Archive of Our Own

Keeping his thoughts busy. That’s all Hyunjin needs to do.

That is all he keeps trying to do anyway. Around him, the subway car sways kindly, the bumps of the rails barely shaking him in his thoughts. The crowd comes and goes between each station. Voices muffled by his headphones and the gentle roar of the engine. Sometimes, the sun filters through the dirty windows, late afternoon light playing hide and seek over tired faces and youthful smiles.

It’s all just a mere background though. In his head, the thoughts don’t cease. They’re not going in the direction he wants them to either.

An embrace he wants to forget. Another he’s only wished to feel. Feelings that burn the hands he holds them with, despite the tenderness of his touch. Feelings directed at him that make his heartstrings twist, but he can’t tell, for sure, if they’re bending the right way.

Hyunjin sighs. His fingers find the volume buttons on his phone mindlessly. He tries to drown all the noise inside with music.

He fails.

⊹₊⟡⋆

At least, there’s the rush of service.

“Two dakgangjeongs, one brisket bowl, two premium ramens, all day!”

Chan’s voice is loud in the kitchen—louder than the sizzle of the meat before Hyunjin, the click of the whisk coming from Felix and Jeongin’s station, or Seungmin’s quips from the stove. Along with Minho’s mellow, soft tone—though it can be loud when he wants it to be, that is—Chan’s crisp, warm voice has become something of a comforting sound to Hyunjin. Together, they shape the two-toned lighthouse he turns to when the heat of the fire gets to his head, and he loses his way.

“Yes, chef!” he exclaims, hears Seungmin echo the same. He picks up the small hum of recognition from Chan as he starts moving, letting them know he’s heard them.

He looks up at his timers. Only a minute remaining for the brisket he’s already got on the grill, two more minutes for the previous order of dakgangjeong he’s nearly finished frying. He can start on the chicken now. By the time he’s finished prepping it for frying, it’ll be just time to plate the brisket for Minho to garnish, and he’ll be just tight enough to start on another. One, two.

Hyunjin blinks the sweat out of his eyes, turns to wipe his forehead on his shoulder when it fails. He glances up towards the analog clock on the other side of the kitchen.

About an hour left to service. He almost mourns the end already, even as he feels the ache at the low of his back, his ankle, his neck.

He moves. One, two.

Cooking comes to Hyunjin nearly as easily as dancing did, once upon a time—the two aren’t too different, either. A carefully executed choreography, timed and precise, where every single movement and every second counts. One misstep, one mistake, and the whole thing crumbles. At least, in the kitchen, Hyunjin can start over—get another piece of meat on the grill. Salvage a sauce he’s left too long to reduce. He can turn most of his mistakes into seamless recovery.

He couldn’t do that as much, or at all, on stage. At least, here, not an instant feels wasted—even the difficult ones.

“Need any help, Hyunjin?” Chan asks, somehow closer now than Hyunjin had heard him just a moment before.

When he turns his head to the side, hands still occupied, he finds him hovering at his station—not unsure, Chan is never unsure, but just prudent. Like he’s waiting for Hyunjin’s permission to approach, to lend a hand, or simply to leave, should he prefer. Eyes quick, sharp, but always so kind.

Hyunjin looks up again. The timer blinks—the minute is over. “Would you mind plating that brisket for me? I’ll follow up with the dakgangjeong, it’ll be ready in a sec,” Hyunjin nods towards the fried chicken.

“Sure thing, chef,” Chan acquiesces, already starting towards the grill, picking up the piece of meat with ease and timely rapidity.

Hyunjin drops the newly prepped chicken in the oil, restarts his timer, washes his hands, checks on his sauce, removes the previous order from the fryer. The glazing process is fairly easy, but it has to be precise and quick—the crisp shell must absolutely not soften under the sauce before it lands on the guest’s table.

One, two. A dance. It’s all just a dance. He can feel the adrenaline rush through his bloodstream.

One, two. The plate looks near symmetrical, even with their impossibly different pieces of chicken. It’s beautiful. Hyunjin smiles.

“One dakgangjeong, chef,” he tells Minho with a wink as he slides the plate towards the pass.

“Thank you, chef,” Minho winks back. Then, he turns—“Changbin, hands!”

It doesn’t take much for his smile to fade.

He catches Changbin’s eye—just a second, just a second, and it’s the most beautiful thing in the world for just that second. Grave, dark eyes, straight eyelids, yet so warm. They look at Hyunjin so sadly, when they look, at all. It makes something so painful, so beautiful stick to the panes of his throat, just for that second. Breathless and thrilling.

They used to look at him so differently—the same warmth, but searing, soaring. Breathless and thrilling in a whole different way.

He watches as Changbin blinks, and it almost looks like he’s about to say something.

And then—

Hyunjin turns back to his station—doesn’t stay to watch Changbin approach, teasing Minho as he does so. He doesn’t tune into the melody of his chuckle. He desperately misses Chan’s voice, warm and loud when he orders them around, now so silent as he works next to him.

Hyunjin doesn’t do any of that.

He starts moving again. He tunes himself to the ache of his limbs and the pressure of time passing, of the heat of the grill before him. His hair sticks to the sweat at his nape, and he knows the stench of oil will be a pain to remove from the warmth of his own skin, yet again.

Hyunjin doesn’t think of Changbin. He doesn’t think, and he cooks.

“All good, chef?”

It’s odd for Chan to call him by his title, when clean up is nearly done and they’ve all taken off their whites, stained and worn, dumped in the laundry basket. When Hyunjin meets his eyes, he finds the same warmth, the same sharpness as he finds when they’re in the kitchen—but there’s an edge to it, and Hyunjin cannot read it, for the life of him.

He nods, shrugs. Pulls his jacket from his locker and slips it on. “Yeah, boss. All good. Why?”

Chan blinks, shakes his head. A smile blooms on his features, dimples making an appearance, and all of a sudden, it’s like that look from just a moment ago has vanished, almost too easily. “Oh, nothing, no worries. Go get some rest, Hyunjin. You’ve done a good job, today.”

“Thanks, man. You too.” When he catches Minho approach the pair of them, his hand already extended for Chan to take, he tacks on with a corner smile, “I guess your boyfriend wasn’t too bad either.”

Minho’s eyebrow shoots up, unimpressed. Hyunjin would almost be intimidated, if he didn’t spy on the way his fingers interlace with Chan’s, his thumb coming to softly stroke the palm now in his. Something in Hyunjin’s heart pangs at the sight. “Hey. Don’t forget I’m the one signing your paycheque.”

Hyunjin snorts. He shoulders his messenger bag, turns on his heels as he starts for the door. “Yeah, yeah. You’re not as scary as you used to be, Minho.”

“That’s chef to you!” he hears from behind him—along with the sound of Chan’s giggle, endlessly amused.

He only raises his hand to wave his fingers before he pushes open the door to the back of the building, his feet taking him into the darkness of the night.

Chan and Minho. It’s new, yet it’s—certain. Lasting. They make quite a sight, those two. A push and pull so captivating Hyunjin couldn’t himself help but be fascinated by—despite the never-ending, near nauseating flirting they have now decided to stop hiding from the rest of the staff. He has to admit they make an incredibly compatible pair, and a lovely one, at that.

Their love looks so easy. Hyunjin envies them terribly.

It smells like rain outside. His feet drag on the sidewalk, wet with it, though the air is blessedly clear, brisk and sharp with the cold. His ankle twinges as he presses on it. It’s nothing he isn’t used to, anymore.

Loving Changbin, too, was so easy. He couldn’t admit it back then—but it’s getting difficult to ignore, now. The breadth of his affection, once upon a time. He truly did love him, and was too much of a coward to admit it to either of them.

Hyunjin doesn’t think he misses the feeling, not exactly—in truth, he thinks he has never stopped.

Somehow, that’s worse.

You can’t miss something you haven’t stopped living, nearly every second of every day. You simply forget the details, the story, until one day, you forget everything and you’re only left with the feeling. Like rain on the sidewalk, that you can only guess has fallen without having seen it with your own eyes.

When Hyunjin sighs, his breath comes out in puffs of white air.

He swallows. Hyunjin doesn’t think of Changbin. Or at least, he tries not to.

⊹₊⟡⋆

How easy is it to forget love?

Easier than most might think. It’s something Hyunjin sometimes forgets himself. The irony behind it all doesn’t fail to surprise him every time.

There is love that aches because it is hopeless, love that makes itself known in its painful attributes and its impossibility and its unkindness. Love that could have been. Love that never was, never will be. The kind that pesters and hurts and leaves ugly scars behind. One that is just as entrancing as any other. It only makes itself even more dangerous, in that way.

It’s worse when evenings come. His mind wanders loosely and he can do very little to stop it.

There is respite, at least, in the fact that Hyunjin works most evenings. The hectic routine of service takes his full focus, and as long as he doesn’t meet Changbin’s eyes too often, he manages. His mind quiets. He steps into his dance. A sweet, fulfilling kind of amnesia.

Still, it only takes him to step outside to feel it seep back into his thoughts. They come at once, then, unbidden.

Sometimes it’s wistful. Moments Hyunjin revisits with a bittersweet smile, before it turns only bitter, the sweetness gone in an instant, thinking about what if’s. A word he should have said. A wave he should have thrown. A smile, a smirk, signs he knew he was right about but didn’t do anything to pursue.

Changbin used to love leaving kisses on his skin. Not heated ones—simply chaste pecks, over his nose, the apple of his cheeks, his chin, his forehead. The back of his hand, like a true lover, even when Hyunjin would lie boneless on Changbin’s sheets still feeling the ache of his muscles from his embrace.

Changbin used to smile at him, so often. It made Hyunjin feel ridiculously special, wonderfully precious. He himself used to smile so easily around him. Even as his own throat narrowed around the air sliding down to his lungs, making him suffocate on the breadth of his feelings.

Changbin is boisterous, he takes space with his gentle care and his words. He is so immensely kind it shows in everything he does, and he takes pride in it, too. He is the brightest person Hyunjin has ever met, sometimes even brighter than Felix, who has literal sunshine coming out of his eyes. He’s solid on his feet and will gladly tear himself apart for his loved ones, if it means helping them in any way—yet he never fails, still, to take care of himself, carefully, confidently, because he values himself as much, too.

Hyunjin thrives under attention, and thrived even more under Changbin’s. He’s reserved with strangers and tends to keep to himself most of the time, but he loves deeply, wholeheartedly, until it starts to bleed inside of him and he cannot do anything to stop it. He keeps his friends close, but his lovers at an arm’s distance. Maybe that was the problem. Hyunjin won’t admit it, not always, but it picks at a corner of his brain most of the time when he’s not busy with the heat of his cooking or the banter of his friends.

That frustration gnaws at him and often, if not always, he ends up huffing at himself, and thoroughly forces himself to think of something else. Anything else—just forget it.

Sometimes it’s yearning. But not the wishful kind. It’s something else, seeping in desire, but twisted at the corners, like something he shouldn’t feel, something he doesn’t even want to feel. Lust that tastes stale on his tongue. It’s hard to explain. Those memories are tainted with something Hyunjin still has a hard time deconstructing. When those thoughts emerge he’s quick to discard them. The unease is too great—no matter how strong the longing for a body calls.

He still loses himself in it, though; the appeal of sex, the desperation to forget. He tries, until a conversation with a stranger leaves him reeling, because it’s not right. No dimples to the smile he’s offered, no warmth to the eyes devouring him as they stare. None of them even compare to the body he’s aching for, but he still pretends.

He tells himself he’s having fun, and tells Jisung all about his escapades. He watches when Changbin passes them by, barely glancing his way, even though he has a feeling his ears are perked up, listening in. He swallows the bile climbing up his throat, the squeeze of his heart around regret. It’s another type of dance he’s perfected with time.

The fact of the matter is, Hwang Hyunjin is a man well acquainted with all the faces loneliness tends to wear. Even if he won’t readily admit it to himself, he remains tremendously self-aware. He knows what he feels. He knows he hates it. He has no idea how to fix it.

It’s worse when evenings come. It’s worse when he can’t lie to himself no longer.

The trick is this: Hyunjin and Changbin never really were together. There was nothing that tethered Changbin to his side, that made him belong. The moment Changbin asked for that much, Hyunjin ran the other way.

He’s still running.

After all, it started out like most things start for Hyunjin—a fleeting thing that spoke more of attraction and fleeting chemistry than any allusion or hope for more; for something that lasts, for something that matters. He hoped as much, anyway.

