It was the most staggering fear he’d ever felt in his life, the moment he’d realized the cramping in his stomach for what it was. His legs had given out, the pain had been undeniably horrendous, and he’d just barely been able to call for an ambulance.

Now, two full days later he was still just as terrified.

He didn’t want to move or do anything, for fear of the cramping starting once more, cramping that meant contractions.

“Luhan, sweetie?”

Facing the wall in the bed furthest to the back of the room, Luhan prayed that Eunji would think he was sleeping. Maybe she’d leave him alone then, and wouldn’t come prying for answers.

With a tightness to her voice, she said, “Minseok ruined your trick for you. He said you’re a restless sleeper. You’re too still to be asleep now, especially since we have you off the heavier medication. I need to talk to you about your discharge paperwork.”

It took some effort with his stomach as big as it was to roll back towards her, but eventually Luhan managed it. “You’re releasing me?”

With a comforting smile, she said, “Your contractions stopped yesterday so I think it’s safe to say we’re out of the woods with you for now. Doctor Song is pressuring me to free up this bed, so I’m going to send you home with orders to rest and relax and do nothing strenuous for the next eight weeks.”

Ever since he’d been put on the medication to try and stop his labor, Youri had been suspiciously quiet inside of him. Her movement had slowed, she’d been less aggressive, and it almost seemed like she was sleeping though the night now. That was scarier to Luhan than the cramping itself, because every moment he couldn’t feel her meant his mind was imagining something so terrible that he would break from the outcome.

“Luhan,” her soft fingers touched his wrist right above the medical bracelet he wore. “I know you’re still scared, but you’re going to be okay. You haven’t felt a contraction in over a day. You’re at a higher risk now for premature labor, which is something we don’t want, but at the moment, it’s very possible that you can and will carry to term.”

Voice at a whisper, Luhan said, “I’m scared to just move. I just want to lay here as still as possible and pray she’s okay.”

“Do you think I’d let you go home, Doctor Song’s complaining or not, if I thought you and the baby were in danger?”

“No,” Luhan admitted. “But she’s so quiet now. I don’t feel her move for so long now.”

“It’s the medication we gave you to stall out the contractions,” Eunji said, patting his stomach lightly. “It made your girl a little dopey, that’s for sure, but she’ll be back to normal in a couple of days. This time next week you’ll be wishing she wasn’t attempting to destroy your kidney single handedly.”

That seemed doubtful. This time next week Luhan was planning on just being thankful she hadn’t been born two months premature, and that she was still tucked safely away inside of him.

“But we need to talk before I can release you,” she said, all business. “You need to cut all the stress from your life right now. If it becomes too much, the cramping might start again and our chance of getting it to stop will be low. That means, as much as I’m sure you’ll detest this, nothing but relaxation. In fact, for patients who are in your condition, I like to suggest vacations.”

“A vacation,” Luhan scoffed. That was the last thing on his mind.

“To the ocean for a few days?” the doctor suggested. “Or maybe the spa? The point is, Luhan, you need to keep yourself and this baby happy by keeping your blood pressure down. And on the list of things you can’t do, there’ll be no more climbing of stairs, or lifting anything over a pound. This is very serious, Luhan. We have to take every precaution now.”

With a sigh, Luhan said, “I understand.” He didn’t know how he was going to pull it off, but he understood. And nothing was more important than protecting his baby.

“I take it there’s a reason why Minseok has been glued to your side, along with your other friends, but a certain someone has been suspiciously absent.”

An aching and longing pain struck at his heart then. “Sehun and I … we …”

“Problems?” Eunji asked, and now she was his friend, not his doctor. Luhan could spot the difference immediately. “I could tell something was wrong with Chen the last few times I spoke with him, but he’s been suspiciously tight lipped. The same for Minseok.”

It was better to just say it and be done with it, so Luhan told her, “Sehun and I can’t make things work between us. We tried but … things happen.”

For days after Sehun had found the paperwork, Luhan had tried to explain. He’d tried everything, short of stalking Sehun, and to no avail. He’d been desperate to tell Sehun that the paperwork was a relic of past. It was Kris who’d thought he’d need it, and Luhan had put it out of his mind. It was paperwork that had only been intended to be used if that was what Sehun had wanted.

Luhan would never have tried to take the baby from him. In fact, all Luhan had ever wanted was to know that Sehun was going to be there for Youri, and love her and be her father.

