Chapter Text
Jeonghan has been divorced for two and a half months when Joshua lets himself into his barely unpacked apartment one Saturday, and announces he’s signed him up for a pottery class.
Jeonghan, who’d been lying on the couch and preparing himself for his third depression rewatch of Twenty Five Twenty One , squints at Joshua. He’s starting to regret the decision to let his best friend pick out his apartment after the move back from Japan, and set his passcode, and get a copy of his keys.
“Is this the same pottery class with the ‘hot nerd with biceps to die for’ you’ve been texting me about for weeks?”
Joshua gives him one of his signature eyerolls, dumping his purse on one of the boxes Jeonghan still hasn’t had the will to open, and flinging open his fridge with a disgusted noise. Jeonghan doesn’t remember giving him permission to stroll into his apartment and immediately begin judging his poor life choices, but okay.
“Yes, and I don’t want to hear a word from you about it. Why the fuck has your fridge only got pudding cups and a tub of kimchi in it?”
“The two essential food groups for human survival,” Jeonghan says dryly, then gestures to the takeout containers scattered around the couch. There’s even vegetables somewhere, because he’s a very well-adjusted twenty nine year old man who cares about his health, or whatever. Also because Seungkwan threatened him with a box of supplements last time he was over.
“You’re ridiculous. Go get actual groceries before you die of scurvy,” Joshua snipes. He’s currently opening one of the pudding cups and fishing out the singular spoon from the kitchen cabinets, though, so Jeonghan doesn’t think he can really judge. Clearly, he’s onto something about pudding cups.
Joshua sits himself down primly on the other end of the couch, kicking a plastic bag away from him. Together, they make a sad picture, really. Mostly because of Jeonghan. He’s known Joshua since he was eighteen, so just over a decade, but they’ve never seemed more different than in these last two months, starting from Jeonghan blowing his entire life up and running back home with his tail between his legs, and ending here, in his living room covered in moving boxes, Joshua eyeing him carefully.
He’s still dressed in his work clothes— fancy dress shirt tucked into brown slacks, pretty silver rings, the pearl necklace he bought as a graduation gift to himself, and Cinnamaroll socks that Jeonghan got him along with a perfume making kit for Christmas two years ago. He’s, unfairly, only a little disheveled from the commute here, and consequently looks a million times more put together than Jeonghan, who hasn’t walked more than fifty steps today.
He glances down at his own attire of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt with just a little bitterness. Two and a half months ago, he’d still be similarly dressed up, and working at his office in a whole other fucking country, counting down the hours to get home to his husband.
Well, ex-husband, now.
The point is, Jeonghan knows he’s treading on the dangerously thin line between pitiable and pathetic, and the nice (or horrible, depending on how you look at it) thing about his friendship with Joshua is that they’ve never allowed each other to get to pathetic territory, and both of them are willing to be just a little mean about it. Seungkwan would feel bad enough to let him be miserable for at least another month, and Soonyoung maybe even longer, but Joshua’s always had an uncanny sense for when he needs to sit Jeonghan down for a mini-intervention, and vice versa.
It’s just that it’s always been Jeonghan doing the work to pull Joshua out of bad breakups or shitty jobs, and also that he’d kind of assumed, over the last couple of years, that they’d grown up enough to never need to witness each other at their lowest points again.
But, lo and behold, here he is, refusing to meet Joshua’s gaze and pushing around the last dregs of his kimchi jjigae. Jeonghan’s still wallowing in possibly the most humiliating period of his life thus far, and his best friend is doing fucking amazing. Job that he loves, thriving social life, hobbies, six-step skincare routine, even some hot guy in his goddamn pottery class to thirst after for fun, because he wasn’t a fucking idiot like Jeonghan and didn’t get married and run off to Japan barely a year out of university, just to blow it all up six years later.
“Hey.” Joshua stretches out a leg to nudge Jeonghan’s foot, “I can hear you digging yourself into a mental illness hole. Enough is enough. I love you, so I’m gonna be here on Friday at six-thirty after work, and we’re gonna go do pottery for two hours so you actually do something productive and talk to someone that isn’t me or Seungkwannie. Who, by the way, has been holding back from telling you about the guy he’s seeing because he doesn’t want to make you feel worse.”
Jeonghan groans, slumping over and barely avoiding dunking his hair in the jjigae container. “Joshuji, I do feel worse. I’m being terrible. Why would you tell me that?”
“Because I know you’d want to know, you nosy bitch. And because Seungkwan values your opinion above everyone except maybe his sisters, so you need the motivation to get it together and be there for him.”
“Not sure if my judgement counts for much anymore, considering this ,” Jeonghan mumbles. He’s being difficult on purpose, he knows.
“Too bad, suck it up,” Joshua agrees brightly, finishing off the last of his pudding.
“Do I have to go do pottery with your hot nerd?”
“Yes. At least three classes, ‘cause I told the owner already, and you’re not allowed to embarrass me by dipping after a single try.” Jeonghan eyes him through his bangs. God, but he does need a haircut.
“You like this guy,” he says, the grin spreading slowly across his face. Joshua stares at him boredly. Hauls himself up to rinse the empty pudding cup in the sink.
“I’ve only been texting you about this for weeks, so, like, no shit, Sherlock.” Jeonghan’s smile widens at the way Joshua’s voice curls around the English words at the end. He only reverts back to English when he’s got something to hide.
“Don’t make references in English I don’t get. I just thought he was eye candy for you to stare at before your classes,” which, judging from the blush on Joshua’s face, he is , “but you’re only concerned about embarrassing yourself when you actually have a crush .”
Joshua tells him to shut up half a beat too late, which is as good as a confirmation with him. Jeonghan might be lacking in his own love life, but evidently he’s still got it with reading into his friends’.
“Friday, six-thirty !” Joshua yells on his way out, the chain on his purse jingling as he swings it over his shoulder. The door clicks shut, and he hears his lock’s muffled beep.
Jeonghan sighs in the abrupt silence. He’s had to live with a lot of that, lately.
He generally enjoys silence, but prefers it to be in the comfort of a home inhabited by his loved ones, like the kind of silence you get falling asleep next to someone, or the kind that greets you when you’ve gotten home before everyone else in the house, with groceries in one hand and a copy of the house keys in the other. He still has that pair of keys in his coat pocket, too angry to forget he wouldn’t be needing them anymore when he left for the last time.
This new version of silence feels more like emptiness, echoing around his moving boxes and the slightly-too-cold bed he’s been avoiding, and the hollowed-out part of him that’d internalized the definition of home as him and his stupid fucking ex. Can he call it grief, the unfamiliar chill in his bones and the lingering yearning for warmth, given to him by someone he never wants to see again?
Friday. Jeonghan has three days to maybe shape himself into someone fit for social interaction, and potentially do terribly at pottery. He remembers envisioning himself as one of those people who came out of divorces thriving, back when he was eighteen or nineteen. One of those glamorous divorceés that got the house and the car and the pool twink. Instead, he’s rooting around in his cardboard box of clothes, wondering if it’d be too embarrassing to do a quick Naver search on what to wear to a pottery class.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
Joshua, to his credit, holds himself back from looking too pleased with himself when he walks into Jeonghan’s apartment on Friday (Jeonghan should really change his password and locks), and Jeonghan’s wearing actual clothes. He even fished his hair iron out to style his bangs out of his face and tied the rest of his hair up into a bun.
“Should I get a perm?”
“No, you’ll look like an anemic sheep,” Joshua fires back immediately, rooting through Jeonghan’s shoe closet. “Are you wearing a jacket over that?”
“It’s May, Joshuji.” He gets tossed his favorite pair of Converse in lieu of a response, Joshua nodding to himself, because he gets some sort of superiority kick out of making sure Jeonghan knows he’s the one with experience in the fashion industry between the two of them. Whatever. Jeonghan still has videos of him in his guitar-and-eyeliner phase saved in his phone somewhere.
“Why can’t you drive,” he grumbles on the walk to the metro. It’s only a couple of stops away from his place, but still. They’re twenty nine, one of them should have a car and the ability to operate it.
“I’m too hot to die in a car accident,” is the dismissive answer, “and I can bother Seungkwannie if I really don’t want to put up with public transport.”
“ Huh . I forgot he got his license. My child can drive,” he mourns.
“Yes, well, you’ve been out of the country for six years, Jeonghan.” Jeonghan scowls at him. He doesn’t need the reminder, thanks.
Joshua visibly perks up once they trudge up the steps of the station and wander into a quiet section of Seoul, the sounds of Friday night traffic fading at he drags Jeonghan down one alley, then the next. He’s still wearing rings, which cannot be advisable for doing pottery, but Jeonghan will be extremely nice and not make fun of him for it.
The studio is on the first floor of a modest apartment complex, the outside decorated with warm fairy lights and some surprisingly thriving potted plants. There’s a simple illustration of a fluffy white dog on the sign, and Jeonghan can see people milling around a classroom through the floor to ceiling windows. It’s cute. Whimsical, even. The kind of place for bisexuals with dyed hair and therapy journals, and divorced freaks like Jeonghan who grew up watching Studio Ghibli films and develop emotional attachments to cute places.
Joshua tugs on his sleeve, leading the way inside. The door opens with a cheerful jingle. Jeonghan looks up to see the porcelain door bells shine under the soft overhead lighting. He’s willing to bet someone here made that, probably a kid, judging from the bunnies clumsily drawn on the surface. There are shelves on the sides of the entrance with pretty bowls and mugs displayed, and an impressive bird-shaped teapot.
It’s terribly cozy in here, in that way that’s already endearing the place to Jeonghan, who’s got his own collection of handmade trinkets bundled up in bubble wrap somewhere in his moving boxes. A voice rings out from another room.
“Joshua, hey! Ah, you brought your friend.”
Jeonghan turns his head back around to face the direction of the voice greeting the two of them, and wow . What the fuck. If Joshua weren’t subtly snickering at him, he might think he’s hallucinating the man weaving around the front desk and smiling shyly at the two of them.
The first thing he registers are the arms. It might be an insult to call them arms, actually. Jeonghan suddenly deeply understands Joshua’s dream of getting rear-choked by a hot man. What the fuck . He didn’t think biceps like that were allowed to exist.
The guy’s face might be even worse; it’s so ridiculously handsome Jeonghan wants to die. Long eyelashes, pretty mouth, the hint of dimples . Jeonghan’s ex wasn’t this pretty. He’s pretty sure nobody he’s ever met before has been this pretty. There’s a streak of clay drying in the guy’s blonde bangs. Jeonghan wants to do something stupid, like reach out and tug on the soft-looking hair.
“Hong Jisoo, you are terrible ,” he hisses in Joshua’s ear. Joshua gives him a winning smile, then waves at the guy of Jeonghan’s dreams. Innocent, and otherwise.
“Seungcheol, hey. Is Wonwoo around today?” Seungcheol nods, tilting his head in the direction of one of the doors.
“Mhm, he’s in the spare classroom. Testing some new clay we got in this morning,” he says. Joshua hums happily.
“I’ll go say hi before class starts. You two can get acquainted, in the meantime.” Joshua mouths a ‘ you’re welcome’ behind Seungcheol’s back before disappearing to, presumably, ogle his hot nerd. Jeonghan will remember to be the judge of that later, after he’s figured out if Seungcheol is real or not.
“Hi! I’m Seungcheol, I’ll be teaching the class later.” God fucking damnit. Jeonghan is friends with an evil mastermind who has somehow discovered his exact type in a pottery class instructor.
Come on, Yoon Jeonghan, you should still remember how to flirt and not stare at hot men like an idiot , he reminds himself. Men are still men, at the end of the day, and he’s had more than enough experience wrapping them around his finger. He’s too old to be embarrassing himself before even having a conversation, anyway.
“Hi, I’m Jeonghan,” he smiles, noting the way Seungcheol’s ears redden slightly when he shifts his shoulders and the loose collar on his shirt slides to reveal enough collarbone than he’d usually deem appropriate for an introduction.
“Seungcheol! Joshua said you’re here to try pottery out?”
“Mm. You’ll have to convince me it’s worth potentially ruining my shirt for.”
Seungcheol gestures at his apron. “These might help, and pottery is a super nice hobby to pick up, you’ll see,” he says. He’s cute when he’s clearly excited about something, the dimple in his cheek deepening.
Jeonghan gestures at the door chime. “Those are cute,” he says. Seungcheol’s eyes light up.
“Oh! Not a lot of people notice that. Our kids’ class made that, actually. I teach preschool to elementary schoolers on Monday nights.” Incredible. Jeonghan has the mental image of Seungcheol helping children paint little bunnies on a door chime to feel emotions over, now.
“Cute,” he repeats, smiling at Seungcheol again. “You know, Joshua probably could’ve convinced me to come here a lot more easily if he’d been smart and shown me a photo of you.”
Jeonghan feels inordinately smug at the way Seungcheol stutters for a response. “He’s usually too busy waxing poetic about the hot nerd making plates in another room, though,” he continues. Seungcheol’s lips part in an oh! of recognition.
“I knew something was going on, but Wonwoo’s been refusing to tell me anything, and I didn’t wanna ask Joshua in case it was rude, you know?” Jeonghan shrugs.
“Take it from me, Joshuji would like nothing more than to have another person to torture about his crushes. Maybe more so if you bring it up, ‘cause he can get information out of you to store in his evil mind palace.”