He’d thought their situation spoke for itself, after all: Two coworkers in an industry where high pressure is the norm, and where arrangements like theirs meant to let off steam, and nothing else. They couldn’t become something else.

It couldn’t mean nothing else. Hyunjin wouldn’t let it.

Changbin is handsome. He’s confident, good with people, a real charmer. People gravitate towards him, and when they do, he makes sure to treat them with the care they deserve. No wonder Minho made him maître d’hôtel. He cares for his waiting staff like his own family, doting and understanding and flexible, yet firm when he needs to be. Nearly all his closest friends counted amongst the ranks of the kitchen staff.

Flirting with him was easy—Hyunjin got addicted to how sweet it tasted. How much Changbin was willing to lower his own boundaries, a corner smile on his lips, to allow for Hyunjin’s advances. Mindless, at first—compliments here and there, watching how Changbin’s chest puffed with pride at his words. A wink over the pass during the height of service, or sustained eye contact even as the chaos unfurled around them, just for a second. Tension, building slowly.

Then came the touches—a hand at his hip, making Hyunjin shiver despite the heat of the stove before him. A firm palm at the small of his back, during pre-service meetings, when everyone’s packing up and getting ready to start. A gentle hold of his fingers, thumb tracing his knuckles before he lets go, as they made to part at the end of the night. “Goodnight, Hyunjin,” he’d say, voice warm like it mattered to him.

It reached a peak around the summer. Changbin’s birthday. A lovely celebration after hours, late into the night after work. Minho’s staff—which then recently included a still-green, yet remarkably comfortable Chan at the time—had made their way into a quiet wine bar just a few blocks from the restaurant.

Hyunjin’s hand high on Changbin’s thigh. Changbin’s breath, sweet, staunchly sober, despite the drinks pouring around them, tickling the hair at Hyunjin’s nape as he murmured something or other. Everything felt so warm, so gentle, yet so precarious, nerves trembling just under their skin, palpable even through their pressing touches.

It was Hyunjin who kissed him first. Maybe that spoke more of his own hypocrisy than anything else.

It was his back, pressing onto the brick wall of his own apartment complex, because Changbin had insisted on walking him home in the late hours. It was his fingers, latching on the collar of Changbin’s work shirt, pulling him closer.

It was his lips, pressing onto Changbin’s gasping mouth, kissing him hot and insistent even when Changbin only answered in soft, caressing hands and a relieved sigh. It was him whispering, “Happy birthday,” smiling around the words, humming when Changbin leaned in to kiss him again.

It was Hyunjin who initiated it all. The kissing, and later, the fucking. The constant push-and-pull that followed and stretched over weeks, months. It was Hyunjin who sought Changbin out, over and over, even when the knot at his stomach twisted further, pulling uncomfortably at his lungs and cutting off his own breath. It was Hyunjin who couldn’t get enough, enough of the way he was being held, being kissed, being fucked.

It was thrilling, haunting, unlike anything he’d ever felt before. It was too big, too much. He couldn’t get enough.

Yet he knew, from the moment Changbin had kissed him back—awestruck and breathless, tremendously honest and open—that it was a mistake. That he’d have to stop it, before it got bad. Before it got worse. Before Hyunjin—

Since the very first time, Changbin kissed him like he loved him already.

⊹₊⟡⋆

Frankly, it isn’t that Hyunjin has forgotten how it feels to love Changbin, or be loved by him. Not really. Not actually.

It’s just so difficult to remember it as only the beautiful thing it once was, rather than the painful thing it has become. It’s always both at once, never one nor the other. It makes it all the more awful.

And yet.

“Hyunjin? Can I talk to you for a second?”

As maître d’hôtel, Changbin does not have much to do with the kitchen staff directly, or barely, anyway. If he has any requests or concerns, he’ll either share them with the entire staff before service, or will turn to Minho or Chan and trust them to pass it down.

Of course, lines are blurred when they’re all so close. Hyunjin cannot really fault him, for addressing him like this. Not when he knows Changbin cares as much about this restaurant, this family, as he does, as Minho does, too.

He doesn’t answer, but washes his hands, asks Jisung to keep an eye on his station before he steps out. The restaurant doesn’t open for a few hours, still. He meets Changbin at the swing door between the kitchen and the dining space, before he follows him towards one of the two-seater tables, near the back of the restaurant.

The lights are low, here. Intimate, to give a certain ambiance to their guests’ evening. They cast shadows over Changbin’s face, along the slope of his nose, over the small pout of his mouth, and it’s near impossible not to stare.

A lump forms at his throat, impossible to ignore.

“What’s up?” Hyunjin says, careful as he takes a seat.

Changbin has his eyes glued to his iPad—always his fucking iPad—but he hums, something small and quiet. His hair looks soft, smooth curls falling over his forehead. There’s something slightly hesitant about him, and it catches Hyunjin off guard, just a little. Changbin has always worn his confidence like a second skin.

“Just—um. Wanted to show you something.” He quickly looks up, catching Hyunjin’s eye—fleeting, fluttering, thrilling—before darting away again, back onto the wood of the table. He shrugs, clears his throat. “I’ll obviously show Minho and Chan right after, and eventually everyone else at pre-service, but I thought you… I thought you deserved to see it first.”

He drops the tablet down on the table, before flipping it and sliding it across to Hyunjin’s waiting hands. When Hyunjin glances at the screen—

His heart stops.

“It’s not a star,” Changbin prefaces immediately, tone rushed and slightly apologetic. “Fuck—I probably should’ve said this first, sorry.” He looks like he moves to scratch at his neck, from what Hyunjin can see at the corner of his eye. “Um. But—we’ve made it in the Guide, Jinnie. And it’s—it’s thanks to you, really,” he adds, wonder colouring his voice.

“Thanks to—what?” Hyunjin breathes, but when he looks up to gaze into Changbin’s eyes, he only finds them staring back, open, honest, patient, glancing down furtively towards the screen, inviting him to read.

So Hyunjin does.

Unassuming and tucked into a corner of the one of the city’s trending neighbourhoods, this establishment might not catch your eye on the first glance. But this modest shop hides among the most refined cuisines around the area. The carefully simmered broths and delicately crafted noodles of the ramen dishes will surely impress more than one diner, but it is the grill menu—and most of all, the brisket bowl, an original recipe by owner chef Minho Lee and now embellished by boucher Hyunjin Hwang, consistently served seared to perfection and wonderfully flavourful—that deserves the upmost praise.

Hyunjin stops. Reads it again.

…it is the grill menu—and most of all, the brisket bowl, an original recipe by owner chef Minho Lee and now embellished by boucher Hyunjin Hwang—

Hyunjin Hwang. His name, right there, spelled out in the most recent edition of the fucking Michelin Guide.

He blinks up, watches as a shy, hopeful smile sketches itself on Changbin’s face.

“Bin,” he says, nickname spilling out of his lips in his awe. The lump at his throat grows.

“Yeah?”

“How is my name even on here?” Hyunjin asks.

Because in truth, he doesn’t—people don’t know him. The public. Anyone outside the kitchen, really. There’s no way any guest would know it’s him behind the grill, manning the meat, sweating day in and day out before the fire. His friends know—the very few ones he doesn’t already work with, anyway—and his parents, sure. But not unless—

“I mean,” Changbin chuckles; it’s a fragile thing, so boyish and charming, as the tips of his ears redden. “You know the waiting staff talks, sometimes. Guests have questions, too.”

He scoffs, shakes his head. He says, only half joking, “I don’t think any of them know my name, Bin—”

“Well, I do.”

Hyunjin stops. Watches, as Changbin does the same, keeps his eyes fixed on Hyunjin’s, just for a short window of time. Deep and dark under the low glow of the lights around them, everything out there, clear for anyone to see. The moment feels immense, all of a sudden.

This conversation feels like a truce in their unspoken tension that Hyunjin doesn’t feel deserving of, at all.

He basks in it, anyway. Doesn’t let it slip between his fingers.

“You talk about me to the guests?” he murmurs, gentle.

Changbin sighs deeply. His smile has turned slightly sad at the corner of his mouth, pulling down. “Yeah, I do. I talk about everyone,” he makes a point to emphasize, “because I know how much you all work hard in there.”

“And you just so happened to mention me to a Michelin rep?”

“He ordered the brisket. Who else would I talk about?” A raised eyebrow, and the sad smile turns slightly cocky. “And anyway, you know they don’t tell us when they’re food bloggers, or critics, or—”

“I know you can tell, hyung.”

Changbin has always been obvious in his tells—his emotions paint themselves plainly across his features without him even meaning to, most of the time. It’s one of his best traits—his straightforward honesty, the way he wears it proudly. Even the cold front he has put on lately, with Hyunjin, is intentional, and not a mask.

So Hyunjin catches it easily when Changbin’s breath stutters, caught red handed in… whatever it is he’s doing, making Hyunjin glow under the light of his subtle praise.

His own heart flutters inside his chest.

Silence stretches for a few moments. Hyunjin, still, while Changbin clears his throat again, hand twitching as it presses against the wood of the table between them. There are words he wants to say—plainly obvious, yet again—but Hyunjin knows he won’t hear them, not today.

Then Changbin exhales, picks up his iPad and clicks it locked. “Anyway. Now you know. You’re a superstar, now, Hwang Hyunjin. The Michelin Guide knows your name.”

Hyunjin rolls his eyes. It dawns on him then, once more, how this conversation is so wildly different from any they’ve had in weeks, if at all. Closer to what they used to be, yet not at all; too personal to be entirely professional, yet too detached to pretend to resemble what they had.

The ease with which Hyunjin finds himself teasing back, though. That’s the tell that scares him, just a little.

Hyunjin leans into it, despite everything. He smiles, something like love bubbling inside of him. For Minho, for this restaurant, for the way Changbin cares as much as he does and shows it, too.

“That review wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t for Minho and the others.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, sweetheart.” Changbin winks, softening the blow, but it doesn’t keep Hyunjin’s heart from madly stuttering in his chest at the gesture. “But yeah, I’ll tell him. I’ll go right now. Care to join me?”

He rolls his eyes as he stands up, ushering him back towards the kitchen. “I’ve got meat to prep. Go and do your job, Changbin.”

The grin that Changbin offers him mirrors his own, loving, caring, and so unbelievably proud. “Will do, Hyunjin.”

Minho screams when Changbin shares the news with him and Chan, having followed them outside and into the dining room.

Hyunjin knows, because they can all hear him from the fucking kitchen.

“What the hell was that?” Jeongin asks, startled eyes wide, hands immobile from where he’s loading a batter into a mixer.

Hyunjin snorts. He glances up—Jisung is frowning, and Seungmin has a single eyebrow raised. Felix looks like he’s swallowing down a laugh.

He shakes his head. “He just heard some good news, is all.”

“Good news?” Jisung echoes. “What do you know that we don’t, Hyunjinnie?”

“It’s a secret,” he replies in a singsong voice, moving to chop his meat on the counter. “You’ll know soon enough anyway.”

Jisung continues to frown, though there’s a slight teasing edge to it now. He hasn’t moved since they heard Minho’s yell from the dining room—they can also hear, now, the tinkling sound of Chan’s giggling. “Does it have to do with whatever Changbin told you earlier? When you left the kitchen?”

Hyunjin doesn’t mean to blush, but he does, anyway. Not even because of the news—he’s smiling because of the news, not blushing—but because the memory of Changbin’s gentle gaze floods his mind right then, at the most fucking inopportune time.

And of course, Seungmin notices. Ever so perceptive. “Oh. You’re blushing.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are,” Seungmin chuckles, halfway between fond and mean.

“Yeah, you are,” Felix parrots. “You’re all red, Jinnie. How sweet! Did you and Changbin finally make up?”

Something catches at his throat again, not unlike the lump from earlier. It’s less so carried by pride and joy and rather by the awful well of his mistakes catching up to him.

Did they make up? No. Not really. It was—it’s just a truce. As high and happy as Hyunjin feels, as reeling as the feeling thrumming under the surface of his skin is. As much as he wants it to be different. Just a truce.

He shakes his head, clears his throat. “He just—he’ll tell you in due time, anyway.”

“Who’s gonna tell you what, now?”

The doors push open, and a flushed pair makes their way in—Minho, almost uncharacteristically giddy, and Chan, vibrating with excitement next to him. He’s the one who spoke, tone loud in the kitchen as they take their post. Hyunjin doesn’t miss the way their lips look slightly bruised, and the red tint dusting their cheeks.

