holds him so tenderly.

“Please,” Jisung replies, just a breathless whisper. “Please, I need you.”

Their lips connect again, gentle and sweet. So full of meaning and the words they’ve chosen to leave unspoken. Jisung thinks he could stay like this forever.

When Changbin leans back to grab the lube Jisung leaves in his bedside table, a fresh bottle that Jisung bought on impulse a few weeks ago, he’s very careful as he opens it up. Jisung realizes that maybe he’s been ready for this a bit longer than he thought too.

Changbin takes his time exploring Jisung’s body. They’re pretty familiar with each other already, but they’ve never done anything like this. Now, Changbin looks at him in wonder as Jisung spread his legs shyly. His fingers are delicate when they coax him open, taking his time to stretch Jisung with patience and soft murmured words. He tells Jisung about the little things he adores about him, about all the things he wants to do to him. It’s not a type of foreplay Jisung can ever remember having before, but it makes his heart ache just a bit in his chest with both want and adoration.

They forego a condom, Changbin instead slicking his cock as he moves between Jisung’s legs. It’s an unspoken desire they both have to be able to see and feel each other. Jisung can’t imagine this moment without Changbin’s eyes focused on his own or their lips sealed together. It hurts a bit when Changbin presses inside; a sensation he’s no longer used to. Despite the few moments of discomfort, Jisung wills his body to relax until they’re fully connected together.

It feels a bit like home, the way their bodies mesh so seamlessly. Jisung can sense the way Changbin’s cock twitches inside of him, surely from such intense pleasure. His arms are wrapped securely around the man’s shoulders, anchoring them together as they breathe through the initial shock of how good this is. There’s some gratefulness deep in his chest that they waited until now to take this step. Jisung thinks he would’ve panicked if they’d tried any sooner.

“You can move,” he says quietly, lifting his head to press a kiss to Changbin’s lips. “I want you to.”

Changbin chases his lips, softly pressing his head back into the mattress again as he starts to roll his hips. They swallow each other’s gasps and moans at the feeling. There’s a slight burn accompanying the sensation of being full and Jisung never realized how much he missed this. It feels almost too good to be giving part of himself to Changbin like this.

Their pace remains slow and loving, Changbin rolling his hips rather than all out thrusting and it makes his cock drag along Jisung’s prostate each time. Not a full-on hit that would make tears form in his eyes, but more of a gentle massage that keeps pleasure buzzing through him. Jisung feels secure wrapped in Changbin’s thick arms, lips still moving together languidly. It’s the slowest sex he’s ever had, but it feels that much more affectionate because of it.

When their lips part, their eyes lock together instead. “You look so beautiful right now,” Changbin says, lips forming a small smile. His hand brushes Jisung’s hair off his face, fingers weaving through his hair as he goes.

It makes Jisung choke up, not entirely sure how to process everything going on. He feels good, feels an orgasm starting to build deep in his belly. More than that, he feels cherished. Like he’s someone worth holding close and loving again. The road to get here has been horrible and littered with anger, sadness, and bitterness, but he feels like maybe it’s all been worth it in the end. It can all be worth it if there is someone as incredible as Changbin that sees him for everything he is and wants him because of it. It can all be worth it now that he’s found someone to mend his broken heart, just as Jisung has meticulously glued Changbin’s back together again too.

“Why are you crying,” Changbin asks, stopping his gentle movements, and Jisung hadn’t even realized that he is crying. He almost wants to laugh at the worry on the other man’s face right now, because he wouldn’t be concerned in the least if he knew the thoughts inside Jisung’s head.

So, maybe he should just tell him. “Because I love you. I love you so much, Changbin, and it feels so good to love you.”

Changbin’s eyes grow a bit watery as well as he stares into Jisung’s eyes, taking in everything that’s hidden there. “I love you too,” he finally whispers back, voice thick with his emotions. “So much, and it feels even better than I ever thought it could.”

They share the moment together, letting it wash over them and fill them to the brim. “Make love to me,” Jisung asks after a few moments. He wants it more than ever, wants to feel Changbin take him apart piece by piece.

He watches as Changbin pushes up until he’s on his knees, hands wrapping around Jisung’s waist tightly. When he pulls out, then pressing back into Jisung firmly, he can’t help the slight whimper that slips out of him. It’s so different from their movements earlier, but it’s incredible. He feels the drag of Changbin’s cock all the way up his spine. “Yes, please, just like this.”

Changbin keeps his thrusts careful, never too rough because Jisung is still mostly unused to this feeling, but it’s everything he’s been dreaming of. He can’t help the way his hips instinctively roll back to meet the other man’s each time he presses forward, body slowly unraveling under him. It doesn’t take long at all before they’re both climbing their peaks. Having gone without this for so long makes it almost impossible to hold back, and Jisung doesn’t even want to. He wants to throw himself headfirst into the feeling.

There’s no need to warn Changbin of his impending orgasm, his body tensing in its entirety before he feels a slightly calloused hand wrap around his cock and pump him in time with the thrusts. It pulls his climax out of him in seconds, eyes squeezing shut as his entire body shudders. The pleasure is overwhelming as it courses through him and he can just barely hear it when Changbin reaches his own release, pumping it deeply inside of him.

