Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Jaebeom loves you,” Jackson says quietly, seriously. “He has loved you for decades, Jinyoung, relentlessly.”

“But you already know that,” Marks states rather than asks, one leg thrown over another, ankle over knee, slacks stretched over his slim thighs. He looks every bit the therapist that he is, dressed up in his button-up blouse and skinny black tie. It’s unnerving, though, to be on the receiving end of his measured stare. “You’ve known it since university, Jinyoung. No, since high school, I bet. Maybe even since you were kids.” 

Jinyoung’s voice crawls up his throat and lodges somewhere there, curling under his tongue and pressing down on his windpipe. Mark isn’t accusing him, isn’t saying “you knew and you still left”, or “you didn’t come back even as his life was falling apart” . Jackson looks a little less neutral, lips pressed into a thin line and brows furrowed. His gaze says much more than Mark’s words ever could, but it’s not necessarily accusatory. 

“Does he-“ Jinyoung’s heart hammers against his rib cage and subtly, he wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. His ring catches on the seam and slips against his damp skin. “Does he hate me?” 

“No,” Jackson rushes to say, eyes finally alight with something other than distrust. “No, Jinyoung, no . He loves you.” 

“Unapologetically and without reserve,” Marks says, without any particular emotion, eyes never leaving Jinyoung’s face. They’re dark, reading deep into Jinyoung’s soul. It’s part of his job, Jinyoung gets that, but it’s also terrifying. 

“He probably loves you just about as much as he loves his kid, Jinyoung. Maybe only just a little bit less.” Jackson hikes a leg up and over and mirrors Mark’s posture, probably without even meaning to. Jinyoung suddenly feels like he’s sitting in front of his parents. 

“How old-“ his words bleed into nothing but Mark takes pity on him. 

“Yugyeom’s seventeen now,” he says, “he’ll graduate high school next summer.”

He knows all of his questions are naive, and coming much too late but still, Jinyoung feels like he has to know. “Is he happy?”

“Yugyeom is,” Jackson replies immediately, no hint of doubt in his voice. Mark leans over to the pitcher of water on the coffee table and calmly pours himself and Jackson a drink. There are some slices of lemon on a small saucer beside it and he drops one into the tall glass that he slides over to his partner. 

“Is he going to college, or?”

“Yugyeom?” Jackson takes a sip of water and purses his lips, seeming to think for a moment. Mark methodically adds a few ice cubes to his own drink and leans back against the black leather of the couch, nursing the cold glass in his hands. “Probably, after a few years.” 

They’re in his office rather than the living room because Jackson had been mid-workout when Jinyoung had called to say that he was in the country, and all of his Pilates equipment was still spread out over the floor, balance trainer and all. Mark had taken one look at Jinyoung’s ruffled appearance and had opened the door to his office, ushering him into the room and over to the pristine couches. Jackson had slipped in just as Mark was shutting the door. 

“I didn’t drive him all of the way here for nothing,” he had said and that had been that. 

“As things are right now, Yugyeom isn’t planning to leave home,” Mark supplies, “but I’m sure you will receive a much more detailed answer from the boy himself.” 

Jackson stares Jinyoung down over the rim of his glass and says nothing. 

The first time that Jinyoung had seen Yugyeom had also been the last, back when he was nothing but a squirming four-year-old in Jaebeom’s hesitant hold. 

Run ragged by the wretched past from which he had been rescued - Jaebeom had been moving in some dark circles back them, had known some dark people - the child was restless and inconsolable, digging his tear-streaked face into Jaebeom’s chest and gnawing at the strings of his hoodie anxiously. 

Jinyoung had tried to help, had held him for those few hours that Jaebeom attempted to catch a bit of sleep, had tried to quiet the incessant sobbing. He had fed him cream crackers (the only food that Jaebeom ever had) and sang to him and swathed him in blankets and begged him to “settle down already, baby, please”. 

That night, in Jinyoung’s memory, is stored in fragments. It begins with Jaebeom stumbling into their university dorms with a busted lip and bleeding knuckles, a wailing bundle tucked under his battered jacket. Next, Jinyoung thinks, comes the part where Jinyoung had yelled at him, had demanded to know exactly what was going on. 

Then come a series of snapshots: bandaging up Jaebeom’s knuckles; arguing with Jaebeom over what to do with the child; consoling Yugyeom; consoling Yugyeom; consoling Yugyeom; leaving-

It had been a long night. 

Jaebeom hasn’t seen him in ten years and yet he still looks at Jinyoung in exactly the same way that he always did, like there is nowhere else he would rather be and nobody else he would rather be stood in front of. Even though his hair is shorter, no longer brushing his shoulders and even though his eyes are more tired, he still looks devastatingly handsome in Jinyoung’s eyes. 

“Come on in,” he says softly, pushing the door further open and stepping back, slippers slapping on the hardwood floor. His voice is scratchier now, laced with a deep exhaustion that doesn’t suit him. He’s in a long beige cardigan that’s thrown over a white t-shirt and baggy grey slacks. Jinyoung had never really processed the fact that Jaebeom was a dad before but looking at him now, he can finally see it. 

Jaebeom peers up from under his bangs, catlike eyes narrowed. “You gonna stand there all day or are you coming in?”

“Hyung,” Jinyoung breathes and it’s just the same, like it always has been. 

“Yes yes,” Jaebeom sighs, “hurry up before the cat gets out.” As if on cue, a tiny black blur slinks around the corner and makes a mad dash towards the door, being scooped up into Jaebeom’s arms at the last moment. Jinyoung sees the blood before he hears Jaebeom hiss in pain, rushing further into the apartment to deposit the cat in the living room. Jinyoung steps out of his shoes and hurries after him, clicking the door firmly shut behind himself. 

He finds Jaebeom at the sink, rinsing the scratches off under cold water and cursing softly to himself, sleeves slipping down his tanned forearms from where he’s trying to keep them pushed out of the way.

“Where’s your first aid kit?” Jinyoung asks, throwing his own jacket over the back of the nearest chair and rushing over to see the extent of the damage. It’s not too bad, not the worst that he’s seen Jaebeom have, and the stuttering of his heart calms down a little bit. His hands move to fix the slipping fabric, rolling up one sleeve, then the other. 

“Don’t need it,” Jaebeom assures him, too focused on the task at hand to question why Jinyoung is fluttering around him like a mother-hen after not seeing him for more than ten years. The water starts running clear quickly enough, and Jaebeom pulls his arm away to inspect the scratches, humming softly to himself. “Not too bad,” he surmises. 

“Could be worse,” Jinyoung automatically agrees. “Not as bad as Nora.” 

“Nora was a beast,” Jaebeom smiles, eyes pressing up into crescents like they always do. The use of past tense doesn’t escape Jinyoung and he feels something inside him shatter, just slightly. A life without Nora hadn’t even been conceivable back then - she had always come with Jaebeom as a package deal, no exceptions. Jinyoung had broken up with boyfriends over Nora before, had chased boys out of the dorms if they’d so much as petted Nora the wrong way. 

“Do you want a drink or anything?” Jaebeom asks, already rooting around in his cabinets for a mug. Jinyoung watches him, notes how differently his body moves now, how restricted he seems. 

“Is your back okay?” he pipes up before he can stop himself. He feels a hot flush spread over his neck as Jaebeom turns to him with surprise, eyebrows creeping up his forehead. 

“My back?”

“Yeah,” Jinyoung’s breath catches, “it just. It seems like it’s bothering you again.” 

At this, Jaebeom’s eyebrows furrow, his expression changing so fast that Jinyoung has to suppress a smile. “This is the best it’s been in about three years, ‘Nyoung,” he replies. There’s a moment after that, a split second in which they both remember, once again, the decade of missed time between them, before Jaebeom is turning away and pulling down a chipped Simpsons mug from the top shelf. 

“You can use this one ‘cos it’s mine,” he says. “Gyeommie gets all weird about people using his things. Germs and all that, apparently.” He sets the kettle to boil and then digs around the cabinets again for a while, eventually emerging with a tiny box of chamomile tea. “Knew I kept it here somewhere in case you visited,” he smiles and it’s so full of joy and void of any anger that Jinyoung almost tears up, has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from saying something stupid. 

(“He loves you,” Jackson had said.)

Jaebeom moves quickly, his cardigan swooshing around him as he flits around the kitchen, brewing Jinyoung’s favourite tea for the both of them. Jaebeom never drinks chamomile unless they’re together, Jinyoung knows. 

“You raised a kid, hyung,” Jinyoung chokes out when they finally sit down at the kitchen table, a relatively small thing with a few of Yugyeom’s practice exam papers strewn over it. Im Yugyeom , they read, one after another. 

Jaebeom settles in opposite him, tucking up his feet as best as he can with his back seeming to protesting the movement. “I did, didn’t I?” he says with the hint of pride in his voice and a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

The cat’s name is Kunta apparently, and he seems to dislike Jinyoung as much as he dislikes being inside the apartment. It starts with him digging his claws into Jinyoung’s socked foot under the table and ends with Jaebeom locking him in Yugyeom’s room with an exasperated sigh. 

“I’m dealing with children,” he groans, rolling his eyes. 

“Hey, he definitely started it,” Jinyoung complains petulantly, lips automatically pushing out into a pout. Jaebeom’s fingers brush briefly through his hair before he’s back in his seat, a respectable distance away again. They never really had that distance before though, Jinyoung realises suddenly.

Jaebeom used to be all over him before, head on Jinyoung’s shoulder or his whole body sprawled over Jinyoung’s lap. He would grab Jinyoung for an impromptu cuddle occasionally (when their other friends were far, far away) or throw his legs over Jinyoung’s when they were watching TV. When they studied together, Jaebeom’s arm was always brushing against Jinyoung’s or, if they were in the library, their ankles were always locked together quietly under the table. 

Even when Jaebeom had confessed and Jinyoung had rejected, there had never been a distance. Not the size of a kitchen table at least. 

“Hyung,” Jinyoung forces himself to say, just so that he’s not thinking about the past anymore, “where’s Yugyeom?” 