“Why’d you yell like that, hyung?” Jisung tells Minho, finally starting back on his marinated ingredients again, like the return of his boss-slash-best-friend has finally kicked him back into gear.

Minho only shakes his head around a giggle. A giggle. Hyunjin would find it almost terrifying if he didn’t share the sentiment himself.

Chan hums gently, wide smile dimpling his cheeks, as he comes to drop a hand on Jisung’s shoulder. “You’ll hear about it later. No one can miss the pre-service meeting later, okay? Changbin’s got some great news for everybody.”

“Did we get reviewed by the Globe again?” Seungmin asks with a shudder. “They didn’t hate us too much, this time?”

“Last time was a mess, anyway,” Felix says from his station. “The guy was fucking picky with his entrées and didn’t even order dessert.”

“Terribly unprofessional,” Jisung nods.

“’S not a review,” Hyunjin hums from the stove. “It’s better.”

“That’s right,” Chan says. When Hyunjin glances up, Chan holds his gaze and winks. “Alright, now, back to work, chefs! I need you all prepped and ready by four thirty sharp!”

An echo of voices, sounding as one. “Yes, chef!”

Later, during service, when everyone is basking in the afterglow of the Michelin feature like it’s Christmas before its time, Minho comes to him. It’s that precious moment, the lull between two seatings, where the kitchen slows down just enough so time feels malleable and unreal.

“Hyunjin,” he says, mellow voice even softer now, whispered between them.

He finishes washing his hands, turns to him. “Yes, chef?”

Minho smiles. It’s a beautiful thing, eyes crinkling, softening his sharp traits, his front teeth peeking from between his lips. “I know we’re all getting drinks later, and I’ll probably tell you again then, but. I just wanted to tell you, uh. You’re doing amazing. Thank you, really.” He glances down, looks back up, and it takes Hyunjin a second to register the action as a glimpse of sincere shyness. It’s heartwarming, and nearly moves him to tears. “We couldn’t have done it without you.”

That lump at his throat again. Gentle, this time. Loving. “I couldn’t have done any of it without you either, Minho. You know this.”

Minho shakes his head, quick fingers coming to pinch his hip. Then and there, Hyunjin recognizes the sharp chef he’s come to admire and the witty friend he’s come to cherish. “You could do incredible things on your own, Hyunjin. I’m just glad you chose to stick around with the lot of us instead.” He adds, with a quirk of his eyebrow, “We make a great team, don’t we? We’re lucky to have you.”

There is love that aches, but not this. Not the way Minho pours a piece of his heart in the small cradle of Hyunjin’s hands. Not the way trust flows between them, all around them, and keeps them all standing, certain, fulfilled. Something solid Hyunjin is eternally grateful for.

“I’m lucky to have you, too.” Hyunjin means it. Minho, and the rest of them.

“Yeah, I know,” Minho hums, and turns back to man the island, as another rush of orders start pouring in.

⊹₊⟡⋆

Hyunjin and Changbin didn’t really break up—they were never together, after all. That’s another tricky thing. But for all intents and purposes, if they were together, then yeah, the way Hyunjin went about it was awful. The breakup, and everything that came after.

“Are you seeing other people?”

It was panic that made Hyunjin ask. Purely. He had Changbin’s arms around him, his lips soft, pressing kisses on the skin at the base of his nape, the sheets still warm under their bodies. His limbs felt nice and sore, and he hated how relaxed, how content he felt. Self-sabotage, at the highest price.

He felt Changbin pause behind him. An incredulous chuckle sounded out of him, like he thought Hyunjin was joking. “I’m—what? No, of course not. What made you think that?”

“Nothing,” Hyunjin said. He swallowed. Then, after a moment, added, “You could, if you wanted to. I don’t mind.”

That’s when he felt Changbin still completely. Arms locked, immobile, lips gone, like time was stopped and not a hair on his body was moving.

It felt like it was already ending the moment Changbin started to pull away. “Hyunjin.”

“Hm?

“Do you want me to see other people?”

What a trick question. Did Hyunjin want Changbin to see other people? No. Of course not. Hyunjin was—is—terribly selfish, conceited in the worst ways. He loves being desired, he thrives off of attraction. He loves being someone’s sole point of attention. He loves love, even though he doesn’t always think himself deserving of it, not all of it. “I’m just saying, I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

A scoff. It was painful, devoid of any humour. “That hurts. You telling me you don’t mind? It kind of fucking hurts, Hyunjin.”

He did his best to swallow his tears, to push down the lump climbing up his throat. Sometimes, it’s like it never really left, since then. He shifted on his back, staring at the ceiling, trying to avoid the burning eyes he knew were staring at him from his side, sat up on the bed. “I’m sorry. But it’s fine! I’m just making sure we’re on the same page. About—this.” About us. Something that shouldn’t happen.

Said who?

“What?” There was incomprehension in Changbin’s tone. Just moments before, he was warm, strong behind Hyunjin’s back, fingers tracing patterns across his stomach, making him believe in something he didn’t think he could reach. “Baby, this isn’t—please. Let’s talk about it, yeah?”

A nervous laugh escaped Hyunjin’s throat—not an ounce of mirth there, either. Plainly panicked. “There’s nothing to talk about. I was just—checking, I guess.”

“Nothing to talk about? You’re asking if I’m seeing anyone else—when I’ve never, ever wanted that, by the way, just so we’re clear—and you think there’s nothing to talk about?”

“I mean, I could be seeing other people, too.”

Silence. The weight heavy, the sound loud, deafening in the quiet of Hyunjin’s bedroom.

Not even a breath from Changbin. “Are you?”

“I’m not, but—”

“Do you want to?”

And this—this is the part Hyunjin regrets most. More than the question that triggered it all. More than the feeling of Changbin’s body pulling away from his, his gentle warmth leaving his backside like a goodbye that happened too soon.

No. It’s this, his own silence, stretching the longer time passed. Lying by omission, even though the simple truth—No, I don’t. There’s only you. I think there’ll only ever be you—would’ve sufficed.

When it stretched for too long, Changbin spoke again. Hollow, empty.

“Right.” It sounded like someone had punched him in the gut—the word came out like a sharp exhale, disbelieving and hurt, so, so fucking hurt. “Fuck. Alright.”

“Changbin—”

“Hyunjin, no, please—”

“I just—”

“Fuck you, man.” Harsh. Loud. Even though it was only whispered between them. Even if the rustle of Changbin pulling on his clothes was louder than his words. “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

Panic struck him then, again—and it was real, this time. It wasn’t the shallow, silly fear of falling that had plagued Hyunjin for weeks. But the very real, sheer panic of losing everything Changbin had meant to him. Only because he was blinded by something that was never really there.

Love that aches because Hyunjin thought it impossible, too good to be true; love that makes itself known in his own fear. Love that could have been, that was already there. The kind that later, only once gone, transformed into something that pesters and hurts and leaves ugly scars behind. One that is more entrancing than any other. Love that feels lost.

“Wait, Changbin, please—”

“No.” Changbin shook his head, firm. His hands were shaking where he was zipping up his jeans. “I don’t deserve—we don’t deserve you ruining this like that. Ruining us. Just ‘cause—‘cause you’re too much of a coward, or you don’t want to talk, or you want to keep pretending so bad that you don’t love me like I—”

Hyunjin froze then. Changbin watched him, and it was whatever flickered across his face that made him stop short, words stuck in his throat.

Changbin swallowed. His tone turned cold, calm in the way his face wasn’t. “Alright, Hyunjin. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

The silence of that evening, once the door clicked behind Changbin’s retreat and every moment after that, was impossibly loud.

How easy is it to forget love?

Easier than most might think. But Hyunjin, still, remembers, sometimes. He has his friends to remind him.

“Oh, fuck, that’s good,” Seungmin moans around his bite, fork still inside his mouth, before pushing the plate towards him. “Here, try this.”

It’s Monday. The only day off they both share. Seungmin has to go back the next day, alone, to start on the broth prep for the first service of the week, that following Thursday. On Wednesdays, Hyunjin and Jisung offer to take over the process, on a rotating schedule. Hyunjin’s on this week.

They don’t do this often, checking out new addresses, trying out new dishes, getting inspired. Seungmin is a man of solid habits, having his own little roster of favourite joints he rarely moves away from. But once in a while, Hyunjin convinces him to do this—step out of his comfort zone, share a meal with him, and often times, it ends more in friendly gossip and catching up than any sort of actual culinary research, anyway.

Hyunjin picks up his fork, picks up a bit of everything on the plate; sautéed mushrooms, golden, pan-fried gnocchi; he swirls his fork a bit, trying to catch some of the black garlic sauce sticking to the panes of the ceramic. He takes it to his mouth, chewing slowly.

“Oh. Oh my God,” he hums. Parsley makes it fresh, a nice touch to the otherwise umami bomb inside his mouth. It’s rich, earthy and tender under his teeth. Fuck, it’s good.

“Right? Seungmin says, eyes bright. “God, I fucking love black garlic. You think Minho would ever let me try out a new black garlic broth?”

Hyunjin shrugs. He’s already building himself a second bite with his fork. “I don’t think Minho would ever keep you from trying out a new dish, Min. He likes you.”

“Black garlic’s expensive, though.”

“Learn to ferment it yourself, then.”

Seungmin hums. “Maybe. But like, try to picture it. The broth—miso, black garlic.” He pauses. “Truffle?”

“Hm. Overdoing it.”

“You sure? I could make it work, I think.”

“I mean, yeah. I know you would.”

Seungmin huffs. He moves to taste another dish, thick slices of soft bread soaked in maple syrup, covered in a mixture of ricotta cheese and red cabbage. A sweet and sour salad sits next to it. It all looks like it belongs more on a trendy, overpriced brunch menu than the low-key bistro they’re sat at.

He pursues his lips when he chews. There’s a small speck of cheese stuck at the corner of his mouth. “Hm. This one’s alright. Not sure I’m a fan of the salad, but the toast is… good?”

“Is it?” Hyunjin cuts himself a piece. The cheese is refreshing, the cabbage doesn’t really taste like much, but it brings a nice, crunchy texture to the mix. The kicker is the maple syrup, for sure. It’s the sort of dish Jisung would love.

“Jisung would rave over this,” Seungmin says, because they think the same, as different as they are. They love the same, too.

Hyunjin smiles. “Yeah, he would.”

They eat in silence for a moment. A hum there, a quiet praise here. They catch up, slowly. Seungmin talks about his sister—she’s getting married. In a year. Oh, nice. Is he attending the wedding? Well, obviously. He’ll have to check in with Minho to cover his shifts, but it shouldn’t be an issue. It’s a whole year away, anyway. Congratulations to her. Hyunjin talks about seeing Yeji again—his cousin, whom he danced with as a teen. She has a showcase this Wednesday. Right after his shift at the restaurant. Oh, sweet. Does Hyunjin miss dancing? Yeah, of course he does, sometimes. But he’s got cooking now. It’s the same amount of fun, to him.

Of course, they end up talking about work, even when they don’t mean to. It’s inevitable. Seungmin rants about the few notes Chan gave him on his broths, pretending that it annoys him, failing to hide how pleased he is than their sous paid such careful attention to his craft. Hyunjin tells him about the reworked brisket bowl glaze, and how exciting it was, trying it out for the first time after Chan had shown him his and Minho’s adjustments.

“It’s so much better, now,” Hyunjin nods. Fuck, the gnocchi is so fucking good. “I have Chan to thank for that.”

“The infamous brisket, huh,” Seungmin starts, smirking. “We’ll have crowds coming in to try it out, now. Someone got name-dropped in the Guide, after all.”

Hyunjin feels the skin of his ears burn slightly hotter. “The feature also talked about your dishes.”

“Hm, yes. My carefully simmered broths and my delicately crafted noodles. They don’t compare to your grill, though, apparently.” Something softens his gaze as he watches Hyunjin eat, tease and cheek taking a step back in favour of quiet sincerity. “How’d you feel? Having your name in there.”

How does he feel? Hyunjin hasn’t really processed it, yet. There is pride, of course. In himself, sure. In everyone, really. Who doesn’t dream of being featured in the Michelin Guide? He didn’t think he’d ever have his name in there, though. Hyunjin has never wanted to own a restaurant, he’s only ever here to cook.

There is fear, for not living up to the praise. There is also endless gratitude. For Minho, first, and for everyone else—there is love. Love that maintains, that nurtures, that fills and soothes and grounds.