“...So you guys are really good friends, I’m guessing?”
“He’s been my best friend since university, so, yes. I’m gonna be stuck like a barnacle to him until one of us betrays the other by dying.”
Jeonghan doesn’t believe in talking like a normal person to new people he meets; it’s a good way to root out people he wouldn’t give the time of the day in the first place, and the last time he tried being normal was with one of his ex husband’s coworkers, so fuck that.
Seungcheol doesn’t look put off, so another win for him.
“That’s really cool, Wonwoo and I are sort of like that.” Jeonghan would also bet that his speech has been more than impacted by the classes he teaches with children. He edits manuscripts for a living— he can tell.
“How long have you two worked here?”
“I own this place, actually,” Seungcheol explains brightly, “The studio was sort of an impulsive thing after I quit my last job, and I got super lucky, so it all worked out. Thank god, because corporate was killing my will to live,” he laughs.
“Oh, nice. Relatable.”
Jeonghan actually enjoyed his job, before he quit to move back. There was just a lot of other shit happening that contributed to the feeling of having his soul drained away, but he’s not going to get into that. He’s not too sure how much Joshua’s told Seungcheol about the divorce, but he’s not going to press his luck if Seungcheol’s being nice by not saying anything. He’s aiming to be the mysterious pretty guy who’s here to let the hot instructor put his hands on Jeonghan’s body, or whatever it is that one does in pottery, not the unemployed pretty guy who’s here because his friend forced him to.
(He’s really both of those, at the moment, but Seungcheol doesn’t need to know that much about him)
The studio door opens behind them, and Seungcheol is swept away pretty quickly by the pair of housewives that bustle in, all there for the class, evidently. He sends Jeonghan an apologetic look over his shoulder before he’s swallowed into the new conversation, and fuck, Jeonghan’s already gone for him. This is so unfair. He is going to kill Joshua.
The class starts after a few more minutes, and Jeonghan discovers, to his mild amusement, that he’s every bit as terrible at pottery as he’d predicted. He’d done okay with measuring out his clay and tossing it (he’s a big fan of violently punching dirt), but then they’d started working with the pottery wheels, and it’d unravelled from there.
Joshua is doing incredible next to him, both at forming the clay on his wheel into the “simple ramen bowl” Seungcheol had said they were making in the start of class, and keeping up a lively conversation with the housewives sat next to them.
“Joshuji, I’m doing terrible,” Jeonghan giggles after ten minutes of grappling with his wheel. He can feel Seungcheol’s concerned gaze on him from where he’s directing a group of teenagers on the other side of the room.
“You’re having fun at least, kiddo,” Joshua replies scathingly, easily ducking the retaliatory swipe Jeonghan aims at him, then turns back to his intense discussion regarding one of the housewives’ pros and cons list for where to take her kids for summer break.
“Do you, ah, need any help? You look like you’re having a little trouble, if I’m being honest?” Jeonghan beams at Seungcheol’s unsure offer. His bowl resembles more of a deformed hunk of nothing, presently. He learned a good while ago that he can be trusted with Legos, and not much else.
“Oh, no, I’m having way too much fun. I’m just very, very not cut out for pottery, obviously. I don’t know if you could save this, honestly.”
“Well, there’s room for improvement,” Seungcheol says completely earnestly, “but I’m sure you’ll improve if you come back for more classes! Everyone has to start from somewhere.”
“Great self-promo, Seungcheol, I’ll think about it,” Jeonghan hums. Seungcheol ends up spending an extra ten minutes hovering by Jeonghan until his clay blob takes on at least the vague shape of a bowl. He looks genuinely apologetic by the end of the class when Jeonghan has to carry his monstrosity to sit with the rest of the decent looking bowls. Jeonghan wants to pat his head.
He doesn’t mind being the black sheep of the class, honestly, it has been the most fun he’s had, not that he’d admit it, and if one of his weaknesses being pottery means Seungcheol will look at him with sad cow eyes, it’s really not the worst thing that’s ever happened to Jeonghan.
“You look more torn up about this than I do, Cheol,” he laughs.
“I was hoping I could help you make it look a little better,” Seungcheol pouts.
“Nah, it’s perfect as it is. Maybe don’t put it in the kiln with the other, I’m pretty sure it’s gonna explode.” Jeonghan may or may not have gone down a pottery Instagram reel rabbithole the night before, so he knows stuff like what will explode in a kiln, and how glazing works, and what reduction firing is. It’s all much easier to watch from the comfort of his couch than it is to do. Seungcheol looks surprised for a moment, then laughs.
“I mean, probably. You’ll do better next time! Ah— if you decide pottery’s been worth your time?”
“Guess you’ll find out next Friday,” Jeonghan teases. He’s lying to himself, obviously he’ll be back. Not just because he promised Joshua, this time. Seungcheol keeps hovering while Jeonghan scrubs his fingernails clean of clay. He mentally reminds himself to steal hand cream out of Joshua’s purse later, looks up, and grins at the blush that spreads on Seungcheol’s face and ears when they make eye contact.
Jeonghan tilts his head, bangs falling prettily in his face. This is fun. He has something to be absolutely horrendous at and not have it be the end of the world, and someone who he can safely smile and preen at, revelling in the feeling of surface level attraction. Someone new, who Jeonghan can put on a flirty tone for and ignore the scar tissue around his heart, if only for a few hours.
Joshua returns from his housewife flock at that moment to thank Seungcheol for another class and loop his arm around Jeonghan’s. They’ve both said goodbye and walked out of the studio before Jeonghan remembers:
“ No , I didn’t get to see your hot nerd yet!” Joshua scoffs, and blushes. Oh , Jeonghan is never going to let this go. He hasn’t seen Joshua this worked up over a guy in years .
“Just as well, you’d have said something to embarrass me forever, and then I’d have to dig a hole to hide in for six months.”
“Just you wait, Joshuji, I’m totally gonna remember next week.”
“So you did enjoy pottery.”
“Shut the fuck up, that was because of the hot instructor you did not tell me about , asshole.”
“I’m still correct! Seungcheol was a fun little surprise to remind you that you should always listen to my advice.”
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
Jeonghan doesn't want to say that the pottery class and subsequent flirting forced him to actually start making his apartment look decent, but he’ll admit it probably helped.
He does almost start crying while putting together the IKEA bookshelves Seungkwan picked out with him last month, but by some miracle he figures out where all the screws go, and nobody except whatever ghost is in his walls witnesses his minor breakdown over the unhelpful instructions pamphlet. He’s a big believer in apartment ghosts— he still has fond memories of the lesbian ghosts haunting him and Seungkwan’s uni dorm.
Decorating the bare shelves is odd. Jeonghan knows, logically, that he’s only been in this apartment for a couple of months, and compared to the six years of convincing himself he was going to be happy in his old house forever, it’s not going to feel right. He just can’t shake the feeling that he’s building some kind of fucked up shrine to his past life, the reminders of the life he’d left behind in everything he pulls out of cardboard boxes that’d just started gathering dust.
The puzzles he’d picked up on vacations around Osaka, the bunny figurines he’d bought at a little corner store two blocks from his office, the couple of Lego sets his ex had bought him while they were still dating. He’s kind of tempted to throw those away, or donate them somewhere, but he’s treasured them for so long he knows it would feel like a betrayal. Of who, or what, Jeonghan’s not sure.
His clothes are less of a hassle to deal with, thankfully. He’d mostly snatched them directly from the shared closet back in his old house, hangers included, so it’s really only a matter of hanging them up. He’d picked out these hangers, and they’re the nice ones as well, wood and stainless steel. His ex can deal with not having as many fucking hangers.
He tosses his balled-up socks into a drawer at random, scowls when he sees one of his ex’s boring gray socks that’d somehow ended up with his own animal-patterned ones, contemplates burning it, then flops down on his couch to order lunch. Kimchi jjigae, again, because Jeonghan is predictable and half of his favorite restaurants from when he last lived in Seoul have closed, or changed their names. Incredible, how returning home also means coming face to face with what’s been lost over the years.
A rapid series of ding s from his phone interrupts Jeonghan’s thoughts. Hyung, are you free tomorrow to get brunch with me and Joshua hyung? Actually, I know you’re free. I’ll text you the address! Ah, Seungkwan. Jeonghan almost thinks that he probably checked the Google Calendar he, Joshua, and Seungkwan have shared with each other, but then he remembers he’s unemployed and have been texting Seungkwan at basically all hours about how he’s been doing nothing.
Also, please can you text Kwon Soonyoung back so he’ll stop badgering me about whether you’re alive or not? I’m going to develop an actual phobia to tigers if he keeps sending me tiger tiktoks in between asking about you .
Jeonghan is the only person in their friend group who doesn’t mind Soonyoung’s tiger thing, but he hasn’t been responding to him for reasons including, but not limited to, paranoia about letting Soonyoung down with the utter disappointment of a hyung Jeonghan’s become, fear that Soonyoung is going to call him and tell him he’s not a disappointment, to which Jeonghan will have to walk into traffic over how undeserved his dongsaengs’ continued trust in him is. It’s ridiculous, how insurmountable the act of simply coming up with how to answer Soonyoung’s perfectly reasonable question of so, what have you been doing lately, hyung? is.
Actually, he has the pottery class to talk about now. Jeonghan has no problem with deflecting questions about himself to talk about the hot guy at pottery class. God, is he turning into Joshua?
will do, seungkwannie , he texts back, is this about a new boyfriend or something?
how do you always manage to guess this stuff, yoon jeonghan , Seungkwan complains, adding a grumpy bear sticker. Jeonghan giggles a little to himself.
ㅋㅋㅋ see you soon . His food arrives as he’s reacting with a bug emoji to Soonyoung’s latest text about the newest group of kids he’s teaching in his dance academy, and asking him if he wants to hear about the pottery class he just took.
It’s the most productive day he’s had in a while (two months, two weeks, and six days), and even if his chest still feels like it’s been run over by a truck at the end of his impromptu two-hour text conversation with Soonyoung, it’s a good day. The sun is setting by the time Jeonghan’s done dragging the last of his recycling down to the garbage room of the complex, and he’s not too tired to not appreciate the view of pink and gold clouds from his front door. The view had been a big selling point for him when Joshua was helping him find a flat on short-notice, he just hasn’t looked outside enough to care.
He sends an appropriate number of hearts to Soonyoung’s love you, hyung . Deals with his feelings like any adult and has a cry in the shower about it. Puts on a face mask right after, because Seungkwan does not play about posting brunch photos on Instagram, and to hell if Jeonghan’s gonna be gross and puffy for Boo Seungkwan’s biweekly brunch updates.
Jeonghan gets to brunch early, just to be a menace. Joshua, ever unwilling to give Jeonghan a good reaction, merely raises an eyebrow when he gets to their table and find Jeonghan already ordering coffee. He pipes in with his own order of some odd combination of mint and fruit in a latte of all the things, and informs Jeonghan that he promised Seungkwan they’d be nice and not scare off the guy he was bringing along.
Jeonghan still thinks it’s hilarious that his two closest friends have both said to him on multiple, separate occasions that they weren’t allowed to scare off a new boyfriend being inducted into brunch. Very few new boyfriends have survived brunch unscathed. If he thinks about it too hard, it might’ve been a sign that his own ex husband had been thoroughly baffled by brunch and never asked to tag along again. Ah, well. Too late to think about that now.
He entertains the idea of Seungcheol at brunch for about three seconds, then resists the urge to smack himself over the head. Now is not the time for that.
Seungkwan looks a mix of offended and bemused when he sees both Joshua and Jeonghan waving him over (he’s usually the most punctual out of the three of them), but visibly decides to not say anything in favor of tugging the guy he’s holding hands with over to their table.
“This is Hansol,” Seungkwan starts without preamble, “Hansol, Joshua hyung and Jeonghan hyung. Ignore most of what they say to you.”
Hansol, for his part, pulls Seungkwan’s chair out for him and lets him fuss with his hair before greeting Jeonghan and Joshua politely. Jeonghan likes the kid already. He can tell Seungkwan told him to dress up for this, judging from the way he’s fiddling with the cardigan Seungkwan probably fished out of his own closet. It’s cute. Seungkwan deserves someone who will dress up for him, so Jeonghan approves.
They learn some important facts while the food arrives, like how Hansol was born in America (to Joshua’s delight), and works as a producer, and how they met (chance meeting in the cafe they’re both regulars at where Hansol had paid for Seungkwan’s drink because his wallet had fallen out of his bag on the street outside).
It’s all very cute and rom-com, and Jeonghan is happy that his friend has found someone who looks genuinely caring and attentive around his needs, handing Seungkwan napkins wordlessly and adding his own witty anecdotes to Joshua’s fervent rant about the social media team at his work. Which is how he really cannot explain why he has to excuse himself halfway through the meal to go splash water on his face in the overly-perfumed bathroom and will himself not to scream into the toilet bowl. Also, who uses hot pink and gold for a bathroom sink?
He’s learned to recognize the wash of shame that overtakes him a couple of times a year, penance for all the ways he’s broken the promise they made to not drift apart. Jeonghan has lost friends before, even family members, but it’s different for people like Seungkwan. They’ve been each other’s rocks for long enough that Jeonghan thinks he’d die if he ever actually let himself fall out of orbit with him.