Jaebeom barely glances up at the clock before he replies. “Either at cram school or with his boyfriend, depending on how studious he’s feeling today. Hopefully it’s the former,” he says but there’s a fond smile in his voice that Jinyoung doesn’t know the context for. The concept of that terrifies him, makes him wish that Jaebeom’s life was a book so he could just read it quickly and catch up already.  

“Not an...avid learner?” he asks delicately. 

“Nah,” Jaebeom snorts, “he doesn’t enjoy it. He tries hard though, which is all I can ask for.” His fingers curl loosely around his mug, playing with the handle. There’s the grainy photo of some sort of hip-hop artist that Jinyoung isn’t familiar with printed on the surface. Seeing it in Jaebeom’s hands is quite amusing. 

“What’s he doing after graduation?”

“I’ve always told him that college is a good idea but I think he wants to work for a bit first, earn some money.” There’s something painful in Jaebeom’s eyes, a little bit heartbreaking. “I keep telling him that he doesn’t need to but he doesn’t listen to me. Stubborn boy.”

“I know who he gets it from,” Jinyoung jokes because he doesn’t know what else to do. It seems to help though, because soon Jaebeom’s throwing his head back to laugh, just like he used to do. 

“I’d say he got it from you, Park Jinyoung, on that first night he stayed here with us,” Jaebeom replies, eyes still glinting with mirth. There’s no accusation there, no betrayal. Jinyoung wonders how it’s possible for a person to function like that, how Jaebeom isn’t at his throat right now. 

Because Jaebeom isn’t a calm person, not usually. Not with people who aren’t Jinyoung. Jaebeom is rash and a bit reckless and very much prone to bursts of anger. He barks and he bites in equal measure, sinks his teeth into anyone who challenges or insults him. He doesn’t forgive nor forget and he certainly never, ever just ‘lets things go’ like he seems to be doing about this whole situation. 

The situation of Jinyoung slipping Yugyeom into a sleeping Jaebeom’s arms and leaving the apartment. The situation of him being gone for ten years before suddenly turning up again, at a new address with a new citizenship and no apology or explanation to offer for what he had done.

“Hyung,” his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth as he tries to get the words out. An apology, he thinks, he needs to apologise. But there’s something in Jaebeom’s gaze, something that tells him that now isn’t the time, that Jaebeom doesn’t - for whatever reason - want to hear it right now. 

“What is it, Jinyoungie?” His tone is so painfully gentle. 

“Thanks for the tea,” he says instead. 

“I knew I was right to keep it around,” Jaebeom says, lips finally tipping up into a full smile. 

Yugyeom comes home just as Jinyoung is finishing up the first chapter of Breakfast of Champions (he had mentioned wanting to read it for a long time and Jaebeom, of course, had immediately offered his copy), stopping suddenly as soon as he sees Jinyoung tucked into the corner of the couch. 

“Hey, Yugyeom,” Jinyoung sets the book aside and stands to greet the boy properly, realising with a startling clarity just how ridiculously tall Yugyeom has become. He’s taller than Jaebeom even, for sure. 

“Uncle Jinyoung?” the boy gapes, eyes wide. He doesn’t look like Jaebeom much genetically but there’s no mistaking that he’s his son, not with the way his face contorts and flickers through about seven different expressions before settling back on bewildered. There’s a smudge of kohl around his eyes, a hint of lipstick at the corner of his mouth. No, Jinyoung thinks, there’s no way that Yugyeom was out studying. 

“Where are you manners, punk?” Jaebeom calls from the kitchen and Yugyeom jumps in place, rushing to greet Jinyoung properly, much to Jaebeom’s amusement.

“Hey, stop laughing at him,” Jinyoung swings an arm around Yugyeom’s wide shoulders and pulls him down to playfully knock their heads together, “he’s a cutie.” The boy, though flushing a deep tomato-red from the sudden attention, seems to enjoy the praise and leans closer, muffling his giggles in Jinyoung’s shoulder. He smells a bit citrucy, like Jaebeom used to do when they were just starting out high school. Jinyoung briefly wonders whether Yugyeom had accidentally stumbled across that discarded bottle of cologne and has been using it since. 

Jaebeom takes one look at Yugyeom and heaves a deep sigh, pulling him away from Jinyoung and appraising him from an arms-length away. His eyes flick over his form once before high sighing again, fondly, and smacking Yugyeom on the arm. 

“Bambam’s trying out a new shade I see,” he says and Yugyeom flushes a bright red again and scurries quickly to his room, yelping as Kunta nearly bowles him over in his determination to escape confinement. From the corner of his eye, Jinyoung sees Jaebeom rush to pull the sleeves of his cardigan down over his scratches, shoving his hands into his pockets for good measure. 

If he notices him looking, Jaebeom doesn’t mention it. “You’d better be staying for dinner,” is all he says, “since I made enough for three.” 

"May as well," Jinyoung says but they both know he hadn't been planning on leaving in the first place.

“Dad showed me so many photos of you!” Yugyeom gushes over his stew, eyeing Jinyoung with a reverence he never quite expected to be looked at ever in his life. It’s flattering but also strange and Jinyoung takes extra care to eat tidily, speak clearly. It’s far too late to be thinking of setting a good example (how much does Yugyeom even know about what happened?) but he tries anyway, at least for Jaebeom’s sake. 

“You look exactly the same,” Yugyeom continues on, unaware of the frantic internal whirring of Jinyoung’s anxieties, “like, you haven’t changed at all!” 

Jinyoung honestly doesn’t know what to say to that and is all too thankful when Jaebeom swoops in with a gentle, “let the man eat, ‘Gyeom.” He himself had spent the entire evening eying Jinyoung with a faint curiosity, eyes seeming to jump from Jinyoung’s face to his hands and then back up to his shoulders; committing him, maybe, to memory. This, Jinyoung is used to. This, he can handle better. He has spent most of his life being looked at by Jaebeom this way. 

“You’re so boring,” Yugyeom whines but tucks back into his food anyway, eyes occasionally flicking back to give Jinyoung a curious once-over when he thinks the elder isn’t looking his way. Jinyoung, for both of their sakes, pretends to not notice. 

It’s hard for him too, not to observe Yugyeom like an exhibit. The last time he had seen him, Yugyeom had been a tiny thing, face red with tears and voice hoarse from choking on his sobs. At seventeen, Yugyeom has defined features and a clear presence, similar to but not quite the same as Jaebeom’s. Jinyoung wonders whether he will stay around long enough to figure out where the similarities between father and son lie. 

Yugyeom finishes eating first, spoon hitting the empty plate with a dull clang as he shoves the utensil down and lunges across the table to Jaebeom, pulling up the sleeve of his cardigan with an accusatory glare. Jinyoung watches the situation unfold with thinly-veiled curiosity, noting the genuine exasperation in Yugyeom’s glare. 

“Dad.” He flips Jaebeom’s arm up until the scratches are clear under the light, creeping out from under the beige knit and down to Jaebeom’s wrists. Admittedly, they look worse than they did earlier that evening, darker and a bit swollen. Jaebeom lets himself be manhandled, lets Yugyeom tilt his arm to get a better look, waiting patiently until the boy emits a deep sigh and pulls the fabric back down. 

“Maybe we can take Kunta ba-“

“It’s not up for discussion,” Jaebeom interrupts tersely, in a tone that implies that they’ve had this conversation many times before. Yugyeom deflates but doesn’t back down, brows furrowed in a way that Jinyoung finds all too familiar. They are mirror images of each other, Jaebeom and his son, and it’s fascinating to observe. 

“Do you want me to disinfect them properly, Yugyeom?” Jinyoung suggests gently, not knowing what else to do. To his surprise, Yugyeom withers even more, shoulders dropping under his leather jacket. 

“No! I can. I can do it,” he insists weakly, fingers moving to brush past Jaebeom’s briefly, in a barely-noticeable movement. Jinyoung doesn’t exactly know what’s going on - isn’t in a position to claim to understand them and their dynamic - but he thinks he can guess the general gist of it, can respect the protectiveness that both feel over each other. 

Not that it is particularly helpful to either of them in this situation. “I’m a doctor, ‘Gyeom,” he persuades gently, “I know what I’m doing. But I would greatly appreciate it if you could convince your father to cooperate.” 

At this, Yugyeom perks up somewhat, eyes rising hopefully to meet Jinyoung’s. Without saying a word, he tugs on Jaebeom’s sleeve, levelling the man with the same wide eyes and downturned mouth. Jinyoung expects Jaebeom to crack sooner rather than later but is still surprised when it barely takes a few seconds, the man giving a hesitant nod and reaching out to ruffle Yugyeom’s hair with his uninjured hand. 

“Alright, kid,” he says gruffly, “alright. Go grab Uncle Jinyoung the first aid kit.” Yugyeom leaps up and rushes to comply, socked feet slipping on the smooth floorboards and nearly sending him sprawling onto his face. Jaebeom steadies him briefly by the elbow but then lets him go, eyes shining fondly and mouth tilting into a smile. 

“He’s as clumsy as you,” Jinyoung notes without really meaning to voice it. Jaebeom huffs on a laugh. 

“I’d like to think I was a little bit more coordinated,” he says. 

“Nah,” Jinyoung smiles, “you weren’t.” 

Yugyeom is back before they can say anything else, slamming the small plastic box onto the table and hovering over Jaebeom’s shoulder anxiously, bottom lip trapped between his teeth. He had lost his jacket somewhere on the way, and Jinyoung’s eyes are immediately drawn to the silver bracelet wrapped around his skinny wrist, just a little bit too big to look good on his thin arms. 

It’s Jaebeom’s, and Jinyoung knows this because he had been the one to give it to him, on the elder’s nineteenth birthday. It had been some big fancy brand back then, one that had gone bankrupt a few years later for seemingly no specific reason and it was startling to see it still being worn, still being a part of Jaebeom’s life. Had Jaebeom kept the matching earrings too, he wondered. How much of Jinyoung did Jaebeom surround himself with? 