But there’s also Changbin’s gaze, patient yet admiring. Proud, not unlike the way Minho was, but so unhidden, pouring out of him, making his cold front melt in one glance, one conversation. Sad around the edges, despite the good news. The weight of that stare on Hyunjin still pushes at the walls of his mind. He still sees the faint glow of the dining room lights flickering in Changbin’s eyes when he closes his own.

Love that aches, yet that keeps on going, pulsating against his ribs.

“Feels good,” Hyunjin answers after a while. Seungmin watches, careful, unmoving. “I never would’ve thought I’d have my name in there.”

“No?”

“No.”

Seungmin shrugs. “Doesn’t surprise me, much. Everyone knows Changbin’s obsessed with you. It was only a matter of time before he’d babble in front of a Michelin judge.”

Wait. What? Hyunjin scoffs, disbelieving. “Obsessed with me? What are you even talking about?”

Seungmin rolls his eyes. He finally picks up his fork again, reaching for that creamy, sweet toast almost unthinkingly. “Don’t act like you don’t know. We can all tell whatever the fuck’s going on between you two is serious,” he says, waving his fork around in front of Hyunjin’s nose. “He really, really fucking likes you. Even if you’re going through a rough patch, or whatever.”

Hyunjin stops.

Serious? What a joke. If there’s one thing they aren’t, it’s serious. Hyunjin made sure of that, as much as he hates himself for it.

The lump at his throat comes back. He can barely taste the food in front of him anymore. “We’re not—we’re not anything. And anyway, it’s not—that has nothing to do with, uh. The Guide.”

“Yeah, dumbass. I’m not really talking about the Guide anymore.” Putting his fork down, Seungmin sighs. He crosses his arms on the table, leans in. Tilts his head, a bit like a child. “You’ve been seeing other people.”

Oh, the irony.

“Yeah.” Hyunjin raises his shoulders, like he can fold in onto himself and avoid the strength of Seungmin’s glare. “Changbin and I were never together, so. I don’t owe him anything.”

Narrowed eyes pin him in place. “Yeah, no, I think that’s bullshit, and I think you know it.”

“S’ none of his business who I’m fucking.”

“It sort of is if you hurt his feelings, and you’re both mopey about it.”

“It’s got nothing to do with you, either—”

“Well, sue me for caring, Hyunjin,” Seungmin interrupts, frank and cutting. It doesn’t even sound mean, not at all. It’s still gentle, in the way Hyunjin knows him to be. “You like him. I can tell. It’s sort of sick how obvious you are, really.”

He can’t help the small smile that catches onto his lips at that. “Oh, fuck off, Kim Seungmin.”

He only gets a chuckle in response to that. “Did he say something to you?” he asks, voice softer now. “Do I have to square up and beat him up, or whatever?”

Hyunjin snorts. “Have you seen him? He’s huge. He’d handle you in a second.”

“He also wouldn’t hurt a fly, so. I could take him by surprise.”

“You’re being a little bit contradictory here, Min.”

“No, you’re being obtuse on purpose and changing the subject, and I’m just playing along. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

There is love that aches because it is hopeless, love that makes itself known in its painful attributes and its impossibility and its unkindness. Love that could have been. For the first time in a while, Hyunjin is allowing himself to admit he did that to himself, all of it. “He was perfect. He’s sweet. I mean—you know him.”

“Yeah, I do.” A pause. “Terrifying, isn’t it.”

Hyunjin nods. He nods, because he cannot speak, doesn’t want to, doesn’t want to utter words and regret them. Not for what they mean, but for not letting Changbin be the first one to hear them, when he deserves them the most.

Seungmin shakes his head around a sigh. He pushes the plate of gnocchi further towards Hyunjin. “What are you even scared of, idiot? He only has eyes for you.”

“That’s the problem.”

“No. You are the problem, if you think that’s the problem.” Seungmin swallows. Something flashes across his features, unguarded, just for a second, and shockingly vulnerable. “Don’t let him get away when you already know how he feels about you. That’s stupid. Don’t you know how precious that is?”

There is something here that Hyunjin wants to probe at—the flicker of Seungmin’s eyes, the nervous twist of his mouth—but the words hit a little too close to his heart for him to focus on anything else.

He huffs, pulls his tongue at Seungmin. “I’ll figure it out. I’m not stupid.”

It manages to release a bit of the tension, and Seungmin laughs. “Didn’t say you were. But you can be, sometimes.”

“Shut up!”

“Okay, loser. You can finish this, by the way,” he adds, pointing to the gnocchi. “It’s all yours.”

How easy is it to forget love? Hyunjin wouldn’t know. He has Seungmin to remind him.

⊹₊⟡⋆

Something fragile starts to grow in Hyunjin. Something like hope.

He isn’t blind to his faults, and certainly not to his responsibilities; he knows he’ll have to apologize, eventually. He owes it to Changbin, even if they never find themselves to be the people they once were with one another. But for now, the words are still missing, and his throat still closes onto itself when he tries pushing them out, even alone in the dead quiet of his apartment.

But it still lives, somewhere in him. A low, small flame, flickering to life during certain, fleeting moments.

“Good morning, Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin startles, turns around from his locker. He finds Changbin coming out of the office, iPad in hand—always that damn iPad—with a polite, small smile on his lips.

They haven’t done good morning in weeks. Weeks. They haven’t really addressed each other, if at all, since Changbin slammed the door behind him—until, of course, the Guide.

But that was a truce, was it not? Momentary, made to fade the moment the day was over. It’s been days, since. Just a few short of a week. Surely a simple conversation—where they spoke to each other like mature colleagues, and nothing else, although their eyes may have betrayed them—wasn’t enough to just… fix things. Right?

Hyunjin nods, still. “Good morning,” he replies, dazed.

Changbin’s smile turns just a tad more full at that, and then he nods himself, and turns away to the kitchen, where Minho awaits.

A small thing, hope. It grows so fast.

The next day. During prep, Changbin enters the kitchen, moves to the pastry section. He has a few things to check with Jeongin, a few formalities for his stage. Not really his job as maître d’, but he does it anyway, because he cares, he loves helping Minho and Chan with the paperwork and he finds Jeongin adorable.

Hyunjin knows all this because he was not eavesdropping. Changbin is just loud, sometimes.

When he walks back towards the door, heading for the dining room, he passes by Hyunjin’s station. “Everything alright with you, here?”

He doesn’t startle, this time, but feels the shudder run down his spine anyway, at the proximity of his voice. “Um, yeah, all good. Thanks.”

“Sure thing.” Another smile. Nothing too wide, nothing like what they used to give each other, but a smile nonetheless. It’s something.

When he leaves, it doesn’t take even a second before Jisung crowds him from his right. “What the hell was that about?” he shrieks—Hyunjin knows Jisung was aiming to whisper, but failed miserably.

“I’ll be honest with you, Sung,” Hyunjin breathes out. “I have no idea.”

And the next day, again.

Another, “Good morning, Hyunjin.” But this time, it’s followed by, “Care to help me with deliveries?”

“Sure,” he replies. “I’ll be right back out in a sec.” Minho would kill him anyway if he were to run away from delivery duty.

Minho, who’s suspiciously absent, this morning. That’s unlike him. “Where’s boss, anyway?” he asks, once he walks back outside, his breath puffing white in front of his mouth.

Changbin is there, hat on his head, arms straining around a pile of three boxes. He’s carrying them with minimal effort, only his wide muscles seem to strain under his skin, tight and firm. When he looks Hyunjin’s way, cheeks rosy from the cold, he does so with ease, just a turn of his head, and a shrug. Hyunjin does not stare.

“Running late, apparently. But, if you ask me,” he adds, a small smirk appearing on his features, “he’s probably busy with our dear sous, this morning. Not the first time, if you can believe it. Certainly not the last, either.”

“Oh. Right.” Minho and Chan—it’s not like Hyunjin hadn’t noticed they came into work together more often than not, now. It’s just not in Minho’s habits to let that distract him from his discipline, but he supposes even a steadfast, dutiful man like Lee Minho can be swayed by the tantalizing pull of a lover.

Changbin laughs. “Come on. There’s a few more boxes of produce left, and I think we’re waiting on new ingredients, too.”

Hyunjin walks towards the waiting pile, passing Changbin as he does so. “Which ones?”

He hears a grunt behind him, and the thud of boxes hitting the ground, before steps starting sounding his way. “From what I’ve seen? Some edible flowers for Felix and Innie, and black garlic for Seungmin.”

“Black garlic, huh.” Hyunjin bends down, picks up the box of mangoes on the ground. He huffs a little with the effort, but not too much. He hasn’t lost his muscles from his dancing days, thank you very much. “Didn’t know Seungmin decided to try out his new broth so soon.”

“Hm, yeah. Minho said something about that. It won’t make it on the menu for a little while, at least, but he was thinking of testing it as a holiday special, maybe,” Changbin says.

Hyunjin makes quick work of the boxes in his hands—dropping them off at the foot of the cold room, although he’s pretty sure Jisung will already pick a few for today’s service, most likely.

When he walks back outside, there are no more boxes left to carry in. Changbin has taken to leaning against the wall facing the back alley, waiting for the last truck of the day.

He comes to stand next to him, about an arm’s length away. Respectable. Friendly. They can be that, right? Friendly?

They stand in silence for a while. It’s—fine. Not exactly comfortable, but not entirely awkward, either. When Hyunjin glances to his right, Changbin is still looking into the street, cap low over his eyes, his curls peeking from the sides. He looks good. Changbin always looks good.

“How have you been, then?” Changbin asks him, still not looking his way.

From where he stands, though, Hyunjin can see the way his eyes are still tinged with that newfound sadness; it has replaced the empty looks, the cold shoulder of the past few weeks. He deserved that, he knows. He doesn’t know what to make of that sadness, however.

Changbin isn’t—sad. He’s boisterous. He takes space, he cares, he voices it out, constantly. He is the brightest person Hyunjin has ever met, after all. He’s devoted, heartbreakingly so, but that devotion is paired with tremendous, solid faith in himself, leaving little space for regret—and that what makes him so awfully precious.

It’s probably what Hyunjin admires most in him. That quiet, steady confidence—knowing one’s worth and wearing it proudly. Something he still struggles to do.

It’s also why seeing such lingering grief in those eyes, whenever Changbin addresses him, is becoming more and more difficult to ignore.

“I’m okay,” Hyunjin replies quietly, still staring at Changbin’s profile. “I think.”

“You think?”

“Hm.”

“I didn’t tell you,” Changbin starts around a sigh, before turning to face Hyunjin, staring back, unflinching. Hyunjin’s breath stills, just for a moment. “The Michelin feature, when I told you about it, I—I didn’t tell you. How proud of you I was. I am.”

Hyunjin stops breathing for real, now. “You are?”

“Yeah. Of course.” Like it’s obvious.

“Oh.” Hyunjin swallows, nods, slowly. “I—that’s kind of you. Really.”

“Yeah,” Changbin smiles. Why does he look so heartbroken? Why does Hyunjin feel—know—that he put that expression on his face?

“Thank you,” Hyunjin breathes, blinking back something; not tears, not quite, but the lump at his throat, back again, makes it feel the same. “It means a lot, coming from you.”

A raised eyebrow, a little teasing, a little unbelieving. “Does it?”

“It does,” he nods again, quiet. His eyes don’t stray from Changbin—it’s ridiculous, the amplitude of what he can see in them. “Of course, it does.”

It’s Changbin’s turn to nod, quiet, slow. It’s him who turns away first, sniffing, maybe from the cold, or from something else. A hand comes up to his nose, scratches to the side, before he shoves it back into his pocket. A nervous tell, from what Hyunjin knows of him. He knows so much, he realizes.

“Can I ask you something?” Changbin murmurs, almost lost to the soft wind around them. Like he, too, knows how delicate the peace that binds them together is, right now. Like he, too, doesn’t want it to shatter.

“Always,” Hyunjin says, honest.

“That night,” he starts, and Hyunjin knows exactly which one, without either of them having to say it, “why did you… I mean, what was it that—God, fuck. I thought I could do this,” he cuts himself off, exhaling a laugh that sounds self-deprecating.

Changbin is not self-deprecating. He’s a man of steadfast values and one who takes responsibility seriously, including for his mistakes. He is not someone to wallow in regret, to obsess over his wrongs, to chuckle derisively at his own expense.

God, what did Hyunjin do to him?

Changbin doesn’t let that deter him, though. He speaks again, determined not to look at Hyunjin, not yet. “I’ve turned it over and over, in my head, since. I’ve tried—I’ve tried to understand where you were coming from. I think I do, maybe.”