They collapse into a heap on the bed, panting for air as they come back to the present. “I think I might be dying,” Jisung says with a laugh when he catches his breath. “That was so good.”

Changbin’s laugh comes out as a puff of hot air against his collarbone. “Yeah, I think I’m dying too.”

After they’ve recovered and showered off the remnants of their love making, Jisung heats the noodles back up in the kitchen. He barely makes it to the couch before Changbin wraps his arms around him, threatening to upend the bowls in his hands. “I love you.”

Jisung grins, wiggling out of his arms so he can force one of the bowls into the other’s hands. “I love you too, now eat your damn noodles.”

--

Jisung sits on his couch and thinks of all the time he’s spent falling apart on this very piece of furniture. It feels like a faraway time and yet he can still feel the pain just as clearly. He’s already decided to have this conversation and fuck if he doesn’t see it through. It’s time. They both know it’s time.

Minho rounds the corner and gives him a bright smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His smiles haven’t done that in a long time and Jisung has just been too selfish to really realize it, but he knows it now and he can’t ignore it anymore. “Hey, love,” Minho calls out before settling in his favorite armchair.

“Min. I need to talk to you.”

“Oh, it sounds like I’m in trouble,” he jokes, making them both smile a little sadly.

Jisung takes a deep breath. This is hard. Starting conversations is always hard, but it’s the end of this particular one that makes it even worse. He knows how this ends and it’s in a way that he can’t quite come to terms with, but he has to anyways.

“I think… No, I know, that I’m finally feeling okay. Genuinely okay. Sometimes even happy when the day goes right,” he starts. “Does that make me an asshole? I really feel like an asshole about it a lot of the time.”

Minho’s smile turns a bit rueful, though there’s a morose twinge to it. “Never. You know I’ve only ever wanted you to be happy, right? We’ve had eight beautiful years together and I’ll always be so grateful for them, but I think we both know this chapter comes to an end.”

His eyes sting a bit as he listens, but he was right that they’re on the same page here. At least he isn’t springing this onto Minho. “Even if it hurts so badly to end it.”

“Just because ours comes to an end, doesn’t mean that your entire life has to. You deserve happiness and love, even if it isn’t with me anymore. You’ve always had a big heart, Ji, and I know you can fit enough love for someone else in there without sacrificing the space for ours. Changbin is a nice guy. I’ve seen you two together and I know he treats you well. It’s okay to let yourself love him.”

The tears are no longer threatening him, but instead streaming down his face. He lets them, lets himself feel everything in this moment. Minho’s words mean everything to him and getting his blessing to love another is more than he could’ve ever hoped for. “I’ll always love you, Minho.”

“I know you will,” he replies easily, like he’s never once doubted Jisung. Then again, Minho has always had a lot more faith in him than he’s had for himself. “I’ll always love you too.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a selfish jerk. I never should’ve asked you to stay and made you feel obligated. You deserve to rest and move on too.”

Minho sticks his tongue out, but it’s only to try and hide the fact the he looks like he’ll cry any minute. “You know I could never leave you when you were so sad. It broke my heart to see you going through everything.”

“I know,” he says, voice starting to strain from how hard he’s holding back from sobbing. “I know. You’ve always been there for me, Minho. Eight crazy years and you were always my biggest fan. I appreciate you and everything you’ve done for me. You taught me how to be a better man and how to love someone properly. Which is why your job here is done, babe. You don’t have to stay and watch over me anymore because I think I can finally do that for myself, thanks to you.”

They’re long past trying to hold back their emotions, the room filling with the sounds of their tears, but it’s almost cathartic this time around. Jisung lets the tears carry out any bad feelings that still linger in him, willing them to disappear for good. “I’ll be back for you, you know. I don’t know how this whole afterlife thing works, but I’ll find you when it’s my time to go too.”

“Ugh, but then you’ll be old,” Minho taunts, breaking into loud laugher afterwards.

Jisung can’t help but join in. “Hey! You better still love me when I’m all wrinkly and saggy.”

A moment of seriousness parts the laughter as Minho just gazes at him, all the love they’ve shared practically glowing in his eyes. “I will.”

He can only give a tight smile back. It’s time. He needs to stop dragging his feet. “I love you, Min. I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you soon. I love you,” Minho says, and he gives one last smile as his body starts to fade from the room. Jisung watches him go, feeling a tug at his heart as he forces himself to accept it. This is right. For both of them.

It doesn’t stop him from having a full crying session on the floor of the living room, though. Eight years and his first love are hard to reconcile losing, but he’ll do it. For Minho’s sake and his own, he’ll face it head on.

At some point his front door opens to reveal Changbin, still dressed in his suit from work. Clear concern shows on his face as he rushes forward and kneels beside Jisung. “Hey, are you okay?”

Jisung looks up at his pretty brown eyes, at the way his hair is gently parted but still mostly covering his forehead. He looks at the love he can see there. Maybe not as powerful as Minho’s love had been earlier, but they’ve got time to grow it. Together.

“Yeah, I think I’m finally okay.”