“Please,” Yugyeom pushes the box forwards and Jinyoung shakes himself out of his musings, reaching to unclasp the latch before he can get lost in the past again. It shouldn’t matter anyway, he tries to convince himself, it doesn’t change anything. 

Cleaning Jaebeom’s scratches used to be part of Jinyoung’s daily routine (Nora had been a vicious creature) and doing it again, ten years later as if no time had passed, is bizarre and a little uncomfortable. The task itself barely requires any focus but Jinyoung tries to lose himself in it as much as he can anyway, tries to take as much time as possible. There’s no way that Jaebeom doesn’t know what he’s doing but he doesn’t say anything, just lets Jinyoung steadily dab at the red lines with antiseptic at his own pace, palm facing upwards and fingers curled into a loose fist. 

Yugyeom shifts nervously from foot to foot, much too anxious for the situation to require and Jinyoung pauses, fingers leaving Jaebeom’s warm skin. “Go sit down, Yugyeom,” he instructs as gently as he can, aware that he doesn’t have much authority over the boy. Sure, he’s older but he’s not his dad, and he isn’t certain that Yugyeom will comply. Sure enough, the boy is hesitant, only moving after receiving a gentle nudge from Jaebeom’s elbow. 

“I’ll talk to him later,” Jaebeom mutters quietly as soon as Yugyeom is out of earshot, the door to his bedroom swinging shut with a bang. “I’ve tried to get Mark to talk to him but…” 

Seeing Jaebeom worry over parenting matters is unfamiliar and daunting, but Jinyoung is a doctor first and foremost so he does what he does best, and files everything other than the medical away, deep into the back of his mind. He is talking to a concerned parent, regardless of whether or not they have a complex personal relationship hovering between them. 

“Firstly, don’t worry too much,” his looks at the cleaned wounds rather than into Jaebeom’s eyes, “it’s natural that kids worry at this stage in life. He’s going to be graduating college soon and I’m sure there are all sorts of thoughts swirling in his head.”

Jaebeom’s fingers twitch but he doesn’t move his arm, even as Jinyoung makes no further move to clean the scratches. 

“Does he share with you a lot? Tell you about his life? About his boyfriend or his courses or his plans for the future?” 

Jaebeom shakes his head, bangs falling into his eyes. “He used to,” he says wistfully, “but not really anymore. I try and it’s always the same. ‘I’m good. Bambam’s good. I’ll work.’ Nothing else. And I never know when it’s okay to ask further, you know?” Jinyoung finally looks up, catches Jaebeom’s lost gaze. “I don’t want to annoy him.” 

“Asking too much is still better than not asking at all, in my opinion,” Jinyoung states. “It doesn’t seem like you’re smothering him too much either. So whatever it is, it’s not on you, hyung.” 

Jaebeom looks down at his hands, plays with his rings. His voice is quiet, subdued. “When it comes to Yugyeom, everything is on me.” It hits Jinyoung then, again, how little he knows about being a parent. How sheltered his own life has been. Sure, he’s spent a decade abroad, learning from some of the best scholars in his field and publishing research papers for universities he had only ever dreamed of visiting when he was a student. But he hadn’t raised a kid alone, hadn’t struggled in a society that turns its back on single mothers, let alone single fathers. In comparison to Jaebeom, Jinyoung hasn’t lived at all. 

He goes to see Yugyeom before leaving, knocking gently on the closed bedroom door and waiting to see how the boy will react. Jaebeom stands a pace behind him, hands tucked into the pockets of his cardigan. They wait, together. 

“What?” Yugyeom huffs from the other side of the door, voice thick. 

“It’s just me,” Jinyoung says mildly, “can we talk?”

“Just you?” Yugyeom’s voice sounds closer, immediately the other side of the door. 

“If you want.” 

“Just. Just make dad go away,” Yugyeom mumbles. Jaebeom doesn’t need telling twice, shuffling quietly away without so much as a backwards glance. Jinyoung checks quickly whether he had been hurt by the comment but catches no particular sign either way; Jaebeom tidies up the abandoned meal quietly, posture relaxed. Jinyoung doesn’t have time to observe further before Yugyeom’s bedroom door is creaking open. 

“He’s gone, right?” a tired voice asks through the crack. 

“Yeah,” Jinyoung assures, turning his back on Jaebeom. “He’s gonna be in the kitchen for a while.” 

“You can come in if you want,” Yugyeom says, then seems to plod away from the door, leaving it open. Jinyoung slips in easily but doesn’t move to close it until Yugyeom encourages him to, open-palmed and polite. 

Yugyeom’s room is small (the whole apartment is) but is decorated nicely, in a way that makes the space cosy and personal. He doesn’t have too many belongings but there’s a lot that Jinyoung can tell about him, just from what he can see. There are two main things that Yugyeom seems to cherish: photography and Jaebeom. The first is obvious enough - there are cameras lined up on shelves along the walls, photographs taped to almost every available space on the wall. There are nature shots as well as stills of daily life taken from cafes, parks, and what seems to be the school campus. There are also dozens of photos of a boy, lanky but small, huddled in colourful jackets and face hidden behind a huge, knitted scarf. 

The second would only be noticeable to someone like Jinyoung, someone who knows Jaebeom as intimately as he does. Does Yugyeom himself even know how much he loves Jaebeom? Jinyoung wonders, baffled. Because while there aren’t that many photos of Jaebeom, he exists in almost everything else in the room. 

Jinyoung sees him in the pile of books by Yugyeom’s bed, hand-picked, no doubt, from Jaebeom’s personal collection. He’s in the cameras themselves (Jinyoung recognises almost all of them and has no doubt that the rest were bought as presents for Christmases, birthdays, or no special occasion at all). He’s in the colour of the walls (he had always loved grey) and in the furniture (minimalistic, boring) and Yugyeom had kept it, hadn’t made a single change. Sure, he had added his own touches but he lives, every day, surrounded by the world that his father has created for him. Jinyoung wonders how much of this Yugyeom realises himself. ‘ Are you aware of how much you love your father?’ Jinyoung wants to ask. 

“Sorry it’s a bit…” Yugyeom lets Jinyoung look around for as long as he wants, perching on the edge of the unmade bed (grey sheets on that too). “It’s a bit messy.” It is, somewhat, with a pile of dirty clothes in the corner, jackets and jeans bundled into a messy clump. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Jinyoung says. 

“Yeah,” Yugyeom breathes, “I like it too.” Then, “I broke up with Bambam.” 

“Oh,” Jinyoung steps over a few t-shirts and hovers beside the desk chair. “May I sit?” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jinyoung, sat in front of Yugyeom like this, feels back in his comfort zone. This, he does every day. 

“Just don’t tell dad,” Yugyeom whispers, hands clasped in his lap. 

“Everything is said in confidence unless I think either you or someone else is in danger,” Jinyoung assures him calmly, trying not to sound too detached. This isn’t just his average client though, he reminds himself, this is Jaebeom’s son. He cannot afford to fuck this up. 

“Now you sound like Uncle Mark. Or Doctor Tuan. Whatever.” 

“Nah, I’m just me,” Jinyoung smiles, “I’m just Jinyoung.” 

“Just dad’s whole world, yeah,” Yugyeom says and Jinyoung can’t figure out whether he sounds more bitter or more disappointed. “Now you’re suddenly here.” 

“I’m sorry,” Jinyoung says because it feels right. Wrong Im, Jinyoung, his mind spits at him. Yugyeom’s smile is rueful. 

“I broke up with Bam a few months ago,” he says instead. “But dad doesn’t know.”

“Do you want him to know?”

“I don’t know what I want.”

“That’s understandable.”

“He gave me weed.” Yugyeom’s knuckles crack as he wrings his hands. 

“Did he force you?” 

“No, never,” of this, at least, he seems sure. “I didn’t try it and he was fine. But I was tempted. And then I thought of-” 

Jinyoung waits patiently, watching as Yugyeom reaches to play with the silver chain around his wrist. 

“I thought of dad,” he says hoarsely, “and I couldn’t do it.” 

Jaebeom and drugs was a relationship that Jinyoung knew all too well, ten years ago. But he isn’t clued in anymore, doesn’t know what has happened since that night he left. He doesn’t know whether Jaebeom still spends whole nights high off his ass, climbing the walls, doesn’t know whether he still has mad baking sprees whenever he’s convinced that the police are on their way and wants to get rid of the evidence quickly. 

“And then you broke up?”

“Yeah, then we broke up,” Yugyeom says. “Now I don’t talk to him.” 

“You blame your dad for it?” Jinyoung looks at the photos on the wall rather than at Yugyeom. The scarved boy glares back from the glossy surface, eyes peering from over the bright material. It’s silent for a long time.

“Yeah,” the boy finally admits brokenly, “a little bit.” When Jinyoung next looks over to him, his knees are up to his chest and all Jinyoung can see is a mop of bleached hair. 

“Would you like a hug, Yugyeom?” he asks gently. A nod is all he needs - just a jerky movement of the boy’s lowered head - before he’s gathering the boy in his arms, catching a strong whiff of Jaebeom’s high school cologne all over again. 

They stay like that for a long while, with Yugyeom almost in Jinyoung’s lap, curled up and holding himself together. They hear Jaebeom puttering around the apartment: the clang of the dishes as he washes them; the scrape of the chairs as he tidies up the living room; the creak of the sofa as he settles down (probably with the book that Jinyoung had left out on the coffee table). 

“Why did you leave him?” Yugyeom asks into his knees but all Jinyoung can hear is, look what happened when you left us, look at what we have become. 

“I was scared,” he says shakily into Yugyeom’s hair, though he tries not to make it sound too much like an excuse.

“I’m scared too,” Yugyeom replies quietly, “every day. I’m scared I’ll wake up and he’ll be gone.” The ‘like you’ goes unspoken. Something deep inside Jinyoung cracks. 

“I’ll fix it,” he says before he even knows he’s speaking, throat constricting painfully. 

“Please,” Yugyeom whispers, then pulls away. 