Sehun had reached the wrong conclusion with what he’d found, and then he’d blown up spectacularly, not giving Luhan a second to explain. He’d been so sure Luhan was a villain of some sort, then he’d been irrational, loud, and uncompromising.

He’d scared Luhan more than a little.

But even worse than that was how quickly the others had him. He’d expected angry, uncertain people to start ringing up his phone at all hours of the day, demanding answers. He was counting on it a little, since Sehun wouldn’t talk to him. He hadn’t expected the vicious accusations, or the idea that people who had been so welcoming to him only a week earlier, could now be a threat to him and his baby.

Suho’s reaction had hurt him the most. When Sehun hadn’t been ready to be there for them in the beginning, Suho had. He’d always helped Luhan and supported him. He’d always had kind words and kinder actions. He’d been a big brother of sorts, and at the very least a good friend. Now he was an accusing voice across the phone line, and gone was Luhan’s friend.

“The two of you are just taking a break?” Eunji asked.

“No,” Luhan replied. “We’re done for sure.”

It was so clear, the moment in his mind when he’d felt the first cramp. He’d been standing in his living room, holding in his hand a piece of paper that would destroy him.

“You’re going to be okay,” Eunji said, and she carded her fingers lightly through his hair in a comforting way that a mother would. “You’re going to be just fine, Luhan.”

Luhan really didn’t think it.

While Eunji went off to get the discharge paperwork started, Luhan dressed as slowly as he could manage. The hospital room he’d been staying in was filled with other patients and family members, but Luhan ignored them all. He concentrated instead on doing up the buttons on the front of his shirt with shaking fingers.

“So I’m here to spring you,” a deep voice said. “Actually, we all are.”

There were tears pricking in his eyes when he spied his best friends near the doorway.

“You didn’t all have to come,” he said, looking from face to face.

Once more, Kris spoke, saying, “Are you kidding me? We had to. Especially since your visitors were limited up until now and besides Xiumin, none of us could get in here to see you.”

It was true that for the first day he hadn’t been able to see anyone. He’d been in a private room then, too. But that had been back when Eunji and the other doctors were debating about whether or not his contractions could be stopped. The way he heard it, he’d come very close to delivering on the first day. And then after that Luhan just hadn’t wanted to see anyone. The panic and fear had been too thick.

Luhan held up a socked foot. “Can one of you help me get my shoes on?”

Tao darted down to help and Lay said gently, “Are you feeling well enough to leave?”

“Ready,” he said, even if it was a lie. “Where’s Xiumin?”  He was the only one missing.

“I’m here,” Xiumin said with perfect timing. He had a couple of jingling keys in his hand. “I had to park the car.”

Luhan eased himself onto his feet with Tao’s help, standing as slowly as he dared. Part of him was convinced the contractions would start again the moment he was on his feet. He’d already gotten the bedrest talk from his doctor. He wasn’t officially on it yet, she was clearly saving that for the ninth month, but for now if he had any pain or even the tiniest hint of cramping in his stomach, the rest would be enforced.

“Come on,” Xiumin said, reaching a hand out for him. “Let’s get you out of here.”

It was a little jam packed with all five of them in Xiumin’s car, but it was oddly calming. Luhan was able to relax in the front seat and be lulled gently by Tao talking about his new semester at the university, Kris filling in the silence with the trip he planned to make to Canada before the end of the year, and both Lay and Xiumin commenting appropriately. It wasn’t enough to get rid of the sting that Luhan felt when he thought about how things had gone so disastrously with Sehun, but for the moment, he was at ease.

They drove to Xiumin’s home, which was really his parent’s, but Luhan could scarcely remember seeing them there. They often traveled, spent most of the year out of the country, and that gave Xiumin the illusion of living alone. In that regard, Luhan knew Xiumin was as lonely as Luhan now felt. It was something that made them kindred spirits.

They got takeout, watched a few movies, and Luhan was continuously reminded that his best friends were all that mattered. Not Sehun who hadn’t been willing to give him the benefit of the doubt or even listen to why he had the paperwork. And not Sehun’s friends who’d him as if they didn’t owe him any kind of respect.

“You’re staying with me,” Xiumin said when he and Luhan were alone in the kitchen. Luhan was holding himself gingerly, trying not to look awkward about it while Xiumin collected the trash from their meal. Back in the living room Luhan could hear the rest of his friends laughing over something.

“Is that how you ask?”

“I’m not asking,” Xiumin said plainly. “I know what my sister said. You can’t climb stairs anymore, or walk far distances, or lift anything. I’ve got more than enough room here, there are no stairs, I can help you with anything you need, and if you don’t want to stay here, then just give me one good reason why not. We’re best friends, aren’t we?”