“Changbin—”

“I didn’t deserve that, you know.” Hyunjin remembers what Changbin told him, that night. I don’t deserve—we don’t deserve you ruining this like that. Ruining us. “And for the longest time, I think, I was stuck on that. My feelings were hurt. I thought you didn’t trust me, trust us. What we had was so good. I couldn’t believe you didn’t see it. I still think that, actually. I think you knew just how precious what we had was.” He pauses. “What we could have.”

Hyunjin exhales. He doesn’t—he doesn’t know what to say. He wouldn’t know how to express what he feels, right now; an ocean of dread, a crashing sense of hope, a strong, unstoppable fire licking into his ribcage and setting his heart ablaze. He’s dizzy with it, unable to know where he stands, only looking for Changbin’s words as his guiding light, as he waits.

Changbin exhales, shaky, broken. “And then we got the review. I was elated, man. I was so happy, so fucking proud of you. I wanted—I was about to reach out, like nothing had happened, and just tell you the news the moment I got the call. I barely even thought about Minho, can you believe?” he chuckles, and it’s a sad sound, that, too. “That was the first thing that made me realize how much I missed you. Despite everything.”

Love that is wistful. Love that yearns. Aching, but still alive and well, through the pain.

“You broke my heart, you watched as I pined over your ass like a pathetic loser while you were out there fucking other people—” Hyunjin flinches, and Changbin barrels on, “—you stomped on everything we had and still, the moment something good happened, I wanted to tell you. I wanted to see you. I missed you.”

The tears, now, cannot be swallowed. Hyunjin feels them trace down his cheeks, on either side of his face, and his throat closes silently onto itself, the pain near unbearable.

Next to him, Changbin sighs. It’s slightly watery, and there’s a shine to his eyes, too. “So I decided to tell you first.”

“For fuck’s sake, Changbin,” Hyunjin whispers, hands roughly wiping at the skin of his cheeks.

Either Changbin ignores him, or doesn’t hear him. “You’re beautiful in the kitchen, Jinnie. Your eyes. They light up, and your entire body follows. It’s fucking crazy to watch.” He sniffs again. “When I told you about the Guide, your eyes, they lit up again, but.” He turns then, his own brown eyes wet with unshed tears, pools of brown warmth, staring straight into Hyunjin’s. “It’s like you don’t—see it. See yourself shining, the way I do. The way we all do, really. You looked like you didn’t know if you deserved the praise at all, baby.”

“Did I?” he can’t help but ask. It spills out of him. Small, fragile. So unbelievably honest.

“Yes,” Changbin breathes, incredulous. He blinks harshly, groans when tears escape anyway.  Hyunjin glances away, overwhelmed by the sight. “Are you kidding? But it’s only after, as I was replaying that, over and over again, this time, that I realized. I never told you. I never told you how proud of you I was. How amazing I think you are.”

It’s not quite true.

Changbin is generous with his compliments. To Hyunjin, and to everyone else. With Hyunjin, it ranged from his looks—“You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, Jinnie”—to his voice—“Your laugh is my favourite sound, baby”—to his character—“You’re so funny. What a sweet thing. So perfect to me.”And it’s not to say it wasn’t enough. It was a lot, so much more than he’d ever gotten, even then. Hyunjin was the one who didn’t know what to do with all the words, the awe, the love.

“You broke my heart,” Changbin repeats. “You fucked up, Hyunjinnie. But I shouldn’t have given up on you like that. I didn’t want to. I still—I don’t want to.”

Hyunjin’s words are stuck at his throat. He barely feels the cold around them, the sting of the November air, aside from the way it whips at the drying tear tracks on his cheeks.

He swallows, trying to push them out. He can’t. He tilts his head up, and hears—feels Changbin moving from the brick wall behind them, stepping closer.

A hand comes to his left cheek, a thumb caresses the soft skin underneath. Hyunjin closes his eyes. He can’t bear the sight of Changbin so close, too close, after this, after everything.

“Bit much for a Saturday morning, huh?” he says, and Hyunjin’s laugh startles them both.

“A bit, yeah,” he whispers back, eyes still closed. The hand at his cheek is warm, still touching, comforting. He leans into it, burrows into its warmth.

He hears Changbin sigh, feels it puff against his own skin. A second passes, and another—and then, the soft, undeniable press of lips against the skin of his left cheek, where Changbin’s thumb was just a moment ago. A peck. Nothing more, and yet—Hyunjin’s heart stutters to a stop.

Another, deposited just a touch to the right, at the corner of his mouth.

It’s gone before he can even react, a quiet gasp stuck in his throat. He feels Changbin pull away immediately, the pressing heat of his touch gone in an instant, but the leftover warmth lingers.

“Come on, now,” Changbin’s voice says, a few steps away now. It’s—not sad, not as much as it was moments ago. It’s trying hard to sound casual, normal, like Changbin didn’t bare himself just now, like Hyunjin didn’t have his whole heart ripped out of his chest, in a matter of minutes right before his shift at work. “I can hear the last truck pulling in.”

A small thing, hope. It grows so fast.

⊹₊⟡⋆

Minho comes to him later with a request.

“Hyunjin.”

“Yes, chef?”

“Would you mind handling family today?”

Hyunjin blinks up at Minho from his station. It’s fine, really. Hyunjin doesn’t mind cooking for everyone. Minho must’ve picked on the fact that Hyunjin has been rather quick with prep today, and they have some pork shoulder surplus they need to move through, anyway. He quite enjoys family meal; loves it, in fact. He rarely gets to make it, though; Minho usually handles it, and if not, Chan takes over.

Hyunjin wonders what else Minho saw in him, today of all days, to trust him to do it.

“Sure thing, chef,” he replies easily. “Kimchi jjigae sounds okay?”

Minho blinks, nods with a small, patient smile. “Sounds perfect, chef. Thank you.”

One, two. He gets started right away—moves towards Seungmin’s station, where he’ll find most of what he needs. Stock, for the broth; one of Seungmin’s bases, rich in flavour and strained to perfection. Kimchi brine, set aside in its own pot, since they tend to use it rather often for some of the ramen dishes. He takes what he needs, sets it aside for now.

He moves. A carefully executed choreography, timed and precise. Every second counts.

He grabs kimchi from the surplus fridge, chops an onion, calls out to Chan to bring him some of the pork shoulder he’s prepping at the grill station. He moves. Sets one of their bigger pots on the stove, pours out the kimchi, the brine, the onions. He makes quick work of the meat, adds it too, moments later.

Kimchi jjigae counts among the very first recipes he’s ever learned. One of the many he still trusts his mother to execute better than he ever could. Maybe it’s habit by now, or some form of unforgotten nostalgia, but he finds himself always having the ingredients on hand at home, too, for when he wants a quick meal. He’s taken to making his own stock with time too, not unlike Seungmin’s at the restaurant. The steps come to him easily, like muscle memory.

He used to make it often, whenever Changbin happened to come over. It’s one of his favourite dishes.

He thinks of what Changbin told him that same morning. Haunting him ever since. You’re beautiful in the kitchen, Jinnie. Your eyes. They light up, and your entire body follows.

One, two. A dance. It’s all just a dance. Maybe Changbin sees it that way, too.

The vegetables—zucchini, mushrooms, wide chunks of green onions—follow soon, and he seasons his broth as he goes.

Hyunjin turns to Jisung, asks him, “We have some tofu available for family, you think?”

Jisung furrows his brows as he thinks. “Um, maybe? If not, just go through the staff fridge and grab mine. The green silky packet. I bought it this morning for Felix and I to take home later, but you can take it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course, Hyunjin. I love your cooking,” he adds with a wink, and Hyunjin smiles at him, grateful.

“Thanks, Sung.”

He ends up using Jisung’s tofu—they seem to be just short of having enough for service today, judging by the stock he sees in the fridges. It works, though. One, two. Sliced, placed delicately into the sizzling broth.

The smell is amazing. It draws in a curious, hungry Seungmin to hover over him.

“You’re handling family today?”

“Yeah.”

A pleased smile. “Sweet.”

Then, Hyunjin remembers. “It’s your favourite too, isn’t it?”

“It is, yeah.” And then, because Seungmin is awfully perceptive, “Who else are you thinking of?”

Hyunjin bristles just slightly, jostles his shoulder, pushes him away from the stove. “None of your business. Go, it’s almost ready.”

Seungmin snorts, but doesn’t press. At least, not too much. “Ah, I see. Someone is in a good mood, then.”

He doesn’t bother correcting him. Seungmin didn’t exactly lie, anyway.

Hyunjin turns to one of the rice cookers at the back of the room, a few ways away from the stove, closer to where his usual station is, near the grill. He grabs one of the widest bowls they have, loads about twenty-something servings of rice, in there. Enough for the cooking and waiting staff. A few more, if anyone wants seconds.

He doesn’t bother moving the broth onto another pot, though; he’ll only make sure to bring something sturdy and thick enough to deposit it directly on one of the tables, in the dining room, for—

“Pre-service in ten!” Changbin’s voice calls out from the door, as he plows his way in. “Is family—”

“Almost ready, chef!” Hyunjin calls out.

“Oh.” Changbin steps closer, hovering, but not as close as Seungmin did, just a few moments ago. “What’re you making?”

“Kimchi jjigae.” Your favourite, he doesn’t say. They both know it. “Hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving,” Changbin replies, and there’s an evident smile in his voice.

When Hyunjin glances his way, he catches him staring already. He’s wearing his service clothes now; a form-fitting dress shirt, dark charcoal, with black pressed pants, a subtle watch to his wrist, a delicate pin on his breast pocket. His cologne is muted here, surrounded by the strong smells of food in the whirlwind of the kitchen, but Hyunjin catches notes of sweet champagne and lemon zest, still.

His hair is tamed now and falls across his forehead softly. His eyes—aren’t sad, not quite. They’re simply taking him in, not as fiery and deep with intent as they once were, but they’re not as guarded as they have been, as of late. And not sad, not anymore, and that’s what matters most, to Hyunjin.

The smile he offers him is small, private, just for them two. “Good. I’ll be out in a moment.”

“Okay.”

A hand, barely there, and Hyunjin could have missed it, were he not so desperately attuned to every single one of Changbin’s moves. It brushes against his hip. Fingers slide across the stretch of the small of his back, before the touch disappears, as Changbin makes his way back to the doors, towards the dining room, out of the kitchen.

Barely there. Hyunjin, still, felt his body adjust, move to the cadence of Changbin’s steps, let his skin follow his touch.

One, two. A dance. It’s all just a dance.

Seungmin was right. They are getting more brisket orders called into the kitchen, since the Michelin feature came out. It’s a little disconcerting, almost.

“Four brisket bowls, one lobster, one doenjang ramen, one dakgangjeong, all day!”

“Excuse me, chef—how many briskets?” Hyunjin balks.

“Four,” Minho repeats with a quick nod. He fixes his eyes on Hyunjin, assessing. “Think you can handle it?”

No. No, he cannot. Not with the rest of the orders he’s already working on, and the incoming chicken he’s got to handle, and—does he even have enough room on his grill for all this? What about his timers?

“I’ll give you a hand, chef,” he hears Chan offer before he can say all that, though, and for a second, Hyunjin breathes. “Keep an eye on the grill. I’ll get started on the new ones.”

“Thank you, chef.”

And so Hyunjin does just that. He lets Chan take care of the incoming dishes, keeps a watchful eye on the grill before him and moves to the sound of his timers. His hands fly, but they remain steady, and he thanks whatever power above is helping him that he hasn’t managed to fuck up even one order tonight, so far.

When he finally plates the last of that little rush and sends it to Minho, Chan comes up to him, firm hand clasping his shoulder. “Chef?”

“Yeah?” Hyunjin breathes. He blinks up to the chicken timer set up just above the grill. One minute until he has to remove it from the oil and glaze it.

“We’re sold out of the brisket. Good job.”

Wait. What?

He turns sharply to stare at Chan, who’s watching him with eyes both parts amused and proud, with a twinge of exhaustion in the corners. “What do you mean, sold out?”

Chan shrugs. “There’s not one piece of meat left, we’ve just plated the last ones. I already went out and told Changbin to adjust our next deliveries to increase inventory in the coming weeks, but I didn’t think we’d already start selling out so soon.”

“You’re talking about the brisket?” Minho calls out to confirm from the head of the island.

“Yes, chef. No more for tonight, I’m afraid.”