Jaebeom is asleep on the couch when Jinyoung leaves Yugyeom’s room, closing the door behind himself with a gentle click . His breath is even and the book that Jinyoung had been reading earlier - arguably one of Vonnegut’s most unique works - lays splayed over his chest, pages creased. Jaebeom had always been a messy reader, a fact which always annoyed Jinyoung greatly. This time, though, Jinyoung is glad to see it, feels relieved to realise that the habits he had known Jaebeom by haven’t changed in the time that he’s been gone. 

He collects his coat quietly and steps into his shoes, taking one last look around the apartment before sliding out of the door. A moment later, though, he pauses. 

No , he thinks, I can’t leave like this. Not with Yugyeom sniffling in his room and Jaebeom shivering into the couch cushions. These people need him now. 

So Jinyoung catches the door before it can swing shut and lock him out, slips out of his shoes and hangs his coat up on a peg on the wall, brushing up against Jaebeom’s parka. He pads, quietly, over to Jaebeom and covers him up with the crumpled blanket thrown over the back of the coach, making sure to dog-ear the page of his book before setting it aside. Jaebeom huffs on a sigh and snuggles into the warmth, content noises catching in his throat. 

Next, Jinyoung knows, is Yugyeom. With Yugyeom it’s a bit trickier because he doesn’t really know the kid, can’t tell at a glance what he needs like he can do with Jaebeom. But at the end of the day, Yugyeom is Jaebeom’s son, so surely none of his guesses can be too far off the mark. 

“‘Gyeom,” he calls quietly through the door, catching the boy’s breath catch at the sudden noise. “Sorry, I didn’t leave.”

“‘Kay,” Yugyeom replies listlessly. 

“Do you want me to make you some porridge before you sleep?” Jaebeom had many sleepless nights in the time that Jinyoung had known him, and his go-to fix-it was always a bowl of porridge. 

“‘Why?” Yugyeom asks, voice closer to the door this time. 

“Dad doesn’t make you porridge anymore?” Jinyoung says, a bit surprised. Slowly, Yugyeom pokes his head around the door, eyeing Jinyoung cautiously, hair ruffled. Not being able to resist the temptation, Jinyoung cards his fingers through the unruly locks, taming them back into something at least a little presentable. Yugyeom stiffens at the contact, but only slightly. 

“Dad hasn’t made porridge in a while,” is all he says. 

“I see. Would you still like some?” 

Shyly, Yugyeom nods. “Will you make some for dad too?” 

“Sure,” Jinyoung says immediately, though he hadn’t really been considering it before. Kunta brushes up against his ankles briefly before slinking last into Yugyeom’s room. 

“I hate that stupid cat,” Yugyeom huffs but Jinyoung can tell that he doesn’t mean it. 

It’s a bit strange cooking in an unfamiliar kitchen but Jinyoung has made enough fresh starts in life to not find it too daunting, already having noted where Jaebeom kept a lot of the utensils and pans and finding the rest of the guesswork fairly easy. Soon he’s managed to get everything together, setting a small pan onto the industrial hob and turning back to Yugyeom. 

“You saw what I did, right?” He asks and waits for Yugyeom to nod, albeit with confusion. “Do you think you can do that for your dad sometimes? On the nights that he’s really tired?” 

“Yeah, of course,” Yugyeom breathes, eyes finally lighting up. He wanders over to look into the pan, then to check the settings of the hob. 

“Highest heat until it’s boiling, then bring it down to one of the lowest,” Jinyoung instructs, playing around with the controls a bit. “I recommend stirring it the whole time but if you’re too lazy then feel free to take breaks, Jae-“ his chokes over the name, “your dad doesn’t mind it lumpy.” 

“Alright,” Yugyeom stands even closer, shoulder brushing Jinyoung’s. He watches in fascination for a few moments until Jinyoyng passes him the spoon, then takes over, hand moving in methodical circles. 

They don’t talk for a while, both too emotionally tired to say much and each lost in their own thoughts but it’s nice, Jinyoung thinks, to just be able to share a space like that. 

“I want to sing,” Yugyeom says suddenly, just as Jinyoung deems the porridge ready. 

“Sure, go ahead,” he says distractedly, hip-checking the boy gently out of the way so he can find some bowls. 

“No, I mean. I mean in the future. After school.” 

“Okay,” Jinyoung says simply, with a smile. “What do you want to sing?” 

Seemingly surprised at the question, Yugyeom takes a moment to think. “Anything,” he finally replies, watching Jinyoung pour the porridge into three mismatched bowls, “but I just want to sing.” 

“As a hobby or for work?” 

“For both I guess. But probably for work, mostly. That’s the dream anyway.” 

“Sounds reasonable. Do you sing now?” Jinyoung takes two of the bowls over to the kitchen table and leaves Yugyeom to gather the cutlery and trot along behind him. 

“With dad sometimes, yeah,” the boy says, making a quick trip back for the last bowl as Jinyoung tries not to think of Jaebeom’s clear voice and the look of pure joy on his face as he sings. Singing with Jaebeom had been one of Jinyoung’s favourite things to do. 

He tells Yugyeom as much, smiling fondly at the memories as he recalls their Saturday night gigs at the university bars. 

“It was bar-hopping but with a mic,” he explains, “met a lot of good people through that.” Yugyeom listens, eyes wide. “Now go wake up your father so we can eat and go to bed, it’s getting late.” 

Jaebeom joins them at the table, rubbing at his eyes tiredly and stifling a yawn behind a sweater paw. Jinyoung realises that he has no clue what kind of job the elder has and whether he needs to wake up early in the morning for it.

Jaebeom had been studying accounting and finance, though Jinyoung had always known that his passions lay elsewhere - namely, music production. But every time he brought it up, Jaebeom had just given him one of his disarming smiles and said, “but Jinyoungie, how else am I supposed to support us?” It broke his heart back then and it breaks his heart now, a decade later. Did Jaebeom ever get to walk the path he had always wanted to? 

“Early start tomorrow?” he ventures to ask, trying not to wait too keenly for the response. Yugyeom, oblivious to the tension, starts gulping down his food. 

“Steady on, kid,” Jaebeom scolds, placing a hand on Yugyeom’s shoulder. The boy slows down a little, taking decent-sized spoonfuls and slowing down. “And yeah,” he turns to Jinyoung, “I have a client meeting before lunch, and he’s a bit of a handful.” 

“Oh, that asshole,” Yugyeom nods sagely. Jaebeom smacks him on the shoulder but doesn’t contradict the statement. “Dad’s been complaining about him for the past month, Uncle Jinyoung, I feel like I’ve met him myself by this point.”

“Yes well that’s because he’s just so damn irritating,” Jaebeom grumbles into his porridge, shoulders hunched. He looks the carbon copy of himself a decade ago, complaining about one of their professors and Jinyoung can’t help but snort on a laugh. 

“What did he do? Not stand up to greet you? Speak too fast?” Jinyoung can feel a smile creeping across his face even though he’s exhausted, both physically and emotionally. 

“Oh cool, Uncle Jinyoung’s a psychic,” Yugyeom says a little drily. 

“No, Uncle Jinyoung’s just had to put up with this kind of nonsense for twenty years of his life,” Jinyoung replies. Could have been thirty, a tiny voice in his mind spits at him but he does his best to filter it out.  

Jaebeom must see something in his expression change because soon he’s reaching out a hand to brush against Jinyoung’s, fingers dancing over his knuckles. “Thanks, ‘Nyoungie, I haven’t tasted this in a while.” 

“I taught Yugyeom how to make it,” Jinyoug says through a dry mouth, laughing a little when the boy in question sends them a tired thumbs-up. “He practically made this one too.” 

“‘S good,” Jaebeom praises, ruffling his son’s hair (he acts disgruntled but Jinyoung can see him leaning into the touch anyway) and smiling softly. His profile isn’t as sharp anymore, softened out a little by stress and forced gentleness, but Jinyoung almost likes him more this way. Jaebeom had seemed so unreachable before, so sharp. Other people had been scared of his jagged edges and stayed away, leaving Jaebeom to flounder with nobody other than Jinyoung at his back. 

That was when they started singing, driven by hours of sleepless nights and general frustration at life, sitting side by side with their trembling hands gripping the sticky mic stands. Jaebeom had flourished on stage, relaxed in a way that Jinyoung had never seen him do before. If it hadn’t been for Yugyeom’s surprise appearance, Jinyoung wonders whether Jaebeom would still be on a stage somewhere, singing his heart out to a captivated audience. 

“What are your plans now?” Jaebeom asks, chin resting in his palm, sleepy eyes barely focused on Jinyoung’s face. He’s the most exhausted Jinyoung has ever seen him.

“I’m moving into my apartment tomorrow,” he replies, “staying at Mark and Jackson’s tonight.” 

“I love their house,” Yugyeom butts in as he stands, taking his empty bowl over to the sink. “I’m gonna sleep now, night.” He gives a quick wave then slips into his room, door shutting quietly behind him. Jaebeom quirks an eyebrow but leaves him to it, turning back to Jinyoung. 

“Do you need any help with boxes and stuff?” His hair falls into his eyes as he talks and Jinyoung watches, amused, as he pushes it back with frustration. 

“I’ll be fine,” he replies. 

“If it’s because of my back, drop it,” Jaebeom’s eyes are dark and piercing, “I’ve never felt better.” It’s the same bullshit brand of don’t worry about me, that’s not your job, I’ll do anything for you and it exhausts Jinyoung to no end, grates on his nerves a bit. It’s stifling, being loved by Jaebeom, though it’s not the worst feeling in the world. 

“Youngjae’s helping,” he says just because he knows it’ll get Jaebeom to drop the subject. As predicted, Jaebeom just stares into his empty bowl, jaw set. It’s his ‘angry jaw’, the one he gets when Jinyoung mentions Youngjae or his parents. Sometimes, Jinyoung wishes he didn’t know Jaebeom as well as he does, just so that he didn’t know which words to hurt him with. 

They don’t sit together for much longer, with Jaebeom falling asleep on the spot and Jinyoung worrying that if he doesn’t leave soon he’ll be tempted to lean his head on the broad shoulder beside him and stay the whole night. When Jaebeom’s head finally tips back, Jinyoung rushes to wake him and usher him up from the table, hand hovering over the elder’s back. They walk straight past the sofa and to the closed door of what must be Jaebeom’s bedroom. 