Luhan pointed out, “This house is big, but I know how much you like your space.”

A grin settled on Xiumin’s face. “I like you better. Plus, I have a car for whenever you need somewhere to go. Luhan, don’t fight me on this. I need this peace of mind.”

It was terribly easy to see that Xiumin still had feelings for him. It was written all over his face. But it was also clear that this wasn’t about that. This was Xiumin simply being his best friend, and making a bad situation work for the both of them.

“All right,” Luhan said eventually. “Until the baby is born.”

A roar of laugher came from the other room once more and Xiumin said quickly, “It was Sehun, wasn’t it?”

Startled, Luhan asked, “It was what?”

Xiumin nodded towards his stomach. “It was that who caused you to go into premature labor, right?”

For a while Luhan had struggled with how much to tell his friends about what had happened with Sehunn. In the end, he’d settled for telling them the absolute truth, from why he’d first acquired the paperwork, to how obsolete it had become. He told them how Sehun had found it, exploded, and refused to listen to an explanation. The only thing he hadn’t told them was what Sehun had threatened.

Now was the time, he supposed. At least Xiumin deserved the truth.

“Sehun … he …”

Luhan’s hands cradled his stomach. “I got something in the mail, the day I started cramping. It was from a lawyer that Sehun hired.”

Frowning, Xiumin questioned, “What the hell would he need a lawyer for? He clearly need a psychiatrist.”

“He’s going to try and take Youri from me.”

“What!” Xiumin demanded, and his voice was so loud and so angry that Luhan was worried it would attract the attention of the others. “What the hell?”

With a shaky nod, and a shakier voice, Luhan said, “The lawyer sent me a paper saying that once I have the baby I’m ordered to appear in court for a custody dispute. Sehun is suing for full custody with no visitation rights, and considering he’s Korean and I’m Chinese, I think he might get it.”

The moment he’d read the words, and realized what he had in front of him, breathing had gotten hard to do. A burning pressure had cut across his abdomen, and then he’d been falling.

“I’m not supposed to leave the country until she’s born,” Luhan continued. “Not until they can take the baby.”

“That’s bull,” Kris announced from the doorway, and it seemed like Xiumin’s explosion had attracted attention after all.

Xiumin asked, “Can he actually do that?  Kris, you’re practically a lawyer. Can he ing do that to Luhan?”

Luhan took a seat nearby at the island bar and rested his elbows up on the countertop as Kris said reluctantly, “Anyone can sue for custody.”

His head throbbing with a headache to come, Luhan said, “He’s just trying to do to me what he thought I was doing to him.”

“But you weren’t doing that to him,” Xiumin cut back. “This is crossing a line.”

“I don’t think he cares,” Luhan huffed out. “He thinks I stabbed him in the back, so now he’s going to try and get at me the only way he knows how.”

But Luhan wasn’t giving up his baby. He wasn’t going to be separated from her. That was all he knew. It was unclear how he was going to manage that, or how he was going to protect their little family, but he would do it. He wouldn’t give her up. He wouldn’t let anyone take her from him.

“We’re going to file a counter motion,” Kris said right away, sounding authoritative. “We’re going to fight this, Luhan. He won’t get full custody. He might be a Korean citizen, but we’ve got enough information on him to discredit him. I know the best lawyer in Seoul who owes me a favor, and we’re going to counter sue for full custody.”

So what was the best case scenario? They ended up tied to lengthy litigation for the next five or six years? Who’d have the baby during all that? Luhan had a suspicion the courts would play favorites to Sehun and grant him at least temporary custody.

“What are you going to do?” Xiumin asked quietly.

“What do you mean what is he going to do?” Kris snapped back. “I just told you, we’re going to--”

Xiumin flicked Kris hard on the shoulder. “Luhan, what are you going to do about the man who’s planning on taking Youri from you?”

Laying in the hospital, praying he didn’t have to deliver or worse, miscarry, Luhan had had only time to think about what Xiumin was asking.

“He thinks I’m a monster,” Luhan said softly, rubbing against his stomach. “He thinks, despite everything I’ve shown him, that I’m a person who would take the most precious thing from him. Maybe I am that person after all.”

He’d thought Korea was safe. He’d thought that there was a future for him in Korea with people he cared about and who cared for him. It was looking less and less like it was the case now.

With a pale face, Xiumin asked, “Can you go back to China? Is there anything for you there?”