Minho’s smirk is just as amused. “Duly noted, chef. I’ll make sure to let Changbin know.” Minho then fixes his eyes on Hyunjin, winks at him. “You’re stealing the show, Hyunjinnie.”

“This is fucking insane,” Hyunjin chokes out, but then, the timer beeps, and he’s moving again. “Uh, one dakgangjeong, five out, chef. Shit, sorry.”

“Good job, chef,” Chan repeats, before he steps away to return by Minho’s side.

Hyunjin basks in the praise. His heart soars.

“This is the first time I’ve had to tell guests we’ve sold out of anything.”

He hears Changbin before he sees him, rounding the corner and entering the locker room with gleaming eyes and a soft smile. There’s barely concealed pride in his voice, he sounds giddy with it, almost.

It’s almost too much to bear, all at once. Hyunjin swallows, turns back to his locker.

Everyone has left, mostly. Minho and Jeongin are discussing quietly in the kitchen, still in their chef whites, but aside from them, the staff has finished cleaning up and left the premises. There’s only the two of them in the locker room, now; Hyunjin with his shaky hands and Changbin with his charming smile.

“And how did it go?” Hyunjin asks, turning back to grab his jacket and bag.

Changbin hums behind him. “It went fine for the most part. This one lady was a bit of work, though. She kept complaining and threatened not to pay for her drink if we didn’t get her what she asked for.”

“Jeez.”

“Yeah. I got her to try the lobster instead. She was pleased enough, in the end.”

Hyunjin nods. He closes his locker, clicks it shut, and when he cannot avoid Changbin’s presence any longer, he turns to him, shy, patient.

He’s already dressed to leave, back under his hat, the cap low over his eyes again, but they’re still bright even in the low lights of the room. A striking mirror image of that same morning, and it’s almost too much to bear at once, all over again.

“Can I walk you home?” Changbin asks, voice low.

His own tone takes on the same calm pitch “I have to catch the train.”.

“I know. I’ll come with.”

And he doesn’t really have to think about it, really. Hyunjin doesn’t know what words are at the tip of his tongue right now, he isn’t sure exactly of all the feelings thrumming right under his skin, but he knows it’s all enough to make him give in, easily. “Okay.”

They step out. Snow has started falling gently; not the kind that sticks, but rather that melts the moment it touches the ground. Like it was never there to begin with. Something that can only be witnessed as it happens. Hyunjin scrunches his nose at the cold.

They walk in relative silence, but it’s not awkward. It’s quiet, sure. A tender, precarious balance. The walk to the train goes like this: quiet steps in the invisible snow, huffed half-smiles and patient sighs. Hyunjin still itches to break the silence, but what would he say? He feels too much. He needs to be home. He needs Changbin to follow. He needs to make sure he’ll follow.

They barely say a word until they are sat in the train. Around them, the subway car sways, the bumps of the rails pulling them closer together. The lull is so gentle it almost pulls Hyunjin to sleep, making him jump in his seat every few minutes as he tries to fight dozing off and slumping against Changbin.

The third time their shoulders knock, Changbin jostles his arm gently. “You can lean on me, Jin. I’ll wake you when it’s your stop.”

“It’s only a few more from here,” Hyunjin mumbles, but his body is moving anyway—the pull is too strong, his body is too tired. It’s as though the rush of emotions from that morning, paired with the adrenaline crash from service, have completely sucked away any ounce of energy from his limbs.

Once he’s settled, temple brushing against Changbin’s shoulder, he feels him smile above him. “Sweet dreams.”

He doesn’t end up sleeping, of course. He is still vaguely aware of the stations being called on the speakers, and the rumble of the tracks. There is still an underlying thrum of tension keeping each of his muscles on edge, even as they relax against Changbin’s firm body. There is, again, that lump in his throat, keeping all of his thoughts inside and none of his words voiced aloud.

You broke my heart. You fucked up, Hyunjinnie.

But Hyunjin manages to cut off at least part of the world, for a moment. Feel the warmth from Changbin under him. Count his breaths, move with him as he inhales, exhales. Imagines a life where he’d never ruined whatever they had, never gave in to fear in a way that destroyed the most beautiful thing he’d ever felt.

This feels like forgiveness. This feels like remembering what love is. This feels like love that was never truly forgotten, after all.

When they call Hyunjin’s stop, Changbin’s hand comes to his knee to shake him gently.

Hyunjin hums. “Are you coming?”

“I said I was, didn’t I?”

They don’t need to say explicitly what they mean—Hyunjin is asking him to follow, to prolong whatever this is, to bask in this bubble of careful forgiveness he can’t seem to understand but can’t help being enraptured with. Changbin is reassuring him—does he deserve as much, though?

But I shouldn’t have given up on you like that. I didn’t want to. I still—I don’t want to.

Hyunjin lives only a block away from the station. It’s practical in the mornings. He’s a bit of a late riser, after all. Changbin used to tease him relentlessly for it, and Hyunjin would roll his eyes at him under the press of his lips at his neck, his nose.

They reach the stairs to his front door almost too soon. Hyunjin looks down at their feet, fidgeting with his hands against the hem of his jacket. Changbin is so close, like this—breathing softly next to him, steady and present. So much more than Hyunjin has hoped for, as of late. He didn’t think he’d ever get to feel any of this again.

When Changbin reaches for his hand, he doesn’t even flinch.

A gentle hold of his fingers, thumb tracing his knuckles before he lets go, as he makes to leave at the end of the night. It’s past one in the morning already.

“Hyunjin,” Changbin says, voice warm like his name matters to him.

When he looks up, Hyunjin is hit by the adoration in those brown eyes. It’s painfully obvious, and while it is tainted with clear apprehension and an edge of fear, he recognizes in them the core of what he loves most about Changbin: the tremendous confidence he holds in his own feelings.

Hyunjin envies him terribly.

“Can I ask you something?” he says. Those same words he’d heard, this morning.

Changbin nods, and Hyunjin exhales a shaky sigh.

“Why won’t you give up on me?”

“Why did you in the first place?”

It hits him like a blow to his face, and Hyunjin flinches, this time. He feels his hand twitch in Changbin’s hold, but it doesn’t let up, not even for a second. The air around them is cold, winter well settled in now, but their hands remain deceptively warm.

When it’s been a few seconds too long of silence, Changbin speaks again, tone soft between them. “You don’t have to do this now, Hyunjin. I—you can take the time you need, I’ll wait—”

“No,” Hyunjin cuts, and the sound is almost desperate. It’s not even a word anymore, rather than a cry. “You said it, I hurt you, you didn’t deserve it. I was awful to you.”

Changbin doesn’t deny it. His eyes, though grow even sadder, and Hyunjin hates himself for putting that there.

I’m sorry. I love you. Please, please forgive me. I can’t go on like this, without you.

Instead of any of that, he asks, “Did I ever tell you why I stopped dancing?”

A furrow forms between Changbin’s brows, but he only nods, patient. “You told me you got hurt.”

“Yeah. My ankle. I tore my ligament. It wasn’t, like, career-ending. It could have been, but it wasn’t.” He swallows. Tries to trust himself with this. “It could have been, though. I was—I got so scared. Dancing was all I had, back then. Yeji and I, we were partners, you know? I felt like I was letting her down. It was horrible.”

“I’m sorry,” Changbin breathes.

Hyunjin nods, squeezes Changbin’s hand and continues. “I thought I was going to lose everything. That everything I’ve ever loved about myself, about my life, was going to go up in smoke and just. I’d never be the same again. And—and I think part of it was true. But then I picked up cooking. I was already pretty good, you know. I met Minho, and he taught me how to be even better.”

“You’re pretty damn good.”

“I got there eventually,” he chuckles, and it’s a little wet. Hyunjin doesn’t know when he started crying. “And I didn’t stop dancing, not entirely. I still do drop-in classes, you know? I can’t do as much as before, but that’s alright. I’ve got the restaurant now. I love it. Cooking is a little bit like dancing, to me, in a way. So in the end, I didn’t lose—I wasn’t lost. I found something I could hold onto. I found myself in something else. Something—something I love.”

“I’m glad.”

Hyunjin swallows—past the lump at his throat, past the shakiness of his hands, past the tears. “But I guess I never really got over that fear, you know? Those few months of feeling so fucking empty after losing something, it’s like you lose yourself with it, too.” He swallows. “I love—I love deeply. I’m all or nothing. I don’t—I can’t do it halfway. I love dancing. I love cooking. I don’t have acquaintances, or people I know in passing. I have my family, and I have my friends. And I really love my family, and I really, really love my friends.”

Changbin laces their fingers, squeezes his palm. Hyunjin closes his eyes. He feels the sting of the wind slice through the tears against his cheeks.

He takes a deep breath. He runs his thumb over Changbin’s, warm and soft. He gives in, at last.

“Loving you,” Hyunjin confesses, “felt—feels like a lot more than that. It’s—it’s so much more than anything else I’ve ever felt before. It hurts, and it stings, and it makes me feel invincible and so fucking vulnerable. It feels as though I can dance again, and it’s terrifying. It’s better than any sex, any past fling or just—it’s so much. God, Changbin, I—I love you. So much.”

“Oh, Hyunjin.” Maybe Changbin is crying. There’s a trembling exhale, shaky and choked up that Hyunjin can hear, close, against the distant sound of the wind. He keeps his eyes shut. He can’t look now.

“I hate to say that I got scared,” he blurts. He winces as the words leave his mouth. “It’s so fucking stupid. I hate that it’s so fucking stupid, and it’s true, anyway. I got so, so fucking scared. You were right—I knew how good we had it. How good you were. You are, still. You’re too kind for your own good, Changbin. I was so, so lucky to have you.”

“You still have me,” he hears him whisper, in pain, but Hyunjin shakes his head.

The hand in his own holds on tight, unrelenting.

“Just the thought of losing you felt worse than—than losing anything else. Worse than never dancing again. Worse than never stepping foot in Minho’s restaurant. Worse than never seeing Jisung, or Seungmin, or anyone, even my parents, ever again. And I started—I started carrying that pain with me every time I’d see you.”

Love that aches, love that makes itself known in his own fear. Love that was already there, and he couldn’t see it. The kind that only transformed into something that pesters and hurts and leaves ugly scars behind once Hyunjin twisted it that way.

Love that rings true, despite everything.

“You were never going to lose me, my love—”

“But I didn’t know that,” Hyunjin opens his eyes, looking into the ones facing him—deep pools of brown swarmed with tears, gliding gently across Changbin’s skin. He looks stunning even as he cries. “I’m so sorry I didn’t—I didn’t ask, I didn’t even give you a chance. I thought I was better off letting you go before it got worse, before you got tired, before—”

“That’s ridiculous, baby—”

“I know!” he cries out with a humourless laugh, and the sobs start wrecking through his chest. It hurts in the deepest part of his chest, twisting and making breathing impossible, and Hyunjin still feels so much relief, sweet and endless, as he admits the truth. “I know,” he repeats, barely a whisper. “I’m sorry, for taking so long to understand.”

Changbin pulls at his hand, and Hyunjin goes. He feels strong arms envelop him, a wall of warmth and sadness barrelling onto him, an ocean of comfort drowning him at once. He shakes against the shoulder he’s pressed against, burying his hands in the fabric of Changbin’s jacket against the small of his back.

“I’ve got you,” Changbin murmurs against his hair, pressing a kiss behind his ear. Hyunjin hugs him close, melts against him, loves him. “I’ve got you, Hyunjin. I’m not leaving you.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so fucking sorry.”

“Hyunjin, it’s okay, I forgive you.”

“You shouldn’t, you can’t just—”

“I forgive you,” Changbin insists. He pulls away just enough to look into Hyunjin’s eyes; their arms are still tight around one another. Under the streetlights, wet with tears, his eyes sparkle and Hyunjin is entranced. “I forgive you, because I love you. I want you, I want you close, I want you around, and I want you forever.”

It hurts. It hurts, and the fear makes Hyunjin’s heart beat wildly in his chest, and he’s shaking—but beyond the fear, there is faith in something greater, something that wants him to believe. Or maybe it’s just how much he cares for Changbin, how the pain of losing him even for a short while was too great for Hyunjin to ever, ever consider letting him go again.

“I want us to try,” Changbin says, earnest. “You know how good we are, yeah? Don’t you want to know how even greater it can be?”

Hyunjin doesn’t answer him.

He leans in, and kisses Changbin.