Shame had quickly sharpened to regret on his first week back, when he’d gotten picked up by Seungkwan and Joshua and realized over the course of the car ride to Seungkwan’s place that he had a million things he didn’t recognize about them. Things that’d slipped through their video calls and texts, like Seungkwan switching to a new perfume and dyeing his hair.
He’d been more or less caught up by the time he’d moved into his apartment, but Jeonghan was supposed to know all of it already, not learn everything six months late because he forgot to keep up with videocalling in the middle of his marriage imploding.
It feels even more unfair for him to not be able to sit through a regular brunch now, and be normal and present for his best friends. He should do that much, at least, and not be talking himself through his remaining guilt in a toilet.
Seungkwan, devastatingly, is the one to walk in to check on him after he’s spent probably-definitely too long sitting on a toilet lid. Jeonghan can handle Joshua, but he’s notoriously weak for Seungkwan’s requests. The six years of feeling guilty over not being there for his friend’s post-grad life has not helped in the slightest.
“Hyung, you okay?”
Jeonghan squeezes his eyes shut to get rid of the tell-tale stinging, abruptly grateful for his long hair covering most of his face. “Yeah, just needed a moment, Seungkwan-ah. Hyung’s not as used to socializing for this long anymore,” he says with a weak laugh.
Seungkwan’s silence is enough to tell him he doesn’t believe Jeonghan for a second. “Is it Hansol? I really hope it’s not, ‘cause you looked like you really liked him, but—”
“No, Seungkwan-ah, Hansol is fine. Great. I can tell he’s really good for you, that’s not— that’s not what I’m upset about.”
“Do you wanna talk about it?”
“Here? Now?”
“Hansol’s telling Shua hyung about his opinions on the Shrek movies, so we have a little time. They’re both crazy about animated movies, it turns out. This weird bathroom is as good a place as any.” Seungkwan smiles crookedly, “It fits your vibe.”
Jeonghan sniffles. Ugh, he’s going to cry again. In the weird brunch restaurant bathroom at eleven thirty in the morning, no less. “It’s really nothing to do with any of you, Kwan-ah, I’m just being miserable because I thought I’d be more mature about this than I actually am.”
“ This being…?” Jeonghan huffs.
“I don’t even know,” he sighs, “Whatever the hell you think it is that’s wrong with me. The divorce, the running away, the wasting away in my apartment like an unsexy vampire. Take your pick. Or don’t, actually, you might end up like me.”
Seungkwan is silent for a beat, and then there are soft hands brushing Jeonghan’s hair out of his face and tucking his bangs behind his ears. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you, hyung, and I think you’ve just been handling it as best as any of us would,” he says seriously. Jeonghan wipes the moisture from his eyes.
“You might be a little right about the unsexy vampire bit,” Seungkwan continues, and he joins in with Jeonghan’s ugly fucking cackle at how matter-of-fact his tone is. Jeonghan really hopes nobody walks in on them in the next five minutes; they’re not fit for being in public at all.
“I’ve been terrible about keeping up with the skincare routine you forced me into,” Jeonghan admits. Seungkwan snorts lightly.
“Yeah, I could tell,” he smiles, “But you make it work. Plus, you just uprooted your whole life, hyung, I think you’re excused.”
He hands Jeonghan a roll of toilet paper to pat his face dry with, kicking him when Jeonghan blows his nose obnoxiously loudly. “Feel better?”
Jeonghan considers it. He doesn’t feel like drowning himself in the toilet bowl, which he supposes constitutes as “better.” He’ll take it. Seungkwan looks more than relieved when Jeonghan nods and pulls him in for a wordless hug. He smells a little bit like cologne, which Jeonghan will tease him for later.
“Okay. Can I please scare your boyfriend a little bit now? For fun?” Seungkwan makes a face at him and drags him out of the bathroom by the elbow. Jeonghan is going to take that as permission. He’s not going to really try, because he’s fine with Hansol sticking around, but come on. This is enrichment for him.
Joshua gives him a look when they get back to the table that tells Jeonghan that he doesn’t believe his lie about the line for the bathroom being long, but thankfully stays silent, probably for Hansol’s sake. Jeonghan feels his hand reach under the table to give Jeonghan’s leg a squeeze— his own way of asking you okay?
He nods wordlessly when Hansol looks away to watch Seungkwan jump into a rant about a parent in his class. Joshua’s hand stays on his leg for the rest of brunch, an anchor point for the remaining uncertainty drifting through him.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
Jeonghan keeps showing up to pottery. It’s, entirely unintentionally, become the most consistent thing in Jeonghan’s schedule. He’s still waiting to hear back from the couple of publishing companies he applied to, and both his friends are dealing with busy periods in their respective jobs right now, so really it’s just Jeonghan shuffling around the house reading so he can tell himself he’s not being a complete waste of space, and counting down the days to Friday.
Much to Seungcheol’s despair, and Jeonghan’s growing amusement, his pottery skills remain abysmal. He thinks he could probably improve if he actually put in a little more effort, but Joshua inducted him into the housewife gossip circle, and it’s more fun to listen to domestic complaints and watch Seungcheol try not to squawk at Jeonghan’s monstrosities.
Joshua calls every creation he births his clay children, albeit with the same inflection as you would saying “bridge troll.” Jeonghan thinks Seungcheol takes more offense to the name than he does; Jeonghan is perfectly happy with decorating his windowsills with his clay children, but Seungcheol’s still desperate to prove to Jeonghan that he is capable of making something usable. He told Jeonghan his birthday was in August last Friday, which figures. Leos and their complexes.
He’s still desperately hot. Jeonghan (and more than a few of the housewives) spends a good chunk of the class ogling Seungcheol’s biceps while he moves around bags of clay. He didn’t think he’d actually fall for the whole “sexy pottery guy using his fingers” thing, but there’s a reason it works.
Joshua nods along to Jeonghan’s whispered, empathetic comments about how men shouldn’t actually have arms that look like that, because he’s not blind, but he doesn’t engage with it as much as he usually would, on account of the hot nerd guy. Who, suspiciously, Jeonghan still hasn’t met. He wouldn’t put it past Joshua to convince the guy not to show up on Fridays, if he exists at all. Maybe he can find Seungcheol’s Instagram and stalk it; he seems like the kind of guy to post dorky photos of his friends.
“I want to say it’s a good sign your obsessive freak tendencies are showing up again,” Seungkwan sighs over the phone when Jeonghan calls him to demand if he has any information of Joshua’s crush, “but then again, your problems mostly stem from your obsessive freak tendencies.”
Jeonghan can hear a synth beat thumping in the background of Seungkwan’s end— he’s been hanging out in Hansol’s studio after work lately. “Anyways, hyung, I don’t have anything on Shua hyung’s hot nerd, or whatever. He tells you about his boyfriends before he tells me, you know that.”
Ugh. His dongsaengs and their annoyingly perceptive personalities. Unfortunately they probably all got it from him. Jeonghan might just visit the studio on other days of the week to satisfy his curiosity, but he registers the dumb amount of effort that would require. Maybe Seungkwan has a point. Whatever.
Joshua isn’t all powerful; he’ll slip up one of these days, and then Jeonghan will have ammunition for at least six months. More, if the guy isn’t real. He knows Seungcheol acknowledged his existence, but maybe Joshua bribed Seungcheol as well! You never know!
Friday rolls around again on a rainy morning; the streets are still stiflingly humid by the time Jeonghan trudges out of the metro and through the short length from the station to the studio. The air conditioning is cool against his slightly sticky face, and he hastily wipes the sweat off the bridge of his nose with a jacket sleeve.
Seungcheol promptly appears in the doorway, face lighting up when he sees Jeonghan shrugging out of his jacket and tying it around his waist. He’s learned to start wearing old shirts that he doesn’t mind wiping his fingertips on, so the class has seen most of Jeonghan’s collections of shirts teetering between outdoors clothes and pajamas.
“You’re back!” Jeonghan smiles back at Seungcheol.
“I am,” he agrees, “although I don’t think that’s as much of a surprise as it was two weeks ago, Cheol.”
“It’s not, I’m just glad to see you,” is the casual reply. Jeonghan is genuinely startled by that for a split second, but he pulls himself together.
“Glad to see you too,” he returns, feeling his face soften into another smile, affection curling around his throat.
That’s the other thing: Jeonghan feels himself toeing the line between harmless appreciation of an objectively hot person, and the beginnings of an actual crush. Jeonghan’s not allowing himself to have crushes right now.
He’s supposed to go through five-to-ten years of not believing in romance ever again, before maybe, maybe opening himself up again. He will not let himself get a crush over some guy in a pottery studio who directs his fucking cow eyes at Jeonghan every time he walks into the studio and tells him in a horrifyingly genuine voice that he’s glad to see Jeonghan and easily offers up silly facts about himself like his teenage ambition to become a rapper, and desperately wants to help Jeonghan get better at making tableware. It’s not realistic, it doesn’t make sense, and besides, Seungcheol doesn’t know enough about Jeonghan to ever like him back, because Jeonghan won’t let him. He’s not interesting or endearing like Seungcheol is, he’s just. Him.
“So, I was thinking we could lower the difficulty level for you this week, and start from somewhere more.. suitable,” Seungcheol starts casually. It’s really obvious he’s rehearsed this. Jeonghan is so charmed.
“Don’t you trust me, Cheol?” Seungcheol frowns at him, big brown eyes shining sincerely.
“Your last five projects all ended up as basically blobs of wet clay, and I want you to see improvement, you know? Something to show you’ve succeeded at something,” he says seriously.
Jeonghan wants to tease, or brush it off, but somehow, Seungcheol’s hitting all his weaknesses here. More than anything, he loves people who care about something with everything they have— it’s why he’s stuck so close to Joshua, bickering included in the hundred different ways they love each other.
“Fine, I will let you make me good at pottery,” he acquiesces, giggling at how surprised Seungcheol looks. Another win for the tried and true tactic of keeping people on their toes around him.
“Oh! That’s great! Um, I will show you how to start when everyone else gets here for class,” he rambles, “And this is like, foolproof, ‘cause my kids’ class hasn’t failed, and they’re so bad at listening to my instructions. I love half the kids, but wow .”
“Aw, are you comparing me to your elementary schoolers, Cheollie?” Jeonghan grins. Seungcheol’s mouth drops open a little in horror.
“ No , god, that was a really bad way to phrase it, I’m sorry, it’s just the first thing that—”
“It’s fine, it’s fine, I know what you mean,” Jeonghan soothes, patting his arm. If his hand lingers on the muscle there, Seungcheol’s too flustered to notice.
“Wow, way to put my foot in my mouth,” Seungcheol sighs, “I’m usually better at conversation than this, I swear.”
“Mm, I’m sure all your dates are charmed by you.” What the fuck is he even saying .
Seungcheol laughs nervously, ruffling his hair in what Jeonghan now knows is a habit when he’s flustered. “Ah, well, I haven’t really been on many dates recently, so I couldn’t tell you for sure.”
“Me either,” Jeonghan says ruefully. Seungcheol hums like he understands, and then Joshua breezes through the door to save Jeonghan from his big fat mouth.
Jeonghan clutches onto Joshua’s arm as they enter the classroom, just to make sure he doesn’t look back at Seungcheol and say something equally stupid.
“So, I just found out Seungcheol’s been single for a while,” he says. Joshua gives him a sharp look.
“Tell me you didn’t march in here and ask him about that unprompted.”
“Not exactly ,” Jeonghan says, feeling insane.
Joshua sighs entirely too dramatically. “Good, because first of all, I could’ve told you that. He’s too much of a romantic to not immediately start telling people about whoever he’s seeing. And secondly, why the hell do you want to know? As far as I recall, you described him as cute eye candy last week, not, y’know, date material. I approve, though.”
“Who said I want to date him?”
“You’ve dug up stalkery lists and timelines of information on all of your exes,” Joshua explains, “it’s like your mating ritual.”
Jeonghan scoffs, even though there’s definitely some entries in his notes app confirming Joshua’s observation. “Whatever. I’m not looking to date right now, anyways.”
“Why not?” Jeonghan stares at Joshua. Joshua blinks back, unmoving.
“Come on, Joshuji, you know why.”
“You know, the thing about divorces is that you don’t have to keep being tied down to losers who never appreciated you enough. Legally, and emotionally. You don’t owe him anything.”
“I know ,” Jeonghan makes a face, “And that’s not the reason. I don’t care about him , it’s just. I don’t know if I’m ready to go through the whole process of dating again. It’d be exhausting right now.”
Joshua looks dubious, but pats his shoulder. “If you’re sure. And for the record, if you feel ready in the future, Seungcheol is kinda the perfect person for you.”
Jeonghan doesn't have time to protest before Seungcheol ducks through the door, and the class starts. He's so busy ruminating over the note of sincerity in Joshua's voice that he jumps when Seungcheol taps him from behind him, holding up a lump of clay.
“I was thinking you could start with just shaping this with your hands,” he explains, “we're making jewelry holders today, and they don't necessarily need to be symmetrical to be usable. Just form a rough disc shape.” He carefully takes Jeonghan's hands in his own and mimics a general shaping motion, and Jeonghan, predictably, gets distracted with how steady his hands feel, the calluses from what he suspects is time spent in the gym warm over his own bony knuckles.
“Oh, sorry, I didn't really ask if it was okay to touch you,” Seungcheol apologizes hastily, and Jeonghan feels himself reach out to catch his wrist before he can pull away.