“China?” Kris asked in a startled way.

“There’d be protection against Sehun and his lawyer,” Luhan admitted. “The government would never allow a Chinese child to be taken by Korea, and China will consider Youri to be a citizen of her nation. In China, I wouldn’t have to worry about anyone showing up in the middle of the night to steal my daughter away.”

But he’d be so lonely in China. And while the fear of Sehun taking his baby might dissipate, there’d always be the fear that his parents would find him. He’d be within their reach in China, and if they ever found out he was there, there’d be danger again.

“If that’s what you want to do,” Xiumin said, not at all saying the words Luhan expected, “I will personally drive you to the airport. I won’t let him get your baby either, Luhan. I won’t let him take her from you, not when he didn’t want her in the first place.”

“You come down to my work tomorrow no matter what,” Kris insisted. “We have to start the counter paperwork immediately. At the very least it’ll buy you some time and space. If you think you need to go back to China, it won’t look like you’re planning that at all. It’ll seem like you want to stay and fight.”

Luhan curled forward a bit more, bracing his forearms fully on the bar top and groaning out, “Paperwork is what got me into this mess in the first place.” He clenched his eyes shut and wondered if that was really true at all. The paperwork had been more like the catalyst, but it wasn’t really the genesis of the problem.

“I’m sorry, Luhan,” Kris said quietly.

“Oh, Kris.” Luhan felt even more guilty. “It’s not your fault. I’m sorry to make it sound that way.”

“I pushed for you to draw up the release of parental rights,” Kris said, face twisted up like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders all of the sudden.

“And,” Luhan argued back, “I knew it felt wrong from the beginning. But you didn’t force me. I didn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to. You’re not to blame. Don’t think you are for a second.”

Looking younger than he was, Kris said, “I don’t want you to go back to China. Seeing you and Youri will be next to impossible if you do.”

Xiumin crossed his arms. “Isn’t it better that they’re safe? And we can skype.”

It wasn’t the same, Luhan knew, but he appreciated the support all the same.

“I’m not deciding anything right now,” Luhan assured them.

With a silent nod Kris turned to head back to the living room.

“He blames himself,” Luhan concluded. “He shouldn’t.”

“No,” Xiumin agreed. “This is all on that , Sehun.”

With somewhat of a grimace, Luhan requested, “Could you please not say you told me so? Could you please not?” The pain in his head was starting to get worse and he was absolutely certain he was going to have to lie down soon.

Before Luhan knew it, Xiumin was sitting next to him, asking, “Do you really think I’m that petty?”

“I think you didn’t trust him from the start and this is only validation for that.”

Kindly, Xiumin shook his head. “This isn’t about who’s right or not. There’s no validation here. There’s just me looking at my best friend who’s hurting and scared. That’s all I care about.”

Quietly, and the only time that Luhan knew they’d talk about it, Luhan said, “If I could make myself have feelings for you, I would. You are amazing, Xiumin. You’re not just my best friend, but you’re the person I trust the most in this world.”

The smile on Xiumin’s face was sad after that. “I wouldn’t want your love if you had to make yourself feel that way.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Luhan said.

“I know,” Xiumin chuckled.

With sudden seriousness, Luhan reached for Xiumin’s hand and said, “I won’t let Sehun take my daughter. I won’t let him have her and then just cut me out of her life. If I have to, I’ll be the monster he thinks I am. I’ll take Youri and I’ll run. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her with me. I’ll even risk my parents to not lose her, because if I do … if someone takes her from me Xiumin …”

“Aren’t I your best friend?” Xiumin asked. “Don’t you believe the words I tell you?” Luhan nodded. “Then no matter what, know that I won’t let that happen.”

The truth was, for as scary as Sehun and his lawyer were, Luhan absolutely believed Xiumin.

“I think about running,” Luhan admitted, feeling wretched for contemplating doing the same to Sehun that he’d said he would never.  “I think about raising Youri and constantly looking over my shoulder and never feeling at peace for as long as I live. What would I tell her when she’s old enough to start asking questions? How could I tell her that I stole her away from a father who wanted her? And then I think about what it’ll do to Sehun. He already lost one daughter. I’m going to steal the second?”

Angrily, Xiumin asked, “How can you even care about what that thinks?”

The words were so painful but so easy to say. “Because I love him.”

There was open disgust on Xiumin’s face. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“I hate him too,” Luhan said, trying to be honest. “I’m disappointed in him, upset, worried, and so much else, but that doesn’t stop me from loving him. I can’t just turn the love off like that, you should understand.”