“I’m glad you’re back,” Jaebeom says breathily, face somehow buried in Jinyoung’s neck even at such an uncomfortable angle. 

“I’m glad to be back, hyung,” Jinyoung admits, feeling something warm crawl up his sternum once he sees Jaebeom’s tired smile in response. 

They stumble their way into the bedroom, Jaebeom practically leaning his whole weight into Jinyoung’s hold. Together, they flop onto the bed, Jinyoung trapped beneath a broad chest and sprawled limbs. Jaebeom had always loved to be close to someone like that, head resting over their heart so he could hear it beating (he had admitted it once when they had been drunk and a little bit high and Jinyoung hadn’t been able to forget it since). 

But it’s been a decade and Jaebeom’s apartment isn’t Jinyoung’s anymore, so he hauls himself up and steps back, drawing the curtains and pulling the duvet over Jaebeom’s sleeping form. 

“Goodnight, hyung,” he says but receives no answer other than a weak snuffle. 

He takes Breakfast of Champions with him as he leaves, just so that he can have an excuse to talk to Jaebeom again. He knows he doesn’t need it, knows he’ll be seeking out the elder’s presence every day, but he isn’t quite ready to admit that to himself yet. Tomorrow he’ll call to chat about the plot, the day after he’ll ask to meet up so that he can return the book; Jinyoung has it all planned out. 

What he didn’t foresee was Yugyeom, standing as a dark silhouette in the hallway, blocking the front door. He looks over Jinyoung, eyes flashing in the way that Jaebeom’s always do when he’s furious. 

“Don’t leave him again,” he instructs, the tremor in his voice the only sign of his nervousness. “Please don’t leave dad again.” Please don’t leave us , Jinyoung reads in his eyes. 

“Tell him about Bambam,” he challenges back before he can stop himself, annoyance and exhaustion mixing into a pool of something awful and acidic on his tongue. Yugyeom narrows his eyes and pushes past, shoulder roughly bumping against Jinyoung’s. He disappears in Jaebeom’s room, leaving the door open just a crack. 

Jinyoung stands in the dark corridor for a long time, one foot in a shoe and one on the hardwood floor, slowly growing numb with cold. His jacket still hangs where it was, beside Jaebeom’s. His damp fingers slip on the cover of the book and he has to juggle a little to stop it from falling onto the floor with a loud ‘smack’. 

That’s all the prompting he needs really, before he’s rushing to put his coat on and tie his shoelaces all at the same time, yanking open the door and flinging himself out of the apartment before he can change his mind. 

Next time, he thinks as he sprints down the stairs, footsteps and shallow breathing echoing in the empty stairwell. Maybe next time he’ll stay. 

Park Gae:

Do you know the passcode to Jaebeom-hyung’s apartment?

Wang Gae:

:o

:oo

no clue lol

try ur birthday or smth idk seems like a jb thing to choose

Wang Gae:

jINYoung???????????

＼(º □ º l|l)/

Park Gae:

Thank you.

Goodnight.

Wang Gae:

:ooo

Chapter Text

Sleeping on the couch leaves a crick in Jinyoung’s neck that he just can’t ignore, massaging it out as best he can as he shifts up into something resembling a sitting position. There’s shuffling in the kitchen that wakes him up further and when he rubs at his eyes a bit, he sees Jaebeom hovering over a steaming pot of something smelling vaguely garlicy; he looks up when Jinyoung throws his legs over the side of the couch and yelps at the sudden cold of the floorboards. The smile that he sends over is tired but warm, reflected in the fondness of his eyes.

“Good morning,” he says and his voice is rough like it always is in the mornings. Jinyoung remembers that voice from every morning of waking up beside the elder, about three alarms screaming at them from around the room. Jaebeom had never been an early riser, pulling the covers over his head and letting Jinyoung roll out of bed and turn each alarm off, one by one. There had never been an explanation as to why they were sharing a bed - they just always had done, since sophomore year when Jaebeom had been kicked out of his parents’ home. 

Jinyoung forces back the nostalgia and tries to send a smile back. “Hey hyung.” He stands, stretches, heads over to see what it is that Jaebeom is doing. “What’re you cooking?” 

Jaebeom steps aside to let Jinyoung stick his face over the pot and take a whiff, fondly eyeing Jinyoung’s side profile as he does so. “I’m working overtime so I’m leaving some tofu and veg soup for ‘Gyeom.” He’s still in yesterday’s clothes and ruffled from sleep, pillow creases crawling down his neck and over the small tattoo that he has under his ear. They had gone together, Jinyoung holding Jaebeom’s hand as the elder had the paw prints engraved into his skin, treading up into his undercut. 

“When will you be home? Or - I mean, well - back. Here.” Jinyoung hates himself a little bit more when he sees Jaebeom’s eyes light up at the accidental slip. 

“After midnight sometime,” he elder says, hip-checking Jinyoung out of the way so he can add the green onion and continue stirring, “‘Gyeom’s curfew is eleven but he often comes back earlier to eat at home.”

Jinyoung’s eyes glance over to the wall-clock (the same gaudy cat one that he had bought back in university for their shared apartment). “Oh fuck it’s already six-thirty,” he curses, fear coursing through his veins at the thought of being late on his first day at work. Jaebeom laughs at him as he rushes to grab his things and practically leap into his shoes. 

“Stay for breakfast at least,” he says, nodding his head over to the kitchen table. There are three plates laid out, cutlery placed beside them. Some sort of omelette, it looks like. 

“When did you have time to make that?” Jinyoung wonders out loud, calculating in his head whether he can afford to stay a few extra minutes to wolf down the food. In the end, the omelette wins out and Jinyoung takes a clumsy seat and eyes the breakfast in front of him. Jaebeom had always known how to cook - had needed to learn early on - but Jinyoung had never seen him put in so much effort before, had never imagined that Jaebeom would get up early in the morning just to make Yugyeom dinner. 

“You find time,” Jaebeom shrugs. “It took me a while to get it down and then suddenly Yugyeom’s tastes kept changing. But it’s easier now that he’s in school.” Jinyoung tries to imagine what it must have been like, day by day, year by year, and shudders. 

“Where do you work?” he asks instead of thinking about it too much. 

“Funny story actually,” Jaebeom says but even without seeing his face, Jinyoung knows there’s nothing funny in what he’s about to be told. “At your father’s company.”

“What.” Jinyoung’s mouth is dry and he chokes on the next bite of the omelette. Jaebeom doesn’t turn around.

“It was all touch-and-go for a while after you left. Obviously I dropped out of uni as soon as ‘Gyeom came along and then stuff went down and I kind of ended up hopping around for a few months. In the end, I ended up begging your mother for help and, well. Here I am now, PA to one of the high-ups in Corporate.”

Jinyoung tries to process it all, compartmentalise it in his head a little bit. His parents - who had always despised Jaebeom, had hated the very idea of him - had offered their help. His father had hired Jaebeom.

“But you hate big companies,” Jinyoung just about chokes out as Jaebeom turns off the heat and slinks to sit down opposite him at the table. He brushes his bangs aside and begins to eat. 

“They’re a lot better when they’re the ones giving you the paycheck,” he says through an obnoxiously large mouthful of food. “And you hate Korea, Park Jinyoung, and yet you’re still back.” 

“I am,” Jinyoung says, resigned. 

It’s Yugyeom who draws them out of the uncomfortable silence that follows, stumbling out of his bedroom and into the bathroom, doors slamming shut behind him. 

“That fuckin’ kid,” Jaebeom smiles fondly, looking down. He has another tattoo, Jinyoung suddenly notices, on the collarbone that’s peeking out from under his rumpled tee. He can’t tell exactly what it says but it’s in looping black cursive, slipping gently back under the fabric to hide under the white material. 

He finishes his omelette, washes up after himself (despite Jaebeom’s protests) and bolts out of the apartment, Breakfast of Champions tucked into the crook of his elbow. 

***

He’s technically not back in Korea for good but it’s the first time he’s been back in a decade, even for work. He’d resisted at first - surely he couldn’t be the only Korean neurologist who was available to attend the conference and join the newly-formed research team, but here he was, running through the doors of Korea University Anam Hospital at a quarter past seven in the morning, ready to start his first day at work. 

The first week would be full of endless meetings, he had been told, and then it would be up to him to manage and direct the new FND-research group. It wasn’t that working with other doctors was particularly unpleasant (and functional neurology was his area of expertise after all) but it all just seemed too much, too fast. No matter how much time had passed, Jinyoung hadn’t quite been ready to return to Seoul.

Youngjae was part of the team too, which was something else that Jinyoung was in the process of figuring out how to navigate. Youngjae was probably the best neurosurgeon that Jinyoung knew but he was also his ex - and not just any ex, but the one who he had abandoned when he had fled to the States ten years ago. They had rebuilt the bridges in that time, had worked to establish a tentative semi-professional friendship, but it would certainly be uncomfortable working with him again. 

Just as Jinyoung is about to head over to the main reception desk to ask where the hell he’s supposed to be going, his phone dings with a notification. 

Unknown Number:

I’ll drop off your lunch with the nurses on neurology have a good day at work

A few seconds pass during which Jinyoung’s fingers hover over the keyboard. He decides to add the number to his contacts instead of replying and is just about to pocket his phone again when one last message slides onto the screen.

Im Jaebeom:

Thanks for staying

***

The nurses are gushing when he comes to check whether Jaebeom had actually left him some lunch or not, blushes creeping up their wan faces as they flutter about doing their millions of duties and catching up with the daily gossip around the hospital.

“A very handsome gentleman was here earlier,” one of the younger ones says, receiving a swat from the Head Nurse in return, “he left a whole lot of stuff for you with a strict order for us not to eat it.” A few other nurses hide giggles behind their hands, pink dusting their cheeks. 

“He was dressed in a business suit and all,” another one says, hair falling out of her bun and framing her narrow face, “very dashing.” She passes over a thermos and a tupperware box, blue post-it notes stuck haphazardly onto each. The thermos is warm in Jinyoung’s grip. 