“No, I don’t mind. This is, ah, helpful,” he says. The barest trace of innuendo hovers between them, coloring Seungcheol's cheeks again, and making Jeonghan duck his head, just for a moment.
Honestly, he really shouldn't be folding easily over some guy's hands and a few flirty words. Joshua is looking more suspicious by the second, and Jeonghan refuses to be wrong about his convictions. he needs to get it together.
Seungcheol ends up being right, though, at least about the pottery. Jeonghan’s able to keep up with the usual buzz of conversation flowing through the small classroom, and without the need to pay attention to hand-to-eye coordination, the clay in his hands doesn't resemble a dog turd as much as his last couple attempts have been. It looks kind of like the odd art pieces Seungkwan sent him from an art museum three days ago. Apparently Hansol is very into art museums.
He finds himself grinning back at Seungcheol's delighted smile over his first actual success, and holds it up for the rest of the class to see. The housewives, used to Jeonghan by now, give him giggly noises of encouragement. The teenagers offer him high fives. He paints it blue, and after a moment of deliberation, adds dumb googly eyes, because it makes Joshua snort and Seungcheol laugh.
Jeonghan hangs back after class, curious. Seungcheol hums along to the soft jazz playing from a speaker somewhere while he carefully transfers each completed project onto a board. He handles each completed project with the same level of care, pursing his lips as he spaces them evenly.
“You really care about your classes, huh?” Jeonghan smiles. Seungcheol jumps, and looks up, relaxing when he sees Jeonghan leaning against the edge of one of the display tables. Jeonghan runs a finger across the little animal figurines beside him, the clumsy fingerprints and lopsided eyes evidence of kids’ fingers shaping the clay into their best attempt at a tiger. Soonyoung would love them.
Seungcheol runs a hand through his bangs, slightly more grown out than they’d been since Jeonghan first walked into the studio, so it falls into his eyes as he speaks. “Yeah, well, this place has been my baby since I managed to set it up and find students,” Seungcheol replies, exhaling and picking up the board to slide into place on one of the metal shelves. “I’ve known most of my classes for years, even the kids.”
“All my friends thought I was insane for throwing away a business degree and stable job to take over a pottery studio— I was supposed to be the oldest and the one who set a good example. It worked out, though. I mean, I only met Wonwoo because he stumbled in here five years ago looking like shit ‘cause he was in the middle of writing his master’s thesis and wanted to find something non-science related to do,” Seungcheol explains. Jeonghan huffs a laugh through his nose.
“I still haven’t seen any evidence that he’s real.” Seungcheol rolls his eyes lightheartedly, pulling out his phone from his back pocket.
“I don’t take photos that often, that’s actually Mingyu’s job, but— here, this is from his birthday last year. The guy in glasses.” He holds out his phone, and Jeonghan squints. There’s four people in the photo: Seungcheol, hair dark and permed ( cute , ugh), Wonwoo, eyes crinkled in a wide smile behind dorky glasses, a handsome, tanned guy with a sharp smile, and—
“What the fuck, is that Hansol ?” Jeonghan zooms into the photo, and yeah, he knows that blank expression from Seungkwan’s Instagram stories with his boyfriend. Seungcheol gapes.
“How do you know Hansol?”
“He’s dating one of my best friends, but that’s old news. I guess Joshua was right about the hot nerd thing, though. Usually he gives me unrealistic expectations and then his boyfriend lets me down, but guess not this time.”
“... I feel like I should defend Wonwoo’s honor, but it’s like talking about whether my brother is attractive, so I’ll pass. Since when was Hansol old news ?”
Jeonghan shrugs. “I met him, I like him, and Seungkwannie gives him dumb heart eyes behind the camera when I video call him. That’s all I need to know for now.”
Seungkwan would accuse Jeonghan of being a lot nosier than that, but over the years he’s reached an understanding with him. Jeonghan likes to prod, yes, but he’s also got the type of personality to yearn for reliability. The reassurance of some fixed truths about his life. Seungkwan-and-Hansol have quickly become one of those truths, and Jeonghan is content with observing.
He’s never had any illusions about his specific way of caring. Jeonghan isn’t like Seungkwan, who dives and chases and opens his heart to whoever he’s chasing, or Soonyoung, who burns as bright as he can and waits for someone who can withstand everything he has and come out still loving him.
Jeonghan shuts himself up in his head and mulls for weeks and months, creating each stepping stone ahead of time so he never has to fear the freefall that so often comes with love. He likes the wind in his hair, yes, but at the end of the day he needs solid earth to curl up on, not the edge of a cliff.
Seungcheol seems content to let them sit in the silence following Jeonghan’s assertion, wiping down his hands with a rag after rinsing them off in the sink. Jeonghan sinks into one of the squeaky stools they’d been perched on during class, the leather cover cracked and dotted with beige patches of dried slip. Seungcheol’s as thorough with cleaning himself up as he was with every other aspect of the class, hanging up the damp washcloths and folding his green apron carefully.
Jeonghan’s not entirely sure why he’s reluctant to leave today. Joshua had to run right after to change for a fancy dinner with some potential clients. Maybe it’s just the lingering humidity he felt while everyone else was leaving, and the promise of another mildly uncomfortable walk home.
He really should get home. Jeonghan starts at his new position at one of the publishing houses he applied to, the one he knew he’d get, just from how much experience he has. It’s not at the level he’d worked up to in Osaka, but Jeonghan didn’t mind. He’d been casually browsing listings back in Seoul for months before everything went to shit. The first sign of the fall.
Either way, he’s got documents to review already; accounts and new contacts to set up so he’s not swamped immediately. Jeonghan still remembers how to be a functioning member of society, even if he dutifully watches the anti-capitalist video essays Seungkwan sends him when either of them have had a Day of fighting bureaucracy bullshit.
Maybe it’s the week he just had, the isolation of it all. Finding out he got the job alone, cooking meals and sitting at his overly neat dining table, because there’s only so much clutter he can make. Five more days of waking up to the sound of his own breathing. It has to be some violation of physics, how a room can shrink so much he feels like the walls will close in and encase his chest, a drywall covered body in the center of the queen sized bed.
“So, I was thinking,” Seungcheol starts, jerking Jeonghan out of his dark musing. “We have this group chat for the class so I can update everyone on how their projects are doing after we fire them.”
Jeonghan knows vaguely of the group chat, but he hasn’t joined it because he hasn’t made something that can be put in a kiln without exploding until this week, and also because he hates most group chats. There’s always too much going on at a rate he simply doesn’t have the energy for. He has one group chat, with all of his close friends, and he’s fine with popping in every two weeks to briefly terrorize them with deep sea creature trivia.
“But I know you don’t like group chats—”
“How do you know that?” It comes out a touch more incredulous than Jeonghan intended, but he generally doesn’t give out that much information about himself unless he’s consciously getting to know someone, and getting to know Seungcheol further at this point will lead to paths he’s not ready for.
“Oh, you said so a couple lessons ago,” Seungcheol supplies promptly, “You and Joshua were talking about his work group, I think?”
Huh. Jeonghan barely remembers that himself, but he had made an offhand comment about the annoyance that was coworker group chats. Microsoft Teams can go fuck itself.
“But yeah, I know you’d probably not be a fan of joining the group chat, even though you have your own project to get updates on now,” and here Seungcheol grins a little, obviously proud of himself, “but maybe you could give me your number, and I could text you directly?”
It’s the most unassuming way a guy has asked Jeonghan for his number. Maybe this is the end of the road for him, he thinks absently, hot guys are asking him for his number to text him about pottery instead of meeting up in some shitty bar in Itaewon.
Actually, Jeonghan reasons, this is an upgrade from his college days of picking up guys in shitty Itaewon bars. He can be optimistic, at least when he wants to.
“Okay,” he says simply, reaching a hand out for Seungcheol’s phone. Seungcheol fumbles with it a little, his hands suddenly lacking the dexterity he had earlier during class. Jeonghan swallows a giggle, and punches his number into Seungcheol’s phone, saving himself as an angel emoji. All his friends refuse to use that emoji for him, tragically, but Seungcheol doesn’t know that.
Seungcheol looks unreasonably pleased when Jeonghan hands him back his phone. He can almost envision a tail wagging behind him.
“I’ll be waiting, so don’t ghost me when I ask about my horrible clay child, okay?”
“It’s a jewelry holder .”
“It’s my clay child , and I care deeply about his survival,” Jeonghan says.
“Fine, I will text you about the survival status of your child,” Seungcheol sighs, amusement clear in his tone. In the same moment, his stomach rumbles. Loudly. Jeonghan tilts his head.
“Have you eaten?” Seungcheol chews his bottom lip.
“Ah, no, I was at the gym right before this, and I didn’t really have time?”
“It’s almost nine, Cheollie, you should eat,” Jeonghan frowns, looking down at the time on his phone. “I’m gonna go now, so you can get home quickly, and eat , okay?”
He doesn’t give Seungcheol a chance to reply, standing up from his seat and slipping his phone in his pocket. He needed an excuse to leave, anyway. Exit the space before he starts giving himself ideas. Seungcheol returns his wave goodbye limply, still standing where he was by the table. Jeonghan forces his feet to move toward the door. He will not stare for an awkwardly long moment, even if Seungcheol is smiling at him dorkily, and at this angle Jeonghan can see his dimple clearly.
He gets home after a blur of summer evening heat and fluorescent metro lights. Takes a long shower to wash the day, and also his own traitorous feelings away. He even bothers to go through the whole routine Seungkwan schemed up for him, squinting at the ordered list scribbled on an orange post-it note in his bathroom cabinet.
There’s a text notification waiting in his phone when he gets out of the shower from and unknown number. dinner, featuring kkuma . Smiley face. There’s a photo attached.
Jeonghan sinks down onto the couch before clicking on the notification. It’s a selca of Seungcheol, holding up a burger and half smiling for the camera, dimple once again visible. A fluffy white dog, the same one on the sign outside the studio, is half visible in the bottom of the photo, blurry from trying to lick Seungcheol’s phone.
Jeonghan regrets everything, actually. He’s not built to withstand sweet selfies and emojis and Seungcheol, who pays enough attention to him to remember his conversations from weeks ago and has dimples and strong arms and a dog . Fuck his stupid fucking life.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
The clay child survives. Seungcheol evens packs it nicely into a little box and puts a bow on it so Jeonghan can safely take it home to add to his collection of horrendous little trinkets, and if Jeonghan keeps the box and ribbon, nobody has to know but himself. Joshua probably suspects, but they’re in a mutually assured silence period. Jeonghan will refrain from giving him shit about Wonwoo, and vice versa.
Notably, they keep texting. Jeonghan could deny it to himself, but unfortunately he doesn’t actually mind the fact that he’s texting Seungcheol whenever he’s free, and telling him everything he can think of. It’s terrible, and he’s unexpectedly grateful to his new job for keeping him from seeming as insane as he feels. Employment means it takes him a couple of weeks to spill a disturbing amount about himself, his life, and his scattered list of interests, instead of three days.
Seungcheol finds out a lot of things about Jeonghan, like how he’s been working in publishing since he graduated uni, and how much he likes reading Agatha Christie, and how he has a years-long obsession with building Lego sets. His opinions on Google Docs and early 2000s indie rock. How he recently moved back from Osaka, after six years there. How much he genuinely misses the home he’d built there, despite being happy to be home.
Seungcheol finds out a lot of things about Jeonghan, but he doesn’t find out about his ex-husband, or the mess of the last couple of months of his life. Schrödinger’s box of issues that Jeonghan will continue to ignore for as long as he possibly can.
In return, he gets more photos. Seungcheol sends him photos of what the kids he teaches are working on, late-night texts with Kkuma curled up on his chest, and the occasional update confirming Jeonghan’s latest projects have survived firing. He’s still effectively banished from the wheel, but he thinks he might actually be improving. Seungcheol’s a good texter— replies to all of Jeonghan’s unfiltered thoughts sincerely, cracks stupid jokes that make Jeonghan smile regardless, always sends a ‘good night~’ if they end up talking late into the night.
“He’s not as put together as I thought,” he announces to Joshua during a wine night, scrolling idly through their chat history. Seungcheol lapses into late dinners and gaming late into the night every couple of days, which Jeonghan naturally scolds him about whilst staunchly ignoring his own nocturnal habits. He’s always vaguely pleased after noticing Seungcheol’s dark circles have faded a little, or that he just sends Jeonghan photos of his dinners now.
“You did always like them malleable,” Joshua agrees, putting his feet in Jeonghan’s lap. He gestures meaningfully in the air between them. “You know, the ones who are kind of messy or pathetic and let you tell them what to do. Bonus points if they’re built.”
Well, damn. He can’t even argue with that.
Jeonghan’s not evasive enough to deny that they’re friends now, but he knows the fuzzy warmth that makes itself known in the pit of his stomach and around his ribcage isn’t something he associates entirely with friendship. Seungcheol never comments on the moments where their conversations, both in texts and during pockets of free time during classes, dip into flirty territory. Like that one night Jeonghan read a romance novel in one sitting and, annoyed at how clichéd it ended up being, spent two hours ripping it apart in their texts, and Seungcheol made some fucking comment about how he could do better. They blamed it on the late hour the next day, but god .