“He’s the guy trying to take your daughter from you.”

“And before that?” Luhan replied. “Before that he was someone who made me feel safe. He was my hero when I needed him, and just believed in me when I needed that, too. He tried so hard and made mistakes, but he loved me back, and better than that, he openly loved Youri. He was someone who was a shinning example of survival in the face of adversity, and I couldn’t help falling in love with him. Now I’m filled with all these conflicting emotions.”

Xiumin argued back, “He doesn’t love you. He wouldn’t do this to you if he did.”

“He wouldn’t do what I’m thinking of doing to him? I love him, Xiumin, and I want to be selfish and hurt him in the worst way to save myself. That’s not right, right?”

“This isn’t the time to be altruistic.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Luhan asked flatly. “It’s just hard to consider destroying the father of my daughter to save myself.”

It was worse to know he was likely going to do it. He couldn’t fly in his ninth month, and it was risky even in his eight, but he was pulling more and more towards China.

If only Sehun would talk to him. If Luhan could just explain and they could communicate, Luhan was certain the mood between them could be better. He didn’t know if they could ever go back to where they’d been, but they could be in a better spot than they currently were. Luhan refused to believe that Sehun wanted to fight with him like this and use their baby to hurt each other.

“Tao said his roommate is dating some guy in the mafia.”

“Huh?” Luhan jerked out of his thoughts and turned to Xiumin. “What?”

“The Korean mafia? Tao’s roommate Kibum, goes by Key, is apparently dating some guy name Jonghyun who’s rumored to be mafia. Tao asked me to remind you that, and that Tao apparently had wracked up a few favors with him. If we need to call one in …”

Luhan shot him a dirty look. “We’re not using the Korean mafia to kill the father of my baby.”

“Maybe not kill,” Xiumin allowed. “We could just rough him up a bit. Make him back off.”

“We’re not getting involved with the Korean mafia,” Luhan said definitively.

Xiumin said with a smile, “I’m just leaving it out there. For future consideration.”

Luhan pinched his arm. “No consideration. Now come on, I bet everyone is going to leave soon, so let’s go be with them for a while longer.”

Luhan pulled himself up to his feet and felt Youri flop a bit around, sending ripples of sensation across his stomach. It was comforting in ways it had never been before.

So he was staying with Xiumin. That seemed nonnegotiable, and Luhan was too scared to refuse and risk causing something catastrophic by climbing his stairs endlessly. And it wasn’t as awkward as he’d first assumed it might be. Xiumin lived almost in the heart of Seoul, which meant Luhan had access to anywhere he might need to go. And with Xiumin working long hours during the day, it was almost like living on his own.

He tried to spend his days with his friends, packing in as much time with them as he could, just in case. The coffee shop was his home base, and the table at the biggest bay window was almost exclusively his by reservation.  He could sit there for hours at a time watching the people pass by on the street.

That was how he spotted Wei.

Rather, it was how Wei spotted him.

One moment Luhan was sketching idly at the edge of his napkin, envisioning color pallets as he waited for his drink to arrive with pastry in hand, and the next he heard the door to the coffee shop jingle. He looked indistinctively, hoping it was Lay who’d promised to drop by around noon, or Tao who always had a break from his classes around this time.

Instead he saw a walking nightmare heading directly towards him.

His body tensed almost painfully, Luhan said as evenly as he could manage, “You’re a fool if you think you have any power in this country. This isn’t China. You can’t make me go anywhere with you.”

So why was it that he felt helpless all of the sudden? He wasn’t someone helpless naturally, or in need of rescue. But he would have given anything for Sehun in that moment. Even if Sehun hated him, and was trying to hurt him on purpose, he’d still be a wall between Luhan and Wei. He’d do it for Youri.

“You should turn around now,” Luhan said, his eyes skirting past Wei to his friend Sungjong who was working at the cash register. He met his gaze quickly, in a panicked way, and then added, “I mean it when I say you have no power here, and there are half a dozen people in this very shop who will stop you if you even try to touch me.”

Sehun would have been the best line of defense, but it was true that Luhan had many friends in the shop at the moment. More than a couple of them would come to his aid if he made any indication of needed help.

And still he was scared of Wei. Or maybe just what Wei represented.

He was prepared for some sharp witted, but ultimately cruel comment from Wei. He was ready for any move the man made to try and force him to leave. He was not comprehending of how Wei gave him a sad smile, lowered himself to his knees, and then bowed forward to press his forehead to the ground in a severe show of respect.