“You got yourself a fine man there, Doctor Park,” she laughs then rushes off to answer the phone ringing shrilly from the desk. The Head Nurse rolls her eyes but sends over a semi-amused smile all the same, gesturing with her chin for Jinyoung to clear off and stop exacerbating the excitement. 

He doesn’t have much time to eat but he manages to read the notes before he’s called away, Youngjae’s loud voice carrying over the bustle of the crowd. ‘Same soup as for ‘Gyeom,’ says one, ‘try to keep it warm’. The other is a bit messier and Jinyoung smiles, imagining Jaebeom rushing to write it all in time. ‘I know you hate Subway but maybe this will suffice? Eat well.’ It’s a faux-Subway sandwich, clearly hand-crafted, and Jinyoung once again wonders how Jaebeom finds the time to be so annoyingly caring. 

Youngjae rushes up and grabs him by the shoulder, talking about scheduling and something to do with presentations, but Jinyoung’s mind is still stuck on the thought that Jaebeom made him lunch. He made it, with his own hands. He made it, even though he was probably rushing to get to work. He made it and took time out of his day to drop it off. Something inside him twists painfully, in an awfully familiar way. 

Youngjae’s hand leaves his shoulder and grabs his upper arm instead, shaking him a little. “Hyung,” he’s saying, “what’s wrong?” 

“Jaebeom,” he answers because he’s cruel like that. Though Youngjae’s eyes shutter a little, he doesn’t let go.

“Put the thermos down, hyung, just like that. And the box, too. Let’s get you sat down now.” He guides him, hands warm and grip steady. Together, they slide down against the wall until they’re crouching on the floor in the corner of the nurses’ quarters. 

“This is ridiculous,” Jinyoung grumbles, lowering his head between his knees. He hears Youngjae chuckle and a hand pats him harshly on the back (Youngjae, despite his looks, was never one to touch softly). They had cuddled a lot, of course, but they had rarely held hands or exchanged particular gestures of comfort. Youngjae had always seemed just a bit too unreachable, and Jinyoung had never made the effort to close the gap. 

“Only a little bit, hyung,” Youngjae says in that melodic voice of his, amusement hidden in the upturned corners of his mouth.

They don’t sit like that for long - they don’t have time to, really - but eventually Jinyoung pulls himself together enough to push back up to his feet and face Youngjae head on, eyes steady, if a tiny bit wet. 

“I want you to take the food,” he tells him, “do whatever you want with it, I don’t care. I just don’t want to see it.” Youngjae doesn’t question him, nodding and picking up the abandoned thermos and box. 

“I’ll leave them under the Head Nurse’s desk,” he says in a voice which clearly implies ‘so you’ll know where to collect them when you finally get over yourself’. Jinyoung just turns on his heel and strides off to the conference room where his next meeting is, forcefully filling his head with the upcoming discussions and presentations he would have to comment on. Anything but Jaebeom and his stupid, loyal persistance. 

***

Yugyeom comes to pick him up from work which is ridiculous on so many levels that Jinyoung almost walks right back through the doors and into the building. But no, Yugyeom is there, Jaebeom’s old leather jacket slung over his shoulders and jeans ripped at the knees. There’s a small, skinny boy beside him, a luscious red scarf wrapped around his neck and hiding most of his face. A tuft of brightly-dyed orange hair flops over his forehead and into his eyes. From the outfit alone, Jinyoung can recognise him as Bambam. 

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” Jinyoung asks as they approach, shoulders brushing. Bambam’s glare is much less threatening in person, eyes slightly watery and rimmed with smudged kohl. Jinyoung can’t gauge whether he’s terrified or greatly saddened by something.

“I came to collect dad’s thermos,” Yugyeom states, a hint of a challenge in his voice. Here, Jinyoung faces the exact dilemma that Yugyeom had planned to push him into - he can say he lost it, he can say it’s still inside, or he can tell them the embarrassing truth.

“He doesn’t have it,” Bambam says into the scarf, looking at Jinyoung but talking to Yugyeom.

“Thought so,” Yugyeom mutters. Then, a bit louder, “well can you get it for me please so that I can clean it out and at least pretend to dad that you enjoyed his unnecessary efforts?” 

Anger curls somewhere deep in Jinyoung’s stomach and he hates that it’s Yugyeom - of all people, really? - who is the cause of it. Reminding himself that he’s talking to a kid (and a kid who has literally every right to be so ridiculously protective of his father), he takes a deep breath and zips open his bag. 

“Tell him it was really nice,” he says while handing over the empty flask and container, void of the post-it notes. Yugyeom accepts them with muted surprise, Bambam shuffling from foot to foot behind him. 

“Thank you Uncle,” Yugyeom says, gripping Jinyoung’s hands as best as he can, struggling to hold the containers while wearing his mittens. Bambam steps up and takes them off his hands, leaving Yugyeom and Jinyoung to hold onto each other more comfortably. There’s something so sad but grateful in the boy’s gaze and Jinyoung levels it as best he can, tries to convey everything that he’s been too hesitant to say. 

“Can I give you a hug?” he asks, like the day before, hands shaking a little by his sides. 

“I think I would like you to give me a hug every day,” Yugyeom admits quietly, already leaning down to tuck his face into Jinyoung's shoulder. He still smells like citrus, though it’s somewhat muted by the wind. Jinyoung wonders how many of Jaebeom’s old cologne bottles he has stashed away in his room, and whether Jinyoung would still be able to recognise them by a single whiff. 

“Want to introduce me to Bambam?” Jinyoung whispers into Yugyeom’s brittle hair so that only they can hear it. Yugyeom nods shyly but doesn’t pull away immediately, mittened hands gripping onto Jinyoung tightly. When he finally steps away, his eyes are a little wet. 

“This is Bam,” he says in a thick voice, reaching blindly out behind him. Bambam immediately latches onto the hand, his fingers peeking out from his fingerless gloves. He’s a tiny thing really, skinny and short, barely coming up to Yugyeom’s shoulder, but there’s a strong defiance in his stance. He’s protecting them both from Jinyoung, forcing up a wall that doesn’t need to be there. 

“Hello,” he greets nevertheless, voice softly accented. He speaks smoothly, as if he’s used to speaking to adults (Jinyoung has spent five years of his life studying trauma therapy, he can pick up subtle signs when he sees them). 

“Nice to meet you,” Jinyoung says, as casually as he can while examining the boy in front of him. Bambam shuffles until Yugyeom is tucked behind his slight frame, challenging Jinyoung with an unreadable gaze that still seems to convey so much. I don't trust you, Bambam is saying, your pretty smile doesn’t fool me. I know that you’re trying to read me and I challenge that.

Yugyeom either doesn’t notice the tension or chooses to ignore it, taking the thermos and container back off Bambam’s hands and waving them briefly in Jinyoung’s direction. “Thanks for these, I’ll let dad know what you said.” With that, he’s tugging on Bambam’s hand again - who struggles against his hold for a moment in order to send Jinyoung one last withering glare - and dragging them away from the doors. 

Jinyoung stands for a few minutes, trying to organise his thoughts and figure out what the hell just happened. Once again, it’s his phone to the rescue, the sudden onslaught of notifications dragging him out of his haze. 

Wang Gae:

ur first day of work is OVer mr doctor park-nim!!!

٩(θ‿θ)۶

i formally invite u to celebration dinner!! with me!! jackson wang!!

and maybe mark 2 but idk if he’s busy or not :cccc

its v sad

(ノAヽ) (ಥ_ʖಥ)

anyway!! pls say yes cos im already maybe in parking lot

Park Gae:

Of...what hospital?

Wang Gae:

kangbuk obvs????!!?

Park Gae:

Jackson.

Wang Gae:

(・∧‐)ゞ

wAIT

Park Gae:

I’ll see you in half an hour.

***

Jackson pulls up in his sleek Mercedes A Class, rolls the window down, and yells for Jinyoung to get in. It’s such a Jackson thing to do that all Jinyoung can do is roll his eyes, grab his stuff from the bench he had been waiting on, and rush over to the passenger side. To his surprise though, Jackson is already there, lounging in the seat with his legs kicked up onto the dashboard. 

“Nah, man, I want you to drive,” he says, shutting the passenger door pointedly in Jinyoung’s face. 

“What.” Jackson’s car is the most expensive thing that Jinyoung has ever touched and he struggles with the door for a few moments before finally sliding into the driver's seat, careful not to hit anything with his flailing elbows or his bag.

“Chill,” Jackson grins, “pass that shit here and let’s go.” He takes Jinyoung’s bag off him and flings it carelessly into the back seat, wincing a little at the heavy crash it makes. “Address is already in the satnav so just do what it tells you to. And, like, don’t crash the car.”

“Right,” Jinyoung sits dumbly in front of the unnecessarily overcrowded dashboard. 

“Push to start,” Jackson instructs and Jinyoung fumbles to find the button, jumping a little when the motor purrs to life. It’s quiet, in a terrifyingly dangerous sort of way. “No need to fiddle around with the settings, I’ve already done that for you,” Jackson assures him, looking anywhere but at Jinyoung’s trembling hands on the steering wheel. It’s pliant beneath his touch but he can handle this, is good with keeping his hands steady and his mind focused. He takes a deep breath and pushes it into drive. 

The car rides smoothly, there’s no other way to describe it. It responds to his every touch, both on the steering wheel and on the pedals. It’s an automatic, but Jinyoung had never learned to drive manual anyway. They’re idling at a red light, indicator quietly ticking away, when Jackson asks his first question. 

“Where were you last night?” His voice isn’t judgemental, just curious. Jinyoung chances a glance over but is met with the back of Jackon’s head as the blonde looks out of the tinted window. 

The light turns green and Jinyoung pushes the car into motion again, leather sliding under his palms. “At Jaebeom’s.” 

“Ah,” Jackson hums, “should have known. Did you do anything nice?” 

“Had dinner,” Jinyoung replies succinctly, “slept on the couch.” 

“Made porridge?” Jackson guesses, thumbing at his phone keyboard.