If Jeonghan were more well-adjusted, he’d probably figure some boundaries out, and either keep their interactions to surface level teasing that he doesn’t spend hours turning over in his head, or stop altogether.
It ends up just being a thing. The most important part of Jeonghan's week is his pottery class, and the only new person he gets to know is some guy who bleeds affection and looks at Jeonghan like he's something brand new.
Notes:
ahaha can you tell I like writing slow burn and the horrifying experience of being known and loved
also one of my friends had an absolutely evil idea about who jh's ex is and I'm still debating whether to listen to her or not
next chapter coming sometime in the future? I have some other ideas brewing but dw this is fully outlined! oh and I forgot last time but if you want to talk to me I'm on tumblr
kudos and comments are appreciated as always!
Chapter 2
Notes:
this took me like a million years oh my god thank you for everyone who took the time to comment on chapter one it means the world!!
anyways we are finally back after yoon jeonghan fought me every step of the way and I had to redo my entire outline twice :/ btw blame the rating change on choi seungcheol being a whore in his unit photoshoot while I was writing... cxm indeed..
special thanks to zu and chi bc this chapter would not have been written without your support <3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Jeonghan’s whole complex surrounding the divorce was— is that he assumed he’d be smart enough to see it coming.
Smart, perceptive, dependable, the person to go to for advice. Up until the point of implosion, he’d built the foundation of all his relationships around those descriptors, always trusting them to be immovable fact. He’d not too sure where it came from; Jeonghan didn’t have any problems not necessarily being superior academically. Maybe it spawned from his place as the oldest of their group, the way he’s always been able to absorb information like a sponge, his long track record of being right about people. Call it intuition, or experience.
He was right about Minghao, when they met.
They worked together in the blink of an eye— Jeonghan was fascinated with the beautiful exchange student who made him tea in his dorm and smelled like flowers and met his gaze with intelligent, piercing eyes. Minghao liked that he could pull out the privately soft sides of Jeonghan; Jeonghan liked that Minghao was a puzzle only he could solve.
They were good for so long. Moving together in junior year, dominating the trivia nights Seungkwan hosted, filling up a kitchen with reminders of their life. Minghao proposing with ink smeared down his forearm and all over the ring at two in the morning when Jeonghan came to tug him away from his latest painting and into bed. The delighted game of concealing their engagement for as long as possible, the intimacy of being part of the magnificent secret of them.
Soonyoung called them his role models, a couple months before the move to Japan for Jeonghan’s publishing job and Minghao’s offer from an art gallery. “You two fit so well it’s scary,” he’d sighed, “like, none of us will ever get close to this, you know? You’re psychically connected or something.”
Role models. The perfect couple, fitting together like two puzzle pieces in the five-thousand-piece Monet they put together in six sleepless hours, Jeonghan in charge of the side pieces and Minghao assembling the center from memory. Jeonghan still has that framed puzzle in his apartment, tucked in the back of his closet so he can walk around without a part of his heart snagging on that stupid puzzle like a rotting fish on a hook.
Looking back, he can pinpoint the exact moment they stopped being the role model couple among their friends— Chuseok, two years ago.
A three day trip back to Seoul, with the two of them crashing at Joshua’s place, except they had some stupid fucking fight right before leaving for the airport. The usual— god, Jeonghan didn’t even realize they'd fought enough at that point for it to be normal— argument about Minghao staying for hours at the gallery, Jeonghan’s habit of holding drawn-out grudges, the holiday they’d been supposed to go on together and ended up working through, Minghao’s intense dislike for the way Jeonghan took to passive-aggressively collecting trinkets, et-fucking-cetera.
It’d only gotten worse once they got there, aggravated by Jeonghan’s paranoia that their friends could tell how fucking angry the two of them were, and frustration at why they were incapable of just figuring their shit out. Months of barbed silence erupted into an hour-long shouting match in Joshua’s living room while everyone else was out grocery shopping for dinner.
Jeonghan still remembers the look on Seungkwan’s face when he walked in to Minghao dissolving into furious Mandarin and Jeonghan snapping back with more venom than he’d mustered for anyone in years, neither of them noticing the tear tracks on their faces. He went to bed that night with Minghao stiff and unwelcoming next to him, and promised to himself he’d never be the cause of that specific expression of distress on Seungkwan’s face ever again.
He broke that promise, of course.
The thing is, Jeonghan isn’t stubborn, doesn’t have the instinct to dig his heels into the dirt and hold on. He hasn't had a hard time letting go of other people, other relationships, other friendships. They hurt, obviously, but nothing's lingered as much, or made him quite as unsteady about himself. The difference between a gentle wave and a shipwreck against his shores.
He's not stubborn, but he's always been determined to figure out a puzzle. Minghao's appeal was his multitudes, the excitement and mystery of picking apart what made him perfect for Jeonghan. Their downfall ended up being as messy and prolonged as it was because of Jeonghan's denial of the fact that he wasn't going to be able to solve this particular riddle, this particular knot in the timeline of Jeonghan-and-Minghao. Denial soured into Minghao's resentment over Jeonghan's preoccupation with figuring it out, all the way up to the night he came home from the office and Minghao had the paperwork on the kitchen table, already half signed.
He didn't have time to solve their problems, because Minghao cut himself loose first. Jeonghan wonders if he'd been the smart one out of the two of them for freeing himself. Mostly, he's too busy smarting over how little Minghao trusted him, in the end.
All he has these days is hindsight, all the joy he'd once cherished poisoned by fury at not seeing anything. Blind to the way his friends had been tiptoeing around him for a whole six months and the way he'd been ending most nights crying more often than not.
Guilt, too, because Minghao had been their friend as well, and even if Joshua and Seungkwan closed ranks around him after everything went down, he can't help but feel like the fracture point in the picture that had once been them.
Most damningly, a couple weeks after the papers were signed, Jeonghan getting drunk at some ungodly hour and tapping onto Minghao's Instagram. There, nestled in between his usual paintings— the paintings Jeonghan can still identify half blind, the ones he's spent a decade of his life admiring— a selfie of Minghao smiling (wide open with scrunched up eyes, like he did when they were first dating. Jeonghan used to know all the creases of his smile under his fingertips) and pressed against the side of some tall, lanky guy at an apartment he didn't recognize.
Jeonghan still hasn't unblocked him, unsure if he ever wants to poke at that particular bruise and the litany of unthinkable questions that come with it. Minghao didn't take photos with anyone except Jeonghan and their respective families. He didn't post photos of them except on anniversaries and birthdays.
He hates it. Hates the realization that haunts his every move these days. Somehow, he was stupid enough to allow the problem of Jeonghan-and-Minghao break him into pieces and poison a place he genuinely loved living in and his dream job. It's his fault he had to crawl back home with a giant fucking wound in his side. His friends have loving relationships, or at least a reliable image of themselves, and he’s the one with the divorce hanging over his head and an inescapable feeling that he lost a good chunk of his twenties without ever having realized it until now.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
Jeonghan has to stay late for work one Friday, the late summer air still damp from a late-afternoon thunderstorm when he finally tumbles out of his office forty minutes before class. He'd almost forgotten how much of editing involves staying late at the office and attacking a manuscript with a red pen until the words blur together. He hasn't had time to eat dinner either, but he's never been late for class, and a messy second draft is not about to break his streak.
Seungcheol's eyes track down where the top three buttons of his work shirt are undone as he stumbles through the doors, a complaint already ready for Joshua. Jeonghan tucks that away in his head for later. He knows he looks good in a button up, whatever. His hands are irritatingly stiff from how hungry he is the entire class, and he can feel the long hours of writing seeping into his bones over the course of the next hour. The woes of capitalism and being in your late twenties. Maybe he should start looking into the iron supplements Seungkwan's always nagging him about.
Seungcheol definitely picks up on Jeonghan's foul mood, leaving him alone for the most part, and Jeonghan doesn't know whether to be glad for that or not. He gets snappish when he's tired, but at the same time, it's Seungcheol. He'd find a way to be all kind and thoughtful about it, and Jeonghan would melt and not be able to reach for something mean to say.
He might actually be missing Seungcheol, when the man himself is less than ten steps away from Jeonghan. Late summer does funny things to his psyche.
It's a relief when class ends. Joshua fusses at his hair for a moment before hurrying off with a yelled reminder to eat dinner. He's got a date with Wonwoo, or something. Jeonghan has no idea where he managed to find a gap in his social schedule. Joshua has very strict rules about his work events and "relaxation time." He must really like Wonwoo to allow him into his sheet-mask-and-romance-novel time.
He stays, like he always does, spinning in slow circles in his seat while everyone else files out. He's not too sure what the rest of the class thinks is going on, but nobody really blinks an eye at Jeonghan's conspicuous lack of an attempt to look like he's not staying behind to flirt aimlessly. He sighs as the last of their class waves goodbye to Seungcheol, and it's just them again.
"Long day?" Jeonghan tilts his head back to see Seungcheol smiling from behind him, wiping his hands dry on a washcloth. It's terrible, how just those words can lift his spirits. Just the hint of someone caring, just because.
"Every day I walk into my office expecting legible manuscripts, and instead I get second drafts where my authors apparently forget how grammar works halfway through," he complains lightly, huffing at Seungcheol's laugh. He takes a halfhearted swipe at Seungcheol.
"I'm sure you'll have the time of your life terrorizing them after the weekend," Seungcheol replies diplomatically.
Jeonghan attempts a scowl, but gives up halfway to stretch out his stiff legs instead. He toys with the collar of his shirt. Has an idea. Spins around in his stool to face Seungcheol, tugging at another button faux-casually. Seungcheol's eyes fall almost immediately on him, and Jeonghan can't help but smirk at the bob of Seungcheol's throat as he swallows around whatever he'd been about to say.
"Wish it were winter already," he stands up and leans against a table, "Running around in this weather with these clothes is the worst."
Seungcheol tilts his head, walking closer to stand beside Jeonghan. His eyes are still firmly on Jeonghan's collarbone and neck, flickering up to his face when Jeonghan lets his foot graze Seungcheol's leg. Jeonghan can't quite bring himself to break their silence, enjoying the attention. A warm hand wraps itself around Jeonghan's wrist, thumbing just over his pulse. He wonders if Seungcheol notices it quickening. A metronome keeping track of his descent into madness.
"I don't know, I kind of like you in these clothes," he says, which, okay. Jeonghan has to bite back his impulsive response to Seungcheol flirting back. He cannot say something insane, like would you like me out of these clothes? Joshua would maim him if he propositioned Seungcheol without consulting him or Seungkwan.
The hand around his wrist is still there, fingers tightening when Jeonghan reaches up a hand to brush Seungcheol's hair out of his face, dropping down to the fitted t-shirt he has on, sleeves straining around his bicep. Seungcheol shivers as Jeonghan lets his fingertips trail from the cotton to bare skin, skimming over solid muscle and the vein on his forearm. The moment's broken when Jeonghan digs his nails in, hard, just to get a reaction.
"Ah, Yoon Jeonghan," he whines, pulling away. Jeonghan keeps his hands at his sides, like a normal and well-adjusted adult who is definitely not touch starved to any degree.
He opens his mouth, but is interrupted by his stomach letting out an unnecessarily loud growl. Fuck. He'd forgotten how hungry he is. Seungcheol blinks, then breaks into surprised laughter, giggles getting worse when Jeonghan slaps his arm, scowling. "Ugh, don't laugh, Choi Seungcheol, you're supposed to feel bad for my long as fuck workday."
"I do," Seungcheol grins, "but usually it's you lecturing me about not eating dinner before class. Let me enjoy this moment."
Jeonghan splutters, fumbling for an answer. "Well, you do," he says lamely, "and I just— today's just an exception. Obviously."
"I know," Seungcheol agrees, "Besides, I don't mind it, Jeonghan-ah. It's nice— knowing someone's paying attention to me, you know? I don't really have anyone who'll yell at me to eat and stuff, 'cause I'm supposed to be the responsible hyung."
Oh. "Well— I don't mind either, Cheol," Jeonghan returns Seungcheol's soft smile, only a little unsurely, "and speaking of which, you totally didn't eat dinner yet, did you?"
"How'd you even know," he pouts.
"You only wear that t-shirt if you drop by the gym before class," Jeonghan supplies easily, "I pay attention to your gym selfies on Instagram too, remember?"
Seungcheol perks up. God, he's like a puppy. Jeonghan needs to get a hold of himself. "Come get dinner with me."
"What?"
"Dinner," Seungcheol pleads, "There's this place— it's only a ten minute walk—"
"Ah, I'm kind of tired," Jeonghan protests, smiling.
"Yoon Jeonghan."
"Choi Seungcheol." Seungcheol shifts on his feet— he favor his left knee— and chews the corner of his lip. Waiting.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
The old woman puttering around Seungcheol's selected restaurant looks delighted to see him, clucking her tongue about how little she sees him anymore and waving away his blushy apologies. Jeonghan is introduced and quickly receives the same treatment— she's instantly on his case about still being in office clothing, but it makes him smile.
It's cozy, in the way all old restaurants are. The menu items are barely legible, but the other patrons are clearly all regulars, calling out orders above the buzz of chatter and 80s pop songs crackling out from an ancient speaker. It smells like kimchi jjigae and flowery perfume drifting from one of the tables. Seungcheol guides them to a two-person table tucked into a corner, clearly his usual seat by the way he smoothly hooks a foot around the plastic red stool and sits down.