It tastes like tears and longing and an awful lot like home. It tastes like Hyunjin’s first breath after months of apnea, a silent, slow death finally stopped while life bursts inside of him again. He can feel Changbin sigh against his mouth, trembling with relief just as intense as his own, before the hands at his waist pull them even closer. Changbin kisses him back fervently, devotedly, like he never stopped, like he never, ever wanted to stop—exactly as if Hyunjin had ripped that privilege away from him once, and he’s making sure it never, ever happens again.

Hyunjin brings his hands up to cup Changbin’s face, pressing himself closer. He licks at his bottom lip and Changbin opens up for him, beautiful, awestruck—Hyunjin licks into his mouth, swallows a whimper when the hands at his hips tighten at the touch.

“I love you so much,” he repeats when they part just for a moment, before Changbin follows his lips for another kiss—sweet, long, unbelievably tender.

“I love you too, Hyunjin. So much more than you know.”

He wants to say more, wants to confess over, and over, and over again—but the wind blows past them and Hyunjin shivers violently, pulling a fond laugh out of Changbin.

“Don’t laugh,” he whines, but there’s a grin pulling at his own lips and his voice is tainted with it.

“Go inside, darling. You’ll catch a cold at this rate.”

Go inside? “Without you?”

Changbin observes him quietly, unmoving. There’s the most beautiful glow to him, even at night, like this, muted and intimate. “I can come in if you want me to. Or I’ll see you at work tomorrow—”

“Please,” Hyunjin cuts, certain. He leans in, catches Changbin’s mouth in a sweet kiss, before he pulls away slowly, sliding his palms down to interlace their fingers together again. “Stay.”

Changbin smiles, and it’s the most beautiful thing in the world. “Okay.”

Changbin used to love leaving kisses on his skin. He still does, Hyunjin learns.

Heated ones poured into his mouth, pressed against his neck, down the panes of his chest. Chaste pecks over his nose, the apple of his cheeks, his chin, his forehead. He does as he used to, going back and forth between the two, leaving Hyunjin writhing against his bedsheets, breathless and impossibly turned on.

And there’s a new edge to it, now—there’s something so much more intense about Changbin’s touch now, as though having broken down the walls around Hyunjin’s affection has also renewed his own entirely. It glows in his eyes, catching at the warm lights of his bedroom. It’s mesmerizing.

He kisses one of Hyunjin’s nipples as his hands fumble with the zip of his jeans, and Hyunjin arches into him under his tongue.

“Changbin, God,” he exhales, his voice strained with how much he’s feeling.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about this,” Changbin whispers—almost to himself, entranced—still kissing over his skin. “Haven’t stopped thinking about you. Your body, your skin, your lips. I’d see you every day, Hyunjin. I’d want you every single day, and it was driving me crazy.”

One of Hyunjin’s hands falls in Changbin’s hair, catching at the strands and caressing softly. “I’ve missed you,” he allows himself. “I’ve missed you, I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you so, so much. I’m never—never leaving you. Please don’t let me leave you again.”

“I won’t. You’re not going anywhere. I’m not going anywhere.”

Changbin is still dressed on top of him. Hyunjin uses his free hand to tug at his clothes, impatient. “Take these off. I want—I need to see you. I want you, Changbin, I want you so bad—”

“Okay, my love, okay,” he chuckles against his chest, before leaning back, tearing off his dress shirt with little effort, before stepping away to get out of his slacks and boxers. Hyunjin busies himself with his own jeans and underwear, thrown away on the ground by the side of his bed.

It barely takes a few seconds at most, but once Changbin comes back to him, Hyunjin feels relief wash over him as though it had been days. Maybe it has—it has been weeks, at least. Weeks since this, weeks since he’s allowed himself the care of Changbin’s touch, the intensity of his feelings; it has been forever, if not longer, since he’s been honest with how much he loves him.

Hyunjin pulls Changbin in for another kiss—this time the kind that lingers, slow strokes of tongue that pull long moans out of his throat and make Changbin grunt over him. He feels him lower himself slowly, until their chests press together, skin on skin. Scalding to the touch, and still, it’s not enough. Will it ever be enough? Maybe not. Maybe they’ll need to keep doing this, keep coming back to each other, touching and learning the other over and over again, for it to ever be enough.

Lips attach themselves to his neck again, and Hyunjin keens, his eyes fluttering closed. He feels Changbin suck at his skin, bite lightly—a bruise sure to form, and he shudders at the thought.

“Need you to be mine,” Changbin says, reverent. He moves further down, sucks another bruise at his throat. “Need everyone to know who you belong to.”

Fuck. To be loved, to be claimed. To belong and to claim in return. Hyunjin feels himself get impossibly hard at the thought. “Please, Bin, I’m yours, I’m yours. I’ll always—always be yours.”

“Always be mine.” A mantra seared into his skin. Changbin’s palms venture down his sides. One of them slides down to his ass and squeezes, and Hyunjin hiccups a whine. “Always, hm?”

“Always. I’m yours.”

“And I’m yours, Hyunjinnie.” When Changbin kisses him again, he’s the one moaning into it this time. Hyunjin bites at his bottom lip, pulling at it until it gives before he dives back in again, feral with hunger. “I’m yours. Always was. Always—always will be.”

“I need you inside, Changbin, please.” Hyunjin is well past being embarrassed to ask for what he wants. Well past the fear, too. He wants, and wants, and will let himself want until he gets what he craves. “I need it, I need it so bad, please.”

“Anything you want, baby. Anything.”

Changbin has always kissed him like he has always loved him. It was only a matter of time for Hyunjin to catch up. Now, he feels it fully—the gentle press of their bodies, the way Changbin rocks into him, pressing their lengths, making them shiver. The way he kisses his devotion against every inch of Hyunjin’s body. The way his eyes sparkle with laughter and love and desire, all at once, unbidden and devastatingly honest.

When he presses his slicked fingers to Hyunjin’s entrance, slightly cold from the lube, Hyunjin startles. “Fuck, oh my God.”

Changbin leaves a peck at the corner of his mouth, drags the tip of his nose to his. “You’re okay?”

“Yeah, just—yeah. I really, really want this.”

A soft chuckle warms him from the inside. Hyunjin’s heart soars. “Relax, baby.”

One finger presses in, to the knuckle. Hyunjin whimpers—it’s been so long. Not since sex, but since it has felt like this—this good, this right, this much. He is overwhelmed yet wants more already, can’t help but wanting more.

Changbin is gentle, but determined. He opens him up slowly, eyes fixed on Hyunjin’s face and catching his every twitch, but doesn’t hesitate to be just short of mean, too. It’s not obvious; he’s still murmuring sweet praise in Hyunjin’s ear—“You look so pretty for me, baby, the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, mine, all mine”—but it’s in the details. The way his hand is tortuously slow in its movements. The way he avoids touching him where Hyunjin wants him to. The way he moves to lean on his side now, still glued to Hyunjin’s body, but their bodies touching less than just moments prior. Hyunjin’s cock stands untouched, leaking at the tip, angrily red.

Hyunjin squirms. “Don’t tease.”

“I’m not teasing, baby.” He definitely is. Hyunjin can hear it in the slight lilt of his voice, unfairly sexy.

He turns to stare him down with an unimpressed look. “Seo Changbin, if you don’t start touching proper—oh, fuck!”

Changbin slides in a second finger, the stretch making Hyunjin gasp—but it’s the way he finally, finally curls his fingers inside that makes him jolt. He barely registers the scrape of teeth against his neck. “Like this?”

“Fuck, yes, finally, God. More, more, please, give me, give me more—”

“You’re awfully bossy, you know that?”

Hyunjin huffs a laugh, pulls one of his hands to grab Changbin’s jaw and pull him for one quick, lingering kiss. “And you love it. I know you do.”

He gets another kiss in return—Changbin licking into him, and Hyunjin stretching his neck for more. “Yeah, I do. I love you.”

And God—Hyunjin doesn’t get sick of hearing it. Love that rings true, love that is true—love that is lived, felt, given, made. Genuine and tangible, right there in Changbin’s touch and everything else.

In the end, Changbin does give him what he wants—a third finger breaches him, and Hyunjin’s moan rings loud in his bedroom. He feels Changbin groan against his neck, clearly affected.

“The sounds you make,” he says. His voice sounds heavenly, like this. Deep, throaty, breathless. Just from having his fingers in Hyunjin, from kissing him, from hearing him. Hyunjin preens. “You’re a fucking dream. I’m fucking obsessed with you.”

Hyunjin laughs, and it morphs into a whimper when Changbin’s fingers graze his prostate just right inside him. “Are you?”

“Didn’t I tell you already? I haven’t stopped thinking about you—about this. About fucking you open, making you come on my fingers, on my cock, on my mouth. Over and over again, until the only thing you remember is my name and nothing else,” he finishes, his hips kicking up to rut against Hyunjin’s hip. He feels him there, rock hard and leaking.

Hyunjin chokes on a whine, brings a hand to tap at Changbin’s wrist under him. “Okay, enough, I’ve had enough, I need you inside me now. I need it now, I need you, baby, please—”

Changbin shushes him with a kiss. There’s a lump at Hyunjin’s throat again, but it feels delicious, and he welcomes the tears with relief. “Okay, darling, okay. Here, I’ll fuck you the way you want me to, yeah?”

“Please,” Hyunjin begs. He won’t stop, can’t stop until he gets what he wants. He wants so much. He wants nothing more than this—him, and Changbin, one and together.

He barely hears nor feels Changbin slick himself up. He only feels him once he hovers over him again, and Hyunjin blinks his tears away to let himself look.

Changbin’s curls are disheveled, a mess atop his head, so different from the prim and proper man he becomes at work. Here, in Hyunjin’s bedroom, he is but a man in love, enamoured and desperate. Hyunjin loves this look on him—loves him, wholeheartedly. His eyes shine as they keep tracing every single line of Hyunjin’s face. His lips are red, bitten raw, and Hyunjin licks his own at the sight.

He is so beautiful. He’s so fucking beautiful. “You’re beautiful,” Hyunjin breathes.

A hand comes to his cheek, a thumb swipes away the tears under his eye. “You’re one to talk, Hyunjin.”

He smiles, ties his arms around Changbin’s neck. “Fuck me, Changbin. Please.”

Changbin smiles back. He lines himself up, and starts pushing in.

It’s a sweet, delicious stretch—Hyunjin has missed it, has missed this, has missed him. The familiarity of it, how well they fit together. He could be doing this every day. He’d want nothing more than this, every day.

“Fuck, you feel amazing, I can’t believe it,” Changbin blabbers. “You’re so fucking perfect, God—so fucking good to me, Hyunjin, shit. Shit.”

Hyunjin can’t speak—he only moves his hips slowly, taking him in, hugging him closer, groaning around the stretch. Changbin feels heavenly inside him, thick and wide, the best he’s ever had, fuck.

Then Changbin starts moving.

“God, yes,” Hyunjin moans when Changbin drags inside him just right, just the way he needs.  He brings his legs to bracket the hips fucking him the way he wants—needs. “Yes, yes, please, keep going, please.”

Changbin groans, one of his hands pressing against his thigh, near painful. His arm looks sinful, muscles bulging, wrapped around his leg. “You’re perfect, Hyunjinnie. Fuck, I’m never letting you go again, oh my God.”

“Never.” It’s a little crazy. Hyunjin already feels cock drunk and he’s only had Changbin inside him for barely a minute. “Never leaving you again. Don’t let me—you can’t leave me, Binnie, you can’t.”

“I would never, baby. I promise.” He picks up his rhythm, and Hyunjin cries out. “You’re mine, now. Mine.”

Changbin fucks into him hard and fast—delirious, Hyunjin feels it in his entire body, all the way to his neck, straining as his spine lifts from the bed. His hands drag down Changbin’s spine, nails sure to leave marks behind. He feels him shudder under his palms, and it’s so much more than he remembers. This is so much better. It will always, always be better than what it was, now.

“Changbin.” It’s the only thing on his mind, now. He hears him exhale harshly at the sound of his name, and repeats it again. “Changbin, baby.”

A high sound escapes Changbin’s throat. He buries his face in Hyunjin’s neck, starts kissing over the bruises he’s left there. “Yeah, Jinnie?”

“Fuck—you’re so good to me, you feel so fucking good.” Hyunjin tightens his legs around Changbin’s waist, relishes in the moan he’s rewarded with.

“Ah—yeah.”

“I’m yours,” Hyunjin sighs. He closes his eyes, loses himself to the feeling. “Tell me—I’m yours, yeah?”