“Yeah,” Jinyoung says. Jackson’s phone pings with a response and he busies himself with that for a while, leaving Jinyoung to follow the automated female voice on the navigator. 

It’s not uncomfortable, exactly, but it is a little bit odd. He and Jackson had known each other for years, since high school, but had never spent much time alone together. Jinyoung had been glued to Jaebeom and Jackson had been glued to Mark and somehow, the four of them had come together. At some point, Youngjae had joined, sliding over to sit at their table and never really leaving. Jaebeom and Mark had been the foundations of it all really - had been involved in some dark stuff that Jinyoung honestly didn’t want to know much about. To this day, he still isn’t sure of how much Jackson knows about that side of things.

“I think it’s admirable that you’re making an effort,” Jackson finally speaks up after he’s put his phone back into his jacket pocket - it’s a weird varsity jacket thing, had probably been a present from Mark’s brother. “Must be hard for you, I’m sure you didn’t really want to come back.” 

“Being in Korea is hard, seeing Jaebeom isn’t,” Jinyoung says without taking his eyes off the road. He hasn’t been in Seoul for a decade and some of the roads have changed, the markings made more complex to accommodate for the influx of traffic. 

“And isn’t that telling,” Jackson sighs happily. It’s the first time in a long while that Jinyoung has heard him sound fully relaxed. 

“Yugyeom has grown up well.” Jinyoung pulls over to park in a narrow side-road when the voice prompts him to, carefully nestling the car in between two smaller, cheaper models. 

“You can say that again,” Jackson beams and unclicks his seatbelt. With a deft movement, he grabs Jinyoung’s bag and lunges out of the door. “C’mon then, hurry up.” 

***

Im Jaebeom

Hey Yugy told me you liked the food I’m glad hope your day at work was good

***

The place that Jackson had directed them to ends up being some hole-in-the-wall burger joint with a tiny seating area and a half-asleep teen behind the counter that barely spares them a glance as they sit down in the corner. 

“Mark always takes me here,” Jackson says, wiping his hands on his jeans after touching the table. Jinyoung takes note and stays clear of making contact with anything. “We talk things out here and then go to the bar next door to get piss drunk.” 

“I have work tomorrow,” Jinyoung reminds him but Jackson just beams. 

“Next time, then.”

Their orders are simple - a beef burger for Jinyoung and a small bucket of fried chicken for Jackson. 

“This counts as chicken breast, right?”  the blonde jokes, nibbling on the battered crust. 

“You’ve been on a diet your whole life, you’ll be fine,” Jinyoung discreetly pushes over the extra side of fries. It would do Jackson some good to have a bit more colour in his face, he thinks. 

“You don’t get to talk food to me, Doctor Park, I’m the nutritionist here.” 

They had worked together a few times during those years that Jinyoung had been in America, though never on their own. It had always been as part of a team, usually throwing advice back and forth about patients with particular setbacks in overcoming eating disorders that neither country knew how to handle. Aside from that, they had never really talked about their work. 

“Do you like it?” Jinyoung suddenly finds himself asking. “Doing what you do?” 

Jackson finishes off a huge bite and quirks an eyebrow. “Yeah, sure. I knew from sophomore year who I wanted to be and I made it. Getting to work with Mark is just a bonus if you think about it.”

Jinyoung tries to imagine it - what it would be like to work with his husband. What it would be like to share the burdens of difficult patients, to have your closest friend and most trusted source of advice right beside you. It’s nice, in theory, but Jinyoung isn’t sure that it’s something he particularly desires. 

Seamlessly, his mind drifts to Jaebeom. What would it be like, if they had to synchronise their working days? From what he’s gathered, Jaebeom is supposed to have a strict schedule (though he never sticks to it), stuck in a cycle of doing a job he despises. Jinyoung would be no better, never being able to predict when he would be home, and probably breaking any promise he attempts to make. No, Yugyeom deserves better. 

“-ude, man, Earth to Jinyoung,” Jackson is saying and Jinyoung rips himself out of his thoughts, shaking his head to clear it a little. “You good?” Jackson’s eyebrows are furrowed as he leans over the table, chicken wing in each hand and sauce dripping from the corner of his mouth. 

“Yeah, sure, sorry,” Jinyoung takes a gulp of soda, recalibrates. “What was it you said?”

“I was asking whether you like what you’re doing too. You’re working with Youngjae aren’t you?” 

“Yeah to both,” he answers simply and Jackson seems to accept it, calling out to the teen for another can of Coke and a few more tissues to wipe his face with. The teen rolls his eyes but complies, disappearing to root around in the mini-fridge behind the counter. 

“It’s not awkward?” Jackson asks as the can is placed rather forcefully onto the table, “working with an ex like that? I could never.”

“You’d manage if it was Youngjae,” Jinyoung assures him, smiling a little ruefully into his food. 

“And Jaebeom?” Jackson keeps pushing like he sometimes does. 

“What about him? He’s not my ex.” A cold trickle runs down the back of his neck but he doesn’t think it’s sweat. Anxiety, probably, or guilt. He can barely think of Jaebeom without either of them being part of the equation. 

“Yeah that’s true,” Jackson kicks his feet up onto an adjacent chair and throws his head back, “you guys have some funky stuff going on alright.” 

“Sure.”

“You used to talk a lot more, you know?” There’s something sad in Jackson’s eyes as he appraises Jinyoung. “I’d ask a question and you’d go on and on. Work or Youngjae or whatever it was you were reading at the time. Or Jaebeom. Man, especially Jaebeom. What he was doing or what he was composing or where you guys were planning on singing next. How his radio show was going, what his parents had done that week to piss him off, what assignments he had due. You knew his schedule better than he did, Jin.”

“Really?” Jinyoung could never remember being much of a talker. Sure, maybe he had been a bit less closed off but surely it hadn’t been by such a noticeable amount. Not to the extent that Jackson was suggesting. But then again, he could remember those nights too. The nights at the bar, leaning heavily on Jackson’s shoulder as he went on and on and on. Monologuing, his friends had called it back then. 

“Yeah, man,” Jackson’s gaze is piercing and Jinyoung is reminded that the man he’s sat before is married to a therapist. “I miss it, I wish you’d let go a little bit.”

“A direct criticism from Jackson Wang?” Jinyoung raises an eyebrow and Jackson scoffs. 

“No criticisms here,” he assures, “just a passing thought. I’m reminiscing . You know how us old souls are.”

“Where’s Mark?” Jinyoung asks jaggedly, trying to veer the conversation away from the uncomfortable hole it had fallen into. Jackson gives him a knowing glare but lets it happen, slinging back into his uncomfortable plastic chair. 

“I never invited him. He’s working until late as usual.” There’s something in his voice that Jinyoung, as a doctor (but mostly as a friend), wants to pick apart. But Jackson has let him off the hook one too many times already, so he may as well return the favour and pretend not to notice. 

“Ah.”

“Your new apartment is ready for you by the way, they redirected the call to me when you wouldn’t pick up. You gonna go there tonight?” 

“Must have been working,” Jinyoung says through the last bit of his food. He wipes his hands on the provided napkin and reaches for his wallet. “But yeah of course that’s where I’ll go. Where else?”

Jackson pushes his hands away before he even has a chance to complain, paying the bill and then some, winking to the boy behind the counter as they leave. 

***

Unknown Number:

hi!! uncle jinyoyng, it’s yugyeom!! i totally stole your number from dad sorry not sorry,,anyway!! it’s my birthday next week & i rlly wanted you to celebrate with us??? like i’ll be out with my friends but in the evenings it’s always just me & dad 

but like i’d love for you to join us then?? if that’s okay with you?? it’s 17th but that’s a thursday which sucks so we’ll be getting everyone together on the saturday

you can come on 17th evening or sat evening (19th!!) it’s up to you like it depends on your schedule! 

if you don’t wanna come that’s cool too just pls let me know in advance!!

Uncle Jinyoung:

Don’t be sorry Yugyeom! Sorry for the late reply, I was working and then eating dinner. When would you prefer for me to be there? I can make both days/evenings clear for you. 

Yugyeomie:

uncle jinyoung!!!!!! uuuuuu,,,,honestly i’d love to see you on the actual day but idk if that’ll be possible for you???

Uncle Jinyoung:

Then let’s make it the actual day, Birthday Boy.

Does your dad need any help with preparations? I’ve always been able to make seaweed soup better than him…

Yugyeomie:

now THAT would be much appreciated!!! :”D dad’s a great cook but??? his seaweed soup???? tastes like all the salt in the sea is layered on each individual seaweed leaf????

anyway yh pls cook for me!!! that would be THE BEST present!!

Uncle Jinyoung:

Unacceptable and yet unsurprising.

And of course, Yugyeom, it would be my pleasure. Be prepared to taste actual food. 

***

Planning what to do for Yugyeom’s birthday starts that evening, even though it’s only a Monday. There is just too much to consider: would Jaebeom want him there; is he expected to bring a present alongside seaweed soup; who else will be there? In the end, there is only one person he can ask. 

Park Jinyoung:

Are you busy? Yugyeom invited me to his birthday celebration on Thursday and I have some questions. 

Im Jaebeom:

Call me

Jinyoung looks at the message for a long time, contemplating what he should do. Calling Jaebeom is, for some reason, immediately more terrifying than texting him. The thought of hearing his voice makes Jinyoung want to cry or smile or do something else stupidly emotional. And while he’s thinking this, he knows that Jaebeom won’t call him first, will wait for Jinyoung to make the move because he respects Jinyoung’s hesitation around these kinds of things. 

He thinks on it for about ten minutes, pacing back and forth in his new apartment, tripping over unpacked cardboard boxes and gazing out of the window to look at the glittering Seoul skyline. It’s not an expensive apartment by any means, but it’s certainly flashier and more spacious than Jaebeom’s. It’s mostly paid out from his parents’ funds (which Jinyoung breaks into maybe once every three years or so), so he doesn’t feel a particular emotional connection to it, but he can appreciate a good view when he sees one. 

In the end, he swallows down his anxiety and presses ‘call’. Jaebeom doesn’t answer. Just as Jinyoung is tearing through the nail of his left thumb, a text comes through. 