The floppy laminated menu sits untouched as their table is steadily filled with dishes. Jeonghan watches Seungcheol's voice adopt a higher tone as the owner asks about his students and whether he's feeding himself properly. "You look thinner," she says, looking him up and down critically.
"Hey, I listen to halmeoni's advice," Seungcheol whines, taking a large bite of his rice to prove his point.
"Besides," he continues, muffled, "Jeonghan's taken your job. He's memorized my schedule and everything, tells me to eat after my classes."
Jeonghan feels his face heat up under the approving cluck from the owner, and Seungcheol's mischievous gaze, eyes crinkled with laughter. "I— well, it's not like you'd remember if I left you alone," he jabs Seungcheol's cheek, "Hey, I take pottery seriously, I need my teacher to be in good condition." He resists the urge to ramble further.
"Good job with him," the owner decides, piling more kimchi onto one of the plates, "Seungcheollie, tell your friend to not work so much."
"I feel like I just met one of your parents," Jeonghan huffs after she's back in the kitchen. Seungcheol swallows his bite.
"It's not too far off," he acquiesces.
The conversation drifts into more familiar territory. It's not too far off from what they text about, except he can hear Seungcheol's surprised laughter at his jokes instead of the "ㅋㅋㅋ" he usually gets, and their feet knock together under the tiny table. Seungcheol's arms are really distracting when they're right in front of Jeonghan, way closer than he usually is. Maybe he's just paying too much attention to them. He should get it together.
"This is nice," Seungcheol confesses into a lull in their conversation. Jeonghan looks up.
"What, was I boring before?"
"No," Seungcheol pouts, "It's just— it's nice to be getting to know you when I've not got a whole class to wrangle."
"Not much to know," Jeonghan dodges his gaze.
"Hey, I remember what you tell me," Seungcheol frowns, "Best friend dating my best friend, college roommate dating my other best friend, working as an editor, likes Legos, likes English movies even though you make Joshua watch them with you because you forget to read the captions, walked past the same plant at the florist's three times last week, and uh— oh yeah, lived in Osaka for six years."
Seungcheol finishes counting off each piece of information on his fingers triumphantly, then looks back up worriedly at Jeonghan. "There might be stuff I forgot, but to be fair, you are actually really contradictory about some things, and I still can't tell if you're joking about your toy sword. Not that I mind, it's just. You've told me more than you think, Jeonghan-ah."
Oh. Jeonghan is so doomed. He's so doomed, and his friends are going to be on his case about his stupid goddamn crush on the guy who remembers all the offhand anecdotes Jeonghan sends without a second thought, and pouts like a lost puppy at the insinuation that he wouldn't be able to recall the cactus Jeonghan has half a mind to buy, and—
"I'm not kidding about the plastic sword," is what he says. He takes special care to slow his breathing, blink once, twice. Normal. He might hallucinate Seungcheol following the flutter of his eyelashes, whatever.
"Good to know?" Jeonghan should find a ditch to hide in forever.
Seungcheol insists on walking him home after, apparently not getting the first date vibes that Jeonghan is currently afflicted with. It feels a little surreal, like seeing an actor in real life. It's just Seungcheol though, letting Jeonghan annoy him as they make the walk to his apartment and running a hand through his fluffy hair. Jeonghan abruptly understands Joshua's penchant for taking photos of his late night walks; he wants a reminder of the fuzzy fondness quirking up the corners of his lips. The twenty minute walk is over before he knows it.
"See you next week," Seungcheol grins.
"See you next week," Jeonghan repeats, so quiet the words are barely audible. Reverent, in the exposed silence between them.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
"I don't even have weekly dinners with Hansol," Seungkwan complains when Jeonghan tells him about their new arrangement on Friday nights. They're sorting through a whole box of socks for Seungkwan's students. They're making hand puppets. "Romantic shit just happens to you, hyung."
Jeonghan tosses a sock at his face. Seungkwan's hand darts out to catch it, and he tosses it into his hamper with a scowl when he realizes Jeonghan pulled it off of his foot. "You're supposed to be helpful, by the way."
"I am being helpful."
"Lies. You're over here not helping me with class prep and telling me about your stupid not-dates."
"You're putting red socks into the purple pile."
Talking to Seungcheol becomes second nature over the course of the next few months. He even get to know the kids in the class— Joshua and Seungkwan might be above gossiping like thirteen year olds, but the middle schoolers have no problem entertaining him with the relationship hierarchies in their grade. His divorce kind of has nothing on the triple cheating scandal currently ruining one of their classmates' life.
Jisung definitely has a crush on one of the boys in his class, Haewon has a chart of the ongoing friendship breakups sketched onto the back of a crumpled math test sheet that she apparently has on her at all times, and Seungmin is wonderfully dry and sarcastic in a way that reminds Jeonghan of his kid self. They're all delighted at his suggestion of a revenge plan on the "shithead from class 2" ("Seungmin," Seungcheol admonished) involving a couple packs of gum and some industrial grade superglue, and just like that, he has a whole group of preteens to look out for.
The kids deem him as their favorite adult when the plan works— one of the higher achievements in his life. He remembers being exceedingly hard to impress at their age.
They're having a loud argument about how to get back at the history teacher they all hate when Jeonghan walks in one night. He barely has time to wave to Seungcheol before they're descending on him. His own flock of angst-ridden pre-teens.
"I have a carton of milk that's been expired for two weeks?"
"Oh, like he's not going to notice a whole carton of milk in his office?" Seungmin retorts.
"Why do you even have that, fu—"
"Language," Jeonghan says, just to piss them off. Seungcheol allows the kids two curse words per class before he steps in, but Jeonghan has no problem reminding them that rule doesn't apply to him.
"Tape shrimp on the underside of his desk," he says as a peace offering, "it'll smell like the back of a seafood restaurant, and he won't be able to figure out why for at least a week."
One of the mothers throws him a look, but he's not here to be their teacher. He's here to guide a new generation of children on how to be evil and not get caught.
Seungcheol usually pretends he doesn't hear their plotting for plausible deniability, but sometimes Jeonghan will look up, and see him smiling back, unbearably fond the whole time. Even so, he teams up with Joshua to accuse him of stealing their spots as the cool adult in the class. Jeonghan shrugs and tells them to find better things to do with their time than jockeying for the favor of a bunch of thirteen year olds. Is he ridiculously proud that he has the approval of a bunch of thirteen year olds? Maybe.
"You're going to get me in trouble," Seungcheol pouts on the walk to their restaurant (he's not sure when it became theirs, isn't that something).
"Don't you trust my advice, Cheollie?" Seungcheol tries, and fails to look stern, groaning when Jeonghan pokes his cheek.
"I trust you," he says ruefully, "but it's the principle of it."
"Whatever."
"Don't whatever me, you're turning into the kids."
Jeonghan attempts to dig his elbow into Seungcheol's side (he's ticklish on his left side), and then abruptly, he's being tugged into Seungcheol, forearm caught between two callused hands.
"Behave, Yoon Jeonghan," Seungcheol says, low and amused. He can smell clay and a hint of cologne this close to Seungcheol, feel his grown out hair tickle Jeonghan's cheek. Jeonghan kicks his shin to hide the heat rising on his face.
Seungcheol whines and grapples with him, the two of them a ridiculous sight on the side of the street. His arm ends up still firmly caught in Seungcheol's grasp, and they walk the rest of the way like that. The owner doesn't comment on Jeonghan essentially plastered to Seungcheol when they walk in and sit down side by side, just shakes her head and brings over their usual orders.
The next time he runs into Seungcheol outside of his designated safe, compartmentalized areas— studio and restaurant— is in Seungkwan's apartment. He's set up camp for the day after their brunch plans failed because Joshua got caught up with a work thing. Seungkwan claims that brunch isn't brunch without at least three people.
Hansol arrives a little bit before five to pick Seungkwan up for a date. He looks mildly surprised at the sight of Jeonghan in Seungkwan's kitchen, but they've both been trying to cut down on the takeout, and Seungkwan can't cook.
Jeonghan has been listening to Seungkwan debate between two cardigans for the last hour, so he really isn't prepared at all when Seungcheol walks in behind Hansol and freezes at the sight of him blinking back from the stove.
"Oh! You're— here?"
"Yep. What're you doing here?" Jeonghan returns, laughing when Seungcheol's mouth opens and closes. Hansol scoffs.
"Hyung's here cause he heard Seungkwannie say Jeonghan hyung was—"
"I drove this kid over, and we got groceries on the way," Seungcheol interrupts, shooting Hansol a venomous look. Hansol ignores it, naturally.
"Not a kid."
"Not the point."
"Seungcheollie, come put the groceries away," Jeonghan interrupts.
He's directing Seungcheol around the various cabinets when Seungkwan bounds out from where he'd been tearing his closet apart for the better half of the afternoon and kisses Hansol sweetly. Jeonghan looks away. He's got eggs to unpack, dishes to stir, annoying domestic fantasies to compartmentalize for later.
Also, a muscly guy at his shoulder obviously trying to pretend he's not, like, doting because Hansol is being cute. Jeonghan is realizing Seungcheol is kind-of really a dad. Unfortunately, that's not the deterrent it would've been in the past. Maybe this is another side-effect of getting old.
Seungkwan, upon realizing that Seungcheol is also in his home, blushes furiously, but Hansol promptly assures him that "Seungcheol's just tagging along, Boo, and don't believe his scary hyung face for a second."
The immediate bickering pulls a smile out of Jeonghan. Seungkwan makes eye contact with him, clearly asking for help, but he can hold his own here. Jeonghan, for his part, would rather watch Seungcheol try to not laugh while acting offended.
"Can Hansol cook?" he asks Seungcheol, after he's done arguing with Hansol. (Really, it's Seungkwan dragging him to his room to fix his hair, and probably also make out.)
"No," he stresses, "Unless you count boiling water and making unhealthy amounts of toast. I was assuming Seungkwan cooked?"
"Seungkwannie does not cook," Jeonghan snorts, "Seungkwan finds overly complicated recipes and videocalls me to talk him through every step so he doesn't throw half of a green onion away. Well, now he just makes me come over, 'cause I'm actually in the same city."
"You take good care of him," Seungcheol says simply, like it's a fact and not the least Jeonghan can do to make up for their past distance.
He exhales through his nose, hand tightening around a bag of oranges. "He's my favorite kid," he says honestly, "I'll always take care of him."
There's a hand on his shoulder. Second nature from all the times Seungcheol's let him drape himself over his arms and shoulders, and all the times he's automatically reached for Jeonghan's hand while walking him home. A silent sign of— acknowledgment? Jeonghan's not sure what the specifics of them even are at this point, but the desire is there for him. Desire for something he can't have.
He leans into the touch for a moment, hears Seungcheol's soft sigh, then pulls away to dump the oranges into a fruit bowl and fiddle with the heat on the stove.
He waits thirty seconds— counts each one— and chances a look over his shoulder. Seungcheol's dutifully sorting granola bars into their labeled boxes (Seungkwan has a whole system for his snack organization.There was a spreadsheet involved at one point). He has a tiny smile on his face, the same one he gets when one of his students gets the hang of a project or when they were both hungry enough to get third servings and the owner declared that he was finally eating well enough.
Seungkwan announces that they're— meaning, him and Hansol— are going to have dinner to a little hole in the wall he'd found on accident last week. Jeonghan is perfectly aware that aside from the romantic spontaneity of the restaurant, he's also has a whole hour-by-hour schedule for a romantic walk by the Han river in time for the sunset. Not because Seungkwan thinks Hansol wouldn't be happy doing literally anything with him, schedule or not, but because that's romance for him.
Hansol, for his part, simply perks up at the mention of a "them."
"Bye, Seungkwannie," Jeonghan calls, already back to stirring. He can hear Seungcheol reminding Hansol of something (such a dad), and Hansol's dry reply. The door clicks shut, and Jeonghan realizes he's still smiling in the abrupt silence that falls.
Seungcheol is hovering when he turns around, sitting at the dining table and fiddling with his car keys uncertainly. Oh. He's waiting for Jeonghan to tell him to stay, or to go.
Jeonghan keeps doing this, keeps inching towards something like intimacy, domesticity, even, but never something definite. There's not anything definite in his life, not in his apartment, because he's still trying out the feeling of home being there. Maybe amongst his friends. Maybe here, picking up two bowls for the soup.
He doesn't know if Seungcheol notices, or if he's just nice enough to let Jeonghan go through his contriving and his machinations. The boundary between them grows fuzzier every day, but it's still there. It has to be, or otherwise he'll have nothing to stop him from falling. He thinks of the fantasy books scattered around his apartment, how names have a certain magic to them. He thinks of a name for what he's doing right now, and comes up with want. No matter what, he still wants, so badly.
"Stay for dinner? There's some leftover rice I can heat up with this," he says, impressively casually. "Ah, unless there's something you have to do."
Seungcheol stays for dinner.
It does terrible things for Jeonghan's already weak convictions, seeing Seungcheol navigating Seungkwan's apartment to help both of them to second servings of the soup. Worse than their weekly dinners, because at least there was the buffer of the other patrons in the restaurant, but here Seungcheol bumps his hip against Jeonghan's as they tackle the cleanup and pouts when he's sweet talked into fishing carrot peels out of the sink and barely blinks when Jeonghan flicks water at him mid-story. He's barely doing a good job at pretending his pulse isn't picking up at every brush of Seungcheol's hands against his, and Seungcheol is doing a really bad job at pretending he's not staring at Jeonghan.