“You are,” Changbin nods against his neck. His arms slide around his thighs, pushing them against his chest—the angle makes Hyunjin cry out, as his prostate gets hit just right over and over again. The tears come back, unrestrained now. “You’re mine. My pretty little thing. You take me so fucking well, baby.”

Hyunjin sobs. It’s too much. “Jus’ wanna be good for you,” he breathes.

Changbin moans again, his hips kicking up even harder. Maybe it’ll bruise. Hyunjin hopes it does. “You are, baby, you’re doing so well. You were made for this, hm?”

“Made for you.” Use me. Forever, just use me. I’m yours to take.

“That’s right, made for me—fuck, oh God. Hyunjin, I’m close, I’m so fucking close—”

Hyunjin whimpers, tries to press in even closer. “Touch me. I want—I want to come with you, please, Binnie.”

He hears Changbin swear under his breath, before one of his arms lets up around his thigh. A hand finally wraps around his neglected cock, and Hyunjin cries out. It’s so much, too much, he’s so fucking close—

“Poor baby, hm?” Changbin tuts, but it lacks any mean edge—he’s clearly out of it, and sounds more hypnotized than anything. Loving, dotting. He strokes Hyunjin with a surprisingly steady hand, and Hyunjin feels his climax build inside of him at a desperate speed. “Wanna come with hyung, yeah?”

Fuck. Fuck. “Yes, please, hyung, make me come, let me come, please, God—”

Changbin kisses him, twists his wrist, fucks into him hard. “Let go, Hyunjinnie.”

Hyunjin seizes.

He comes and it feels like it lasts forever—he feels it between their bodies, feels himself clench down on Changbin’s cock, feels his entire body lock in pleasure and stay there, unmoving, mouth parted around a moan. It crashes into him violently, and the bliss is never ending, consuming him whole. This is the best he’s ever felt. He can’t keep living without this, ever again.

He feels, vaguely, as Changbin continues to fuck into him, desperate jerking movements that make little whines escape his mouth before he comes himself, spilling into Hyunjin. Changbin grunts in his ear, hips rolling into him as he rides out his orgasm, making him shudder under the weight of his body as he is slowly pushed to the edge of overstimulation.

Love that gives, and keeps on giving. Love that pours inside of him and out, that washes over him at a harrowing speed and stays there, all encompassing. Everything he’s ever wanted.

They catch their breath for a long minute, foreheads pressed together, lips brushing every once in a while, tentative. He mourns it silently when Changbin pulls out, but he barely has the time to think it before he’s finally being kissed—deep and unhurried, like they have all the time in the world. Changbin sighs into his mouth, gathers him in his arms before he moves them to lie side by side on Hyunjin’s soiled sheets.

They’ll clean up later. All the time in the world.

They keep kissing until Hyunjin can’t keep the smile off his lips, and Changbin laughs. “Good?”

“Wonderful,” he replies. When Hyunjin leans back to look, he sees something he wants to see, forever: Changbin happy by his side, sated and so obviously in love. He knows it shows on his own face, too. Hyunjin scrunches his nose. “I wasn’t too whiny, right?”

Changbin snorts, closes his eyes when he laughs. He brings a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind Hyunjin’s ear, soft against his skin despite the sweat clinging at the strands. “I love it when you’re whiny.”

“You love everything I do in bed,” Hyunjin quips back. He melts into the sheets when Changbin huffs at his words.

“I do.” Then, after a moment of staring, quiet and content, he adds, “I love everything about you.”

Hyunjin smiles. He can’t feel his cheeks with the force it, with how much he’s smiled today. “I love you, too.”

Changbin kisses him—awestruck and breathless, tremendously honest and open. Like the very first time, Changbin kisses him like he has loved him forever.

⊹₊⟡⋆

Keeping his thoughts in check. That’s all Hyunjin needs to do.

That is all he keeps trying to do anyway. Around him, the subway car sways kindly, the bumps of the rails a sweet lull to his thoughts. The crowd comes and goes between each station. Voices loud in car above the gentle roar of the engine. Sometimes, the sun filters through the dirty windows, early morning light playing hide and seek over tired faces and youthful smiles.

It’s all just a mere background though. Next to him, Changbin plays with his fingers. He has a firm hand on Hyunjin’s thigh. He looks so handsome. Hyunjin is obsessed with him.

The morning brought in an embrace in bed he never wants to forget. Another in his small kitchen, over coffee. Feelings that burn in his heart in a tender fire, shown in the care of his touch. Feelings directed at him that make his heartstrings twist in the best way, the right way.

Hyunjin sighs. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to your place and change?”

Changbin nods. There’s a silly smile on his face. His dimple appears, and Hyunjin wants to bite him. “I have a change of clothes in the office. I’ll be fine.”

“The others will say something.”

“Are you worried about that?”

He isn’t, really. Hyunjin just wants to avoid the attention—even though a small part of him is giddy at the thought of their friends seeing them, truly seeing them, and watching the understanding and, he hopes, the pride in their faces. “Whatever. As long as Kim Seungmin doesn’t get annoying about it.”

Changbin snorts. “Don’t worry about Minnie. Just say the word, and I’ll end it.”

There’s a small smirk dancing on his small lips. Hyunjin wants to kiss it away. He wants so much. It’s overwhelming to let himself feel it fully, at last. “Oh. You know something.”

“I sure do,” Changbin replies with a wink. He squeezes Hyunjin’s hand, runs a thumb over his knuckles. A newfound habit he’s reconnecting with, slowly.

“What do you have against him?”

“Hm. I can’t say. I’m bound by professional secrecy.”

“Fuck professional secrecy. I’m your boyfriend,” he says, shaking their joined hands with a whine. “Come on, tell me!”

He knew it would get a reaction, he figured as much—but Hyunjin, maybe, should have expected the slightly guarded startled expression Changbin turns to him. Just slightly, though. His eyes still swim in something absolutely adoring, and Hyunjin holds onto that. “My boyfriend?”

“If you want me to be, yeah,” he nods, shy.

“You’re not running off after this, are you?” Changbin quirks an eyebrow.

Hyunjin rolls his eyes. Squeezes Changbin’s hand again for good measure. “I said I wasn’t going to, didn’t I?”

“Saying it during sex doesn’t mean the same thing as saying it for real, Jinnie.”

“I said it before sex, too!” he exclaims, before he remembers where they are—they only get a few stares from the passengers around them, and Hyunjin blushes before he continues in a hushed whisper. “I’m not going anywhere. You know this.”

“Okay. Boyfriend it is.” Changbin pursues his mouth, narrows his eyes. “Or are you? What about… my lover?”

Hyunjin scoffs a laugh. “Your lover? What am I, your fucking mistress? Are you seeing anyone else?”

“Bold of you to ask me that, actually,” Changbin says, but it’s full of mirth and empty of any anger.

Still, Hyunjin feels a small pit of regret form in his gut. He might never get over the fact that he hurt them both, as good as they have it now. As good as he hopes they will be. “I don’t—I don’t want you to see anyone else. You’re the only one for me. I want—I need to be your one and only, too.”

Changbin blinks. There’s a pretty blush tainting his cheeks and the top of his ears.

He shakes his head, tightens his hold around Hyunjin’s hand. “Jesus Christ, Hyunjin. You can’t say this shit when we’re on our way to work.”

“Why not? Are you getting hard?” That puts him at ease—it’s so easy, with Changbin. Loving him is so easy. “We could get it on in the office, you know. I could show you just how badly I want to be—”

“Okay, and that’s our stop, up you go, now, come on!” Changbin pulls at their joined hands as he gets up brusquely, and Hyunjin laughs when he follows.

He tries to stop smiling as they walk outside.

He fails.

“What the fuck?”

Hyunjin startles. When he looks up from his locker, Seungmin is staring, eyes wide and slightly concerned.

He blinks. “What?”

Seungmin brings a hand up to his collar, tugs at it with one finger. “What the hell happened to you? Were you mauled on your way to work? Did someone try to choke you?”

Oh. Right. The marks. He’d been shocked, too, last night in front of his bathroom mirror. Changbin had only bit his lip, barely apologetic, and told him to cover it up with concealer, if he must.

Hyunjin didn’t. He’s paying the price, now. “Nothing happened.”

“Are you sure?” Seungmin quirks an eyebrow, but there’s a soft edge to it now.

“Nothing bad,” he mumbles. He shoves his jacket in his locker and grabs his clean chef whites, putting them on under Seungmin’s analytic gaze. “I just—I followed your advice, I guess.”

Don’t let him get away when you already know how he feels about you. Don’t you know how precious that is?

Seungmin’s eyebrows disappear under his fringe. He looks so fucking stupid. Hyunjin loves him, too.

“Did you fuck Changbin again? Hyunjin, for God’s sake—”

“Hey!” Hyunjin takes offense to that. “I didn’t just fuck him—”

“I don’t want the details, Hyunjin—”

“We’re together, now!” he cuts in, a little too loud. He hears the clink of utensils still in silence in the kitchen, the next room over. He clears his throat, lowers his tone. “Changbin and I, we’re. We’re dating. Like, properly, now.”

“Oh.” Seungmin deflates, and nods. A spark of pride fills his gaze. “Good. I’m glad.” A roll of his eyes as he steps out of the locker room. “Finally.”

Hyunjin only scoffs, closes his locker and follows him out.

In the kitchen, a few pairs of eyes settle on him—Jisung’s wide, adorably happy gaze, paired with Felix’s delighted grin. Chan regards him with an amused smile, while Minho stands next to him, arms crossed, grave eyes calculating but unbelievably gentle in the care they carry. Even Jeongin is trying to smother down a smile of his own.

His family. He loves them so.

Before he can say a word, though, Changbin barges in from the dining room, iPad in hand. He’s changed, comfortable clothes that still bear a few fold lines from being tucked away in the office, Hyunjin assumes. He looks good. He always does. “Good morning, everybody!”

“Are you fucking Hyunjin again?” Jisung asks, giddy. His arms are looped around Felix’s waist, trembling with excitement.

“None of your business, Sung,” Changbin drones, scrolling through his screen with a lazy swipe of his hand.

“It kind of is, though,” Minho says. He looks all the parts of an inquiring boss, with his severe posture and his frowning brows. It’s only because Hyunjin knows him so well—they all do—that he knows it’s a front. It’s adorable. “Any business that has to do with my staff is my business, chef.”

Changbin scoffs, but it lacks any bite—he’s smiling, almost too wide for his face. Every part the boisterous man Hyunjin admires. “Oh, really? I never heard you announce your relationship to the staff, though. Isn’t that our business, too, then?”

“Fine.” Minho makes to grab Chan’s hand, plants a kiss on the back of his hands, not breaking eye contact with Changbin one second. Next to him, Chan blushes profusely. Hyunjin snorts. “Here. Chan is my boyfriend. I’ve fucked him in the bathroom once while you stood outside—”

Chan sputters, red in the face. “Oh my God, Minho—”

Felix balks. Jisung freezes around him. “You guys did what?”

“Oh, wow,” Jeongin chuckles, incredulous. A few steps away, Seungmin stares at him, eyes wide. Huh.

Changbin’s jaw drops, pale as a sheet. He points an accusing finger at his boss. “There’s no fucking way—I knew it! I fucking knew it, oh my God, I can’t fucking believe you—”

Minho rolls his eyes, but he’s smirking now. “Whatever. My restaurant, my rules. And we kept it sanitary! So? Anything you’d like to share?”

Hyunjin speaks up then, decides to put his poor boyfriend out of his misery. “God, like all of you guys didn’t hear me already! We’re dating. It’s new, we’re in love, yadi, yada. Can we please get to work, now? I have twice as much brisket to prep today, I’m not going to stand here doing nothing just because you guys can’t believe I finally got my shit together.”

Jisung pouts. “Aw, Jinnie—”

“Hyunjin’s right!” Chan says, loud, wrenching his hand from Minho’s hold. He’s still red around his ears, and they all graciously pretend not to notice. “Jisung, Jeongin, you’re with Changbin on deliveries this morning. Felix, come and help me sort through inventory. Come on guys, let’s get moving!”

Groans and sighs answer him, but eventually, they all move. Hyunjin presses his lips together. Tries to smother another smile. He fails.

He catches Changbin’s eye across the room, before he disappears outside.

“Love you,” he mouths. His eyes crinkle when he smiles.

Hyunjin lets his smile bloom. Lets himself feel it fully, at once, all of it. Love that breathes, that keeps on living. It surrounds him in this room and pours out of the eyes staring back at him.

You too.

⊹₊⟡⋆