Im Jaebeom:

Oh fuck shit sorry a coworker suddenly asked a million questions my bad please call again I’m so sorry Jinyoungie

Without thinking too much about it, Jinyoung calls again. Jaebeom answers immediately, slightly out of breath but with a smile in his voice as he whispers, “hi Jinyoungie.” 

“Hi hyung,” he replies. He’s leaning against the marble kitchen counter, the cold edge digging into his back. There’s a cooling mug of chamomile tea at his elbow and about seventy pages worth of reports due to be looked over by tomorrow on the desk. But Jaebeom’s voice grounds him in the way it always does, draws him away from the worries and stresses of the day like nothing else can. 

“How did ‘Gyeom even get your number?” Jaebeom laughs, and there’s some shuffling on his end and then the whir of a photocopier machine. Jinyoung glances at the oven clock. 23:46 blinks back at him judgmentally. 

“Stole it from you apparently,” Jinyoung smiles into the phone, feeling stupidly relieved at just hearing Jaebeom’s frazzled tone. 

“He takes more and more after you every day!” Jinyoung knows that Jaebeom is talking about the past again, knows it’s a comment on how he stole Youngjae’s number from the margins of Jaebeom’s lyrics notebook during one of their lecture breaks. The fact that Jaebeom, of all people, is the one joking about it makes something twist unpleasantly in his gut. 

“You can’t suddenly attribute all of his questionable traits to me, hyung,” he says through the knot in his vocal chords, “that’s not how parenting works.” Great, he thinks, now they’re talking about Yugyeom as if they’re co-parenting him. 

Jaebeom breathes in shakily and for a second, Jinyoung thinks that he’s finally going to get shouted at. But all Jaebeom says is, “don’t you lecture me about parenting, Park Jinyoung. Not until you’ve lived it.” It should have sounded angry, accusing, but coming from Jaebeom it’s still somehow (and honestly, Jinyoung has no idea how he pulls it off) lighthearted. They’re joking about the very thing that destroyed their entire friendship - was it just a friendship though? - as if it’s something completely trivial. 

Jinyoung doesn’t have to be a doctor to know that something’s (everything’s) not right. 

“Anyway,” Jaebeom’s cutting across his inner turmoil, “Yugyeom always complains about my seaweed soup so could you, like, bring some? Just buy some if you can’t make it, apparently anything is better than what I do every year.”

“Sure,” Jinyoung laughs, feeling his ribcage expanding and lessening the pressure on his lungs, “anything else?” 

“Alright so there’s this jacket that he’s been wanting for ages and it’s so clear that it’s the only present he wants but it’s also the only damn item of clothing that I can’t seem to find anywhere. So could you, uh, maybe come with me? To shop for it?”

“Hyung, I’ve-” Jinyoung wants to point out that he’s only been in the country for a few days so has no clue where any of the clothing stores are, let alone which ones will sell this one particular jacket, but he gets the feeling that the reason for Jaebeom’s asking isn’t that superficial. “Yeah, sure. When are you going?”

There’s some more whirring and general office noises, but Jaebeom’s sigh of relief cuts across all of that. “You’re the best ‘Nyoung. I get off early on Tuesdays so I know it’s short notice but could you join me then?” 

“Cutting it a bit close then,” Jinyoung jokes but flicks open his paper diary anway (he’s probably the only person he knows who keeps one these days) and pens a reminder in. “Can you pick me up from work?” 

Here, Jaebeom hesitates for a moment. “Sure,” he says finally. “Where is it you work?” 

“KUH Anam, know where that is?”

“Anam,” Jaebeom repeats quietly under his breath, “Line 6.” Jinyoung gets the sharp impression that he isn’t meant to be hearing this. “Yeah, sure, I know where that is. I’ll pick you up at seven, is that alright?” 

“It’s Line 5, then Line 6 if you’re coming from Yeouido,” Jinyoung says softly and Jaebeom huffs on a laugh. 

“No subway travel for you, Park, don’t think I’ve forgotten.” It’s weird because Jinyoung had totally assumed that Jaebeom had forgotten how much he hated traveling by train, had erased that tidbit of information from his mind or had written over it with something else, something more useful. But here Jaebeom was, assuring Jinyong that no, don’t worry, I still know you better than you know yourself, I’ll go above and beyond to make you comfortable no matter the cost or the inconvenience that it causes me.

Jinyoung knows he should be flattered but he hates the feeling of his own incompetence and cowardice flaring up at the gesture, so he teresely finishes up conversation and hangs up before Jaebeom can get out a confused ‘see you tomorrow’. 

***

He doesn’t look at his phone until much later, when he’s buried under the covers with only Breakfast of Champions’ dog-eared pages for company. 

Yugyeomie:

if u make dad sad again i’ll uninvite u >:///////////

thanks for teaching me how to make the porridge tho cos i can now make it for when dad comes home SAD!!! >:cccccc

its a shame that dad is SAD this evening i wonder WHO he keeps waiting for a message FROm???????

goodnight jinyoung-ssi.

Wang Gae:

(_　_|||)

but hey just so u know there aren't like SIDES in this whole thing

so i hope ur doing okay (.づ◡﹏◡)づ. im always here for u!!!

dinner was nice lets do it again! 

Unknown Number:

hi its Bambam I pilfered your number off Yugyeom , just wanted to let you know that as much as he says he is , Yugyeom isn’t that bothered about the exact jacket 

he likes that new Comme des Garcons collection though and also you being the one to give it. anyway it was nice to meet you , have a nice evening

Im Jaebeom:

Hope to see you tomorrow Jinyoung-ah but if you change your mind just let me know in advance so I can plan my day

Sleep well

***

Jinyoung once again finds himself loitering outside the door to Jaebeom’s apartment, only this time it’s at an ungodly hour and he’s half-delirious with anxiety. He’s tired, too, tired of overthinking and doubting everything. He wants to see Jaebeom and Yugyeom and he wants to hug them both and then, he thinks, things may feel a little better. 

He knocks on the door rather than rings the bell just in case they’re both asleep (and as much as he wants to see them, he really doesn’t want to wake either from a much-needed rest) but it’s fine, because it only takes a few moments before the door is opening to reveal a ruffled Yugyeom in an oversized hoodie and tracksuit pants. 

“Hey ‘Gyeom,” Jinyoung says tiredly. 

“Hi Uncle Jinyoung,” Yugyeom replies and leans in for a hug, face pressing into the side of Jinyoung’s neck in a way is already beginning to become familiar. He inhales deeply, muscles tensing and then relaxing; Jinyoung can feel his own tension leave along with the movement. 

“Can I come in?” Jinyoung croaks into Yugyeom’s shoulder and the boy nods, pulling him in a bit closer before stepping back, smiling sleepily. 

“Yeah, of course. Anytime.” He studies Jinyoung with eyes that carry too much worry for a seventeen-year old, full of tentative doubt and bleak hope. Jinyoung manages a smile and leans up to ruffle his hair, pinching his red ear while he’s at it. 

“Thanks kiddo,” he says and willingly lets Yugyeom usher him into the apartment. His shoes go beside Jaebeom’s shiny work loafers, his coat beside Yugyeom’s pea coat. It’s not like they cleared space for him intentionally or anything, but it’s touching how easily he can find a place in their life, even in the little things. 

“Dad’s already asleep but he left out some spare clothes and a pillow on the couch just in case. And I made you some porridge earlier, but it’s in the fridge now. You can, like, heat it up or whatever. Or put it in the bin. But do that when I’m not in the room or anything so that I don’t know ‘cos-”

“Would you like to sit with me while I eat, Yugyeom?” Jinyoung interrupts softly, already heading over to the kitchen. Jaebeom’s god-awful Snoop Dogg t-shirt lays folded over a pair of soft pyjama bottoms on the couch and he snorts on a laugh. “I can make a mean hot chocolate at this time of night.” 

Yugyeom’s face lights up with one of the warmest smiles that Jinyoung has ever seen and just like that, any residual worry dissipates from his body. How could he have ever doubted that this was where he should be? 

“Alright, kid, just wait a minute while I figure out where everything is.”

Yugyeom laughs and curls up in one of the kitchen chairs, feet tucked up like Jaebeom always used to do before his back fucked up his flexibility. Jaebeom raised that kid right there, Jinyoung can’t stop thinking as he digs around in the cupboards for the cocoa powder, Jaebeom gave him that smile. 

For the first time in ten years, no negative feelings cloud the pride that he feels - there’s no self-blame, no self-loathing, no anxiety or anger or frustration. It’s just him and Yugyeom ( wonderful beautiful amazing Jaebeom’s son) sharing a quiet moment in a dimly-lit kitchen that still smells a bit like soft tofu soup. 

“Please don’t make dad sad again,” Yugyeom says quietly over the hum of the microwave. 

“I can’t promise that I never will again,” Jinyoung replies, “but I can promise that it will never be intentional. And if it does happen again, ‘Gyeom, I won’t leave it. I won’t let him come home sad anymore without doing everything possible to fix it. I can-” he chokes on his breath, stutters over the words that have always come so difficult to him, “I can promise you that at least.” 

“‘Kay,” Yugyeom mutters into his knees, though his shoulders don’t seem as tense anymore. 

“It won’t just be on you to take of your dad either, kid. We’re in it together from now on, if that’s okay with you?” Jinyoung turns away, mixes in some hot milk with the cocoa powder, keeps his shaking hands busy. “Give it some thought and-”

“I’d like that,” it’s Yugyeom who interrupts him this time. “I’d like that a lot, Uncle Jinyoung.” 

Knowing how stupid it is, Jinyoung pauses what he’s doing in order to stretch out a hand to Yugyeom. “Let’s shake on it.” Yugyeom’s hand is warm and firm in his grasp, fingers gripping just a little too tight, but his smile is relieved. I’ll give you your childhood back, Jinyoung thinks, I’ll iron out all those little creases that Jaebeom wasn’t able to because he was alone. I’m back for you both now, ‘Gyeom. I’m back, I won’t leave.