There's one final moment of weakness in the evening's already thin facade— Seungcheol hesitates at the doorway before he leaves, fumbling with his shoelaces, and Jeonghan feels an inexplicable yearning to cross the short distance between them. Press his lips to Seungcheol's mouth, and tell him to have a nice night and not stay up.
It's habit, he knows, leftover instinct from years of shared meals and goodbye kisses before he and Minghao left for work.
Jeonghan hasn't had to break many habits before, always considered himself self-aware enough to catch himself, but now he gets it. People stay in their habits, because the alternative is the agony of reminding muscles and tendons that their past life has been abandoned, and the warmth of another person at a dining table means something different.
"Cheol," he starts, then hesitates. The silence drags, but Seungcheol doesn't look impatient. He's wide open, waiting for Jeonghan to untangle the words in his chest. "At least tell me how the meal was?"
"It was good, Jeonghan-ah," Seungcheol says immediately, "I had a good time."
"It was just dinner."
"I like having dinner with you."
Seungcheol hugs him goodbye, squeezes tight enough that Jeonghan can muffle his long exhale into the fabric of his shirt. If his voice sounds a little shakey when he echoes Seungcheol's goodbye, he's kind enough to not mention it.
The remaining soup is packed up with scribbled instructions for reheating on a post-it. Jeonghan texts Seungkwan that he's heading back to his place. His bed feels colder than it has in months, like withdrawal from the brief hit of content he'd gotten that evening.
Seungkwan only sees his text the following morning, but he dutifully replies with a photo of himself and Hansol having the leftovers for their breakfast. Jeonghan saves the photo, then sends it to Seungcheol.
Good job on feeding the kids, is the reply, affection evident even in text.
It's something like a single ray of sun, Seungcheol's praise, thrown out to Jeonghan in the middle of all his chaos and avoidance. For all of his flustered earnestness, Seungcheol feels so much steadier, in a way Jeonghan's not sure he's ever felt. Seungcheol has his circle of people who look at him like he's their whole world. Jeonghan feels himself getting closer to that every single day.
Logically, that should terrify him. Jeonghan is not a whole world— he's not even back to a whole person yet— but there's something comforting in Seungcheol's determined trust. Relief, that instead of a solitary future to navigate, he's got someone to look to and smile, and maybe if Seungcheol can see something whole in him, he's not as cracked open as he feels.
Jeonghan has a vase on his shelf from years ago, a birthday gift from one of his old coworkers. Kintsugi, she'd said, tracing the gold-filled cracks in the porcelain. Jeonghan liked it because it looked pretty when the sunset hit it through their living room windows; Minghao liked the philosophy behind it. There's something in the fact that Jeonghan was the one to get to keep it between the two of them.
He picks it up now, the band of pale skin on his left hand faded now, but still visible. He thinks about the first night he and Seungcheol met, and how his hair looked like gold under the studio lights.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
Summer melts away before he knows it, and he swipes his pass into his company building with colder fingers as the mornings roll past. Joshua comes over one night to help rearrange his closet, pulling out all the sweaters he's been waiting impatiently to wear, and queuing up a horror movie "in preparation." Joshua takes his Halloween prep very seriously. Jeonghan wonders if Wonwoo knows what he's getting himself into. Dressing up for photoshoots are the highlight of Joshua's year. He definitely has a spreadsheet to organize the whole operation.
(Jeonghan finally met him at Joshua’s place after barging in to pick the asshole up for brunch. Joshua didn't bother explaining why Wonwoo was frozen in his kitchen with a whole row of love bites down his neck; Jeonghan thinks he was kind of pleased with himself, actually. It also derailed brunch completely, of course. They might need to pick another location, what with how many middle aged ladies and one hapless waiter the three of them managed to scandalize over the course of three and a half hours)
(When he's not hanging around the pottery studio, Wonwoo is a PhD student in cognitive science. Joshua is a copywriter for a fashion magazine who agrees to filming a TikTok once a month due to his ridiculous popularity with their followers. The two of them are horrifyingly good together.)
Seungcheol is very concerned when Jeonghan runs into Wonwoo again the following Friday, and the man turns bright red before unsubtly running away. Much to Joshua's fond chagrin. He's wearing a turtleneck, Jeonghan notes.
"Should I ask?" Seungcheol says, eyebrows furrowed. Jeonghan pats his arm.
"Nope."
Jeonghan goes home, too. Home home, back to his childhood house and the warmth of his mother's cooking. They didn't know the specifics of what chased Jeonghan back from Osaka, and still don't. He hadn't wanted to face them or worse, Subin, until he could be sure that he could look them in the eyes and not feel flayed alive.
"You're coming with us to Jeju in the winter," his sister informs him at the dining table. "Family trip. And no, you don't get a say in the plans."
"Not even a hello?" Jeonghan snipes back lightly. Subin rolls her eyes, then lets her head fall on his shoulder.
"I'm glad you're home, oppa." His throat feels tight, but she seems to understand his silence for what it is.
He eats whatever his mother piles onto his rice, partly because it's been years since he's sat down properly at her table, and partly so he won't have to answer her questions yet. It's coming, he can feel it. In between the inquiries about whether his new job is treating him, and the new apartment and the family trip in the winter, Jeonghan feels his parents studying him.
He's almost grateful that it happens after dinner, when Subin and their father have retreated to the living room and Jeonghan is loading the dishwasher. It shouldn't take him by surprise, either, but—
His mother asks, innocently enough, about how Minghao's doing. She liked him, the few times that they'd met. Polite and well-spoken, attentive and helpful. Gave her a recipe for radish soup that Jeonghan knows she still makes.
Jeonghan swallows, stomach clenching around the food that's abruptly crystallized in his stomach.
"We— we're not in contact anymore," he says carefully, avoiding the way her face has to fall. "I don't know it— we never had a big fight, just a lot of arguments, and it just happened. I didn't know what to do, eomma, I wanted. I don't know."
Jeonghan must have some hidden scar he didn't know about, which has just split open after months, burning a hole in the space between his lungs, which are suddenly too tight to draw air. He opens his mouth to add something, anything. A better explanation than I don't know.
He chokes on his next breath, and then Jeonghan is burying his face into his eomma's shoulder, because how could he ever articulate what's happened in such plain terms? He feels wounded all over again. The mind forgets, but the body remembers what the feeling of that first tear of his heart.
His mother's hands are in his hair, voice whispering small comforts like when he scraped his knee bloody learning to bike. He thinks of her methodically applying ointment through his six year old sniffles, and how maybe it's a good thing that he'll never grow out of feeling better just because she's run her careful gaze over his wounds, and told him firmly that it wouldn't be that bad forever.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
Jeonghan is over his ex husband. That he knows for a fact. He's not one to let his wounds fester, no matter how much it hurts for the wound to be cauterized. The long heat of July and August did its job; he's not so cold all the time anymore.
On his first date with Minghao all the way back in university, Jeonghan asked him what his favorite season was– one of those generic first-date questions on every advice column, but he wanted to test him a little. Minghao said spring, something about new beginnings and the overabundance of possibility, in the sweet, halting tone that Jeonghan fell in love with.
"And yours?"
"Winter. Like, yes, it's cold as shit, but we have so many ways of filling up the emptiness. It's comforting," he'd smiled. "And hey, our seasons follow each other. Marks how long we'll stick together."
"I'll hold you to that next spring."
It became a tradition for them, celebrating the first day of spring. Minghao after Jeonghan. He got Minghao a flower every year. They're still pressed between the pages of one of the few books he left behind. Has Minghao cracked it open, felt the brittleness of their years together? He'd have something ridiculous and poetic to say about it, all the same. Something about the tragedy of preserving the ephemeral. Jeonghan would still believe whatever poetry he came up for them, even now. It's the most gentle burial he can give their relationship, tucked away in some well-loved pages and put away for the years to swallow up.
In any case, he's rebuilt a life, so full of the vitality he'd lost that it makes him dizzy. He has his friends, and the middle schoolers who enter eighth grade at the end of august and anxiously listen to his advice, and Seungcheol, the light to Jeonghan's dark moods. He's not so cold all the time anymore, not when he has evenings on Joshua's couch and basketball with Seungkwan and silly thirteen year old boys who are so bad at history and so much better at pottery than him.
The first snow of the year falls halfway through their dinner on Friday, and Seungcheol drags him outside to let the snow fall onto their hair. His smiles burns right through his ribs.
The walk to Seungcheol's apartment takes twice as long; Jeonghan's not sure how he's been doing this every week. He'd suggested walking Seungcheol back to his place for once, what with the snow. It might also because Seungcheol gave up his jacket to Jeonghan the moment they were done with dinner, and he feels guilty at the idea of Seungcheol going without a jacket all the way to Jeonghan's neighborhood and back. He never asks for the jackets back, either. Jeonghan has a separate section of his closet reserved for everything he's stolen off of Seungcheol.
Seungcheol looks really pretty. It's not how he'd would usually describe him, all broad shouldered and dimple-cheeked, but his hair is slowly growing out and brushing the top of his shoulders, and under the streetlights he's haloed with gold. A sunset, painted with the red on the tip of his nose and cheeks.
It's muscle memory to head all the way to Seungcheol's door. He's done the same for Jeonghan every time.
His keychain jangles softly in the echoey hallway, snow melting on their sleeves. Seungcheol fumbles for the right key and drops the keychain. Jeonghan very nicely does not laugh, but he sees the flush that runs up the back of his neck anyway.
The way it happens is unplanned: Jeonghan reaches out on impulse and presses his freezing fingers directly on Seungcheol's neck, feeling his throat contract at the same time he lets out an undignified yelp. He shoots up faster than Jeonghan thought possible, eyebrows slanted in the way they get whenever he's surprised, Jeonghan's name on his lips.
He darts forward, about to shriek and make another go for Seungcheol's neck, but warm hands are closing around his wrists, and Jeonghan's back hits the front of Seungcheol's door, the man himself barely a breath away from his face. They're both breathing heavily, little puffs of mist between their faces.
"Yoon Jeonghan," Seungcheol says accusingly, breathlessly. He removes one of the hands pinning Jeonghan's wrists to the wood behind him, and, as though hypnotized, tilts Jeonghan's face up by the chin so he's feeling every bit of their size difference.
Seungcheol's so much broader than him that he takes up all of Jeonghan's vision. It makes all of his thoughts take on a fuzzy edge, muddled by the haze of pure want he feels in the back of his throat and at the pit of his belly. And well— Jeonghan knows what he wants, and he knows what Seungcheol definitely wants. What is it worth, anymore, trying to pretend there's not a fraying rope between them, a single spark away from snapping?
Jeonghan does what anyone else in his position would do. He uses his free hand to grip the soft hair at the crown of Seungcheol's head, and drags him in to crush their mouthes together in a hard kiss. Seungcheol makes a shocked noise at first, but recovers almost instantly to press Jeonghan further into his door, hands tight around Jeonghan's face as he digs his teeth into Seungcheol's bottom lip. He tastes like beer and cherry chapstick.
His mouth softer than I expected, Jeonghan thinks dizzily.
"Cheol, fuck, inside," he gasps. Seungcheol wraps one arm around him and yanks him into his chest so he can fumble for the lock, and fuck if that doesn't send a bolt of arousal down his spine so strong it makes his knees buckle a little.
"Easy," Seungcheol mumbles, finally getting his door open. He reattaches his lips to Jeonghan's, kissing him insistently while they kick their shoes off, Jeonghan laughing at the way their socked feet skid across the wood flooring. There's a mad skitter of paws at their feet, and Jeonghan looks down to Kkuma sniffing his ankles suspiciously.
"Kkuma, c'mon," Seungcheol starts, strained, but Jeonghan's already dropped down to offer his hand up for inspection.
"Ah, you are too cute," Jeonghan coos, "I can see why Cheollie's got so many videos of you."
He scritches just behind her ears, fur just as soft as Seungcheol's hair. Kkuma, apparently pleased with the praise, licks his palm and runs back down the hallway, disappearing behind a door. Jeonghan, still kneeling, looks up at Seungcheol with a smirk. He looks like he's just ran all the way from the restaurant up here, staring intently down at Jeonghan like he's the last thing he'll ever see.
"Thought about me like this?" Jeonghan doesn't miss the hitch in Seungcheol's chest. Bingo.
"Shut up and come here, I'm not done," Seungcheol hauls him up, not just to his feet, but he picks Jeonghan up, walking further into the apartment. His legs wrap around Seungcheol's waist instinctively, but he doesn't need to, really.
Seungcheol tosses him onto the couch, knocks the breath right out of Jeonghan. He doesn't get a chance to complain, though, because Seungcheol is crawling over him and capturing his mouth for the third time, wonderfully solid on top of Jeonghan and white hot with the way he pins Jeonghan's wrists again. He's good like this, confident in the way he kisses the life out of Jeonghan, trailing his mouth down to his jaw and sucking languidly at the junction between his neck and collarbone. Jeonghan can feel him preening at each breathy moan he pulls out of Jeonghan. Incorrigible. He wants to ruin him.
He shifts, and oh, if that's Seungcheol only half hard against Jeonghan's hip, he's signing up for a long night. Not that he's complaining— Seungcheol whines so prettily when Jeonghan arches up into the slow grind of their cocks together, even through multiple layers of clothing.
"What do you want?" he pants against Jeonghan's mouth, "Tell me, I'll give it to you."
Jeonghan wants his dick in his mouth, first of all, and then whatever he can pull out of Seungcheol and hold jealously to his chest forever. "Sit up and take your shirt off," he replies, swiping a hand across his mouth and wiping it on Seungcheol's fitted tee.
"Good boy," he adds, just to be mean, and because he has a sneaking suspicion that Seungcheol likes it. As expected, he shoots Jeonghan a glare, arousal and accusal swirling in his expression as he struggles out of his clothes.
"What the fuck," Jeonghan groans at the expanse of toned chest and belly, the subtle lines of abs disappearing into his jeans. "God, who let you look like this."
Seungcheol, the ass, looks more than a little smug, but it quickly dissolves into a low moan when Jeonghan shuffles down the couch so he can set his teeth against his collarbone and press wet, messy kisses down his chest and into the line of his stomach. Jeonghan can feel every jump of his pulse under his tongue. He presses his lips to denim, and moans unabashedly at Seungcheol's tight grip on his hair.
"What do you want, baby?" he parrots his words back, laughing softly at the involuntary buck of Seungcheol's hips.
"Jeonghan. Please."
"Don't worry, I'll take care of you," Jeonghan murmurs, sinking down to his knees in front of the sofa. He's missed this, the prickling feeling of flaunting everything he has and being watched. Seungcheol's appreciation of the way Jeonghan meets his gaze through his lashes and lets his mouth hang open is obvious the moment Jeonghan shoves his jeans and boxers down. He's big, already leaking precome from the head. Jeonghan's tongue darts out to lick it away, and he hears the strangled sound of Seungcheol throwing his head back.
"Desperate, much?" Jeonghan teases, lips wrapped around the tip, sliding down a little just to feel the weight of him in his mouth.
"Not my fault— fuck, just like that— the fucking mouth on you," Seungcheol groans.
Jeonghan eases up a little— it's still been over a year since he's slept with anyone, and he doesn't plan on choking halfway through giving Seungcheol the best head of his goddamn life. He relaxes back into the motions of it, swirling his tongue around the head before taking it as deep as he can go and swallowing sloppily, twisting his hand around the base. Seungcheol's fingers has found their way back into his hair again, holding him still as he thrust shallowly into his mouth, the muscles in his stomach tense from how much he's trying to restrain himself. It's sweet, but Jeonghan didn't learn to ignore his gag reflex for nothing.
He pulls off, a string of spit connecting his swollen lips and the wet, shiny cock resting on his cheek. "Fuck my mouth," Jeonghan rasps. The hand in his hair tightens.
"You– you're sure—"
"Yes, wanna have all of you, want you to mark my throat," Jeonghan pants. He watches another bead of precome spurt from Seungcheol's dick and feels his mouth water. "Two taps if I need to breathe, c'mon."
Seungcheol guides himself back into Jeonghan's mouth wordlessly, cupping his cheek too tenderly for what they're doing. He starts talking after the first few thrusts, though, the sound of his cock hitting the back of Jeonghan's throat loud and filthy. Jeonghan barely hears what he's saying, but he catches snatches of how good he feels, how good his mouth is, how fucking gorgeous he is, taking it so well, fucking hell, his baby.
Jeonghan whimpers around his full mouth, grinding against his palm. His vision's started blurring from the tears in his eyes and the lack of air, so all his focus narrows down Seungcheol, and his noises, and the taste of him all over his tongue.
"Ah, I'm— shit, close, 'm close," Seungcheol moans, "Wait, come up here, I want— want the first time to be inside you."
He slides himself out of Jeonghan's mouth, cooing at his whine and wiping the drool away from his lips. He's repositioned them in the blink of an eye, Jeonghan straddling him and Seungcheol's hands dragging his sweatshirt off of him and tugging his sweatpants off of him.
"Lube's on the coffee table," Seungcheol says, ignoring Jeonghan's snickered "perv." Their kisses are languid this time around, unhurried exploration to match the way Seungcheol's slicked-up fingers and gently stretching Jeonghan open. he swallows every keen in Jeonghan's throat and the buck of his hips when he finds his prostate. He's got thicker fingers than Jeonghan's stretching him out more than if Jeonghan were doing it himself. It makes him desperate, rocking down onto his hand in an imitation of the real thing.
"'M ready, fuck, fuck me," Jeonghan gasps. He hisses at the emptiness after Seungcheol pulls his fingers out to maneuver Jeonghan's hips over where his cock has been steadily leaking onto his belly. Neither of them can help their moans as Jeonghan sinks down, forcing himself to relax as Seungcheol's cock splits him open.
Seungcheol seems to sense his desperation, giving him barely enough time to adjust to the stretch before he starts a steady rhythm fucking up into Jeonghan and keeping a firm grip on his hips.
He's babbling, nonsensical praise tumbling out of him without a single filter. Seungcheol doesn't seem to mind, simply grips him tighter (Jeonghan hopes it fucking bruises, hopes he'll be able to feel it for a whole week) and adjusts his angle until he's rocking directly into his prostate.
Jeonghan's eyes roll back. "Fuck, Cheol. Keep doing that, ah— you're fucking me so well, good boy, so pretty."
Seungcheol keens, tilting up his head in silent request for another kiss. Jeonghan's realizing he's clingy in his own sweet way; underneath the arms and the manhandling, he's perfectly happy to let Jeonghan familiarize himself with the inside of his mouth and shivers with every pet name he's called. Jeonghan tucks that information away for next time.
His orgasm is creeping up on him, adding a frantic edge to the way they're moving against each other. He only needs to gasp out a close before Seungcheol is wrapping a hand around his neglected cock, jerking him off in quick, purposeful strokes, and Jeonghan is spilling all over Seungcheol's hand and their bellies, head thrown back in pleasure.
It doesn't take that long for Seungcheol to fall over the edge too, Jeonghan's name on his tongue and tears at the edge of his big eyes. Jeonghan maintains eye contact as he sucks their come off of his fingers, running his tongue over the pads of each finger, and then fucks the come back into Seungcheol's mouth. He's sure they look fucking obscene, and sends a silent prayer that Kkuma hasn't wandered in to see what the noise is about.
He revisits the thought he'd had earlier when Seungcheol is cleaning them up with a rag, murmuring a fond "puppy" as he cards his fingers through Seungcheol's sweaty bangs and grinning at the full body flinch that goes through him.
"Not a word," Seungcheol complains. Jeonghan smiles up at him lazily.
"Don't know what you're talking about."
Seungcheol makes him stay the night. He doesn't have to try particularly hard to convince Jeonghan; he's always been a little more pliant and soft after sex. They make out in the shower and Jeonghan starts dozing off as Seungcheol dries his hair and pats a lotion on his face, only staying lucid enough to register soft lips on his damp hair before he's falling asleep on a warm chest.
He wakes up to Seungcheol's side of the bed still warm, and a pair of fuzzy slippers left by the edge of the bed. The digital clock reads eight forty-seven in the morning.
"Good morning." Jeonghan is still half asleep when he plasters himself to Seungcheol's back, kissing his shoulder in the same spot he'd dug his fingernails in the night before. Seungcheol stiffens with surprise for a half-beat before leaning back.
"Morning," he returns, a hand on Jeonghan's waist.
Seungcheol makes breakfast and laughs at how grumpy Jeonghan is and they don't talk about it, or about the way he deliberates before he drags Seungcheol away from loading the dishwasher to make out, all slow and romantic in the sepia tones of early morning Seoul.
He heads out to take Kkuma on her morning walk, and Jeonghan— wanders.
He's nosy, it's one of his defining traits, but he still feels like he's a kid running sticky hands over his mother's jewelry, padding around of Seungcheol's room— more cozy and cluttered than what he remembered from the night before— and the kitchen, and then the single guest room that's clearly been taken over by Kkuma's expensive looking bed. Seungcheol is everywhere here, in the pristine DVD collection of cheesy rom-coms, and a keyboard tucked in the corner, and dog toys in every room. Jeonghan runs a finger over the gaps on his bookshelf, imagines fitting his own collection of trinkets in, and feels his heart ache with all its want.
There's a persistent voice in the back of his head trying to get him to run. Self preservation, it argues, because that was two degrees too real and tender for Jeonghan to even attempt to compartmentalize.
He saw from the very first day that Seungcheol is one of those people who knows exactly how to fill in what's empty. And Jeonghan has swallowed down the ache of isolation for so long, it's only natural that he'd cling to the first hint of sunlight, much less one that shines carefully down on him like it's been waiting years for him. Seungkwan called him a weed in cracked concrete once, the stubborn burst of daffodil yellow amongst monotone gray.
Jeonghan distracts himself from the voice by shuffling into the bathroom and examining the hand shaped bruises on his thighs and hips, the indent of Seungcheol's teeth on his collarbone. Mine, he'd slurred after their shower, more affectionate than possessive by that point. He thinks he wouldn't mind being someone's again.
Seungcheol comes back in a burst of noise, and what can Jeonghan do, when his whole face lights up at the mere sight of him in too-big pajamas and fuzzy slippers? Jeonghan stays, feeds Kkuma too many treats and bribes Seungcheol with kisses in return for one of his hoodies.
He leaves sometime before noon, because his job doesn't stop for personal crises, and he has an emergency Zoom meeting with some clients to sit through after lunch. Corporate nonsense will find a fucking way.
The goodbye isn't not awkward at all, which is worse, in Jeonghan's opinion. It would be easier if they had to do the whole song and dance that he associates with strangers and faceless nights in someone else's bed, but no. Seungcheol gives him a long kiss, tasting like mint and coffee, and tells him they'll see each other on Friday as always.
It'll be the best part of his week, seeing him again. That's the most damning part, that Jeonghan doesn't feel anything but overwhelming relief at the idea of being in Seungcheol's space again. He doesn't want to run. He wants to stay and tell Seungcheol everything and feel what it's like to crack apart and be repaired by gold.
Just as well, because the universe doesn't listen to what he wants.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
Jeonghan has been going to Seungcheol's class with near-perfect attendance for nine months and three weeks when Joshua walks into the studio on a cool Friday night and informs him that he'd be missing class for the next two weeks. A business trip in Osaka, some kind of convention for their translated books.
Joshua looks furious. Seungcheol makes a mental note to never piss him off, ever.
"He goes and has the fucking audacity to tell me an hour before his boarding time, like I don't fucking know that Minghao still works in the same neighborhood as the goddamn convention center—"
"Who's Minghao?" Seungcheol watches Joshua's mouth actually drop open mid-sentence, and then he looks viscerally horrified.
"He hasn't fucking told you."
"No?"
"I'll kill him. I will. Goddamn fucking idiot," he follows up with a long string of angry English.
"Has— has he texted you, or anything?" Seungcheol feels himself wither a little at the look of blatant pity on Joshua's face as he takes in Seungcheol, unsure and desperate. The last text Jeonghan sent him was three days ago— a photo of the rainbow he'd seen just outside his apartment.
"He doesn't have to. We're both aware of how I feel about him running back to the same place he almost lost himself in," Joshua says venomous, but he softens a little looking back up at Seungcheol.
"It's not my story to tell. He's just— fuck," Joshua sighs, dragging a hand over his face.
"He got his heart broken in— in Osaka, hasn't he," Seungcheol asks, not entirely sure that Joshua will answer. It's the only logical conclusion he's taken from Jeonghan's conspicuous silence on Japan, why he won't talk about the friends mentioned in passing. There are moments where his silence took on a serrated edge, and Seungcheol was afraid to broach it for fear of adding to the pain in Jeonghan's eyes.
"Two months before you two met," Joshua confirms bitterly. Jisung and Seungmin walk in at that moment, spot Joshua, then visibly look around for Jeonghan. Seungcheol will have to tell them, later.
"Seungcheol-ah. Trust him, yeah? He's an idiot, but Jeonghan— he cares for you, and he'd never want to hurt you. Anyone of us can see it," Joshua says quietly.
It's the closest thing to approval he has ever given him, so Seungcheol clings onto his words when he opens up his phone after getting home that night and snaps a quick photo of his dinner, Kkuma dozing in the background. Jeonghan sees it almost immediately, but he never ends up replying.
Notes:
ah yoon jeonghan you and your emotional avoidance... also feel free to imagine junhao having a morally gray affair a couple months before the divorce lol I don't have the brainpower to write it but that banger of a concept was the whole reason hao ended up as jh's ex
come yell at me on tumblr
kudos and comments are appreciated!
likeavampire on Chapter 1 Wed 30 Jul 2025 06:22AM UTC
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yoonbooist (burntromacesea) on Chapter 1 Thu 31 Jul 2025 05:35PM UTC
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yoonbooist (burntromacesea) on Chapter 1 Mon 18 Aug 2025 10:38AM UTC
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thxsrdkraken on Chapter 1 Thu 16 Oct 2025 08:10PM UTC
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waitforthestars on Chapter 2 Wed 29 Oct 2025 05:09PM UTC
Last Edited Wed 29 Oct 2025 05:17PM UTC
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yoonbooist (burntromacesea) on Chapter 2 Thu 30 Oct 2025 12:41AM UTC
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