“Wei?” Luhan asked, his voice more like a whisper than anything else.

“Han,” Wei said, his voice muffled by his position. “I come to you humbly, and with no pride left as a man to beg your forgiveness for how I have wronged you.”

This was absolutely the last thing Luhan had ever expected.

“Wei.”

“I am not deserving of your forgiveness,” Wei continued, drawing more than a few eyes to them, “but I beg for it regardless. I will place myself in your debt from this moment on. I will--”

“Get up off the floor,” Luhan said a little snappishly. “And stop groveling. You’re making a scene.”

Wei looked up at him with tears in his eyes and Luhan felt more than a little regretful for how impatient he’d been.

“Han?”

Luhan gestured to the seat across from him. “Recover your pride as a man. Sit with me.”

It took some coaxing before Wei was willing to raise himself from the floor, and even then he was having trouble meeting Luhan’s gaze. He looked completely different from the man who’d tried to trap him into marriage not so long ago.

“I take it you’re not here under orders from my parents?”

At the question, Wei finally looked up, hands twisting a bit on top of the table. “No.”

“Then can I ask why you’re in Korea?” Luhan was feeling less threatened by the second.

Wei gave him another sad smile. “I came to beg your forgiveness, Luhan. I came to admit my shame.”

Daring to hope, Luhan posed, “You thought about what I said to you at the airport, didn’t you?”

Wei’s head dipped in confirmation. “I … I went home after you left and I looked at myself in the mirror. It was hard to do. I never realized until now how hard it was to look at myself in the mirror and see what kind of man I’ve become.”

“What did you see?” Luhan asked. Sungjong was making his way quickly to the table, Luhan’s carrot juice in hand. He asked if everything was fine as he delivered it, and Luhan was sure to nod firmly. “Fine, thanks.”

“I saw a coward,” Wei answered promptly, “and a bully. I saw someone who’s heart had been clouded by duty, but not honor.”

After a minute of silence, Luhan asked, “Do you remember when we were kids?”

The next time Wei smiled, it wasn’t so sad. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot, lately. My family’s name made it so I had a lot of people vying for my attention frequently. But you were my only real friend. You were the only one who actually knew me.”

“We’d wait all day for school to get out,” Luhan reminded, these memories a beacon of light for him in a sea of trauma. “And then we’d go down to the river, take off our uniform coats, and sit out for hours at a time. Our parents hated it, but it was something they couldn’t take away from us no matter how hard they tried. We got to have that time to ourselves.”

“They probably hoped we’d use the time to make out or something,” Wei pointed out with a tiny laugh. “They only let us go because they thought we might fall in love with each other and that would make things easier for them.”

Luhan ignored that statement. Wei had been a brother to him for so many years, and forever a friend, but never more than that.

“I’d paint,” Luhan stated, almost able to remember the sun on his face, the blueness of the river, and the way the air had smelled in the summer. “I’d sit there for hours and just paint, and you’d write, scribbling out your thoughts and story ideas. And then once in a while I’d get lucky.”

“Lucky?” Wei questioned.

Luhan nodded. “If you were in an especially good mood, you’d read some of what you’d written to me. You never thought it was very good, but I’ll tell you now that it was the best part of those days. You wrote with conviction and heart, and those were the times I knew for certain you were meant for things better than the job your father currently held.”

“I miss being that person,” Wei sighed out. “You made me realize that sometimes you have to wake up and change your priorities. You have to fight to be who you want to be, and you have to risk everything to succeed.  You fought in China, Han. I want to fight now.”

Curious, Luhan asked, “What do your parents think of all this? They can’t have been happy.”

Wei shrugged. “I guess I’m in the same boat as you now, Han. I told them I wanted to be a writer. For the first time in my life I was honest with them, and I said I was going to attempt to fulfill my dreams, no matter what they had to say about it. So my father kicked me out, and my mother renounced me.”

With sympathy, Luhan said, “I’m sorry, Wei. I know how important your family was to you.”

“It’s weird,” Wei said, looking almost boyish when he smiled now. “I think I just convinced myself that they were that important to me. Now that I’m out here on my own, I’m starting to realize that I shouldn’t have placed so much significance on a family that refused to support me, or let me be who I wanted to. I still love my parents, but I don’t need them anymore, and I kind of don’t want them.”

There were still remarkable things in the world, Luhan was reminded. People could still surprise.

“So you’re in Korea now?”

“Not for long,” Wei said with a chuckle. “I only came to apologize.”

Luhan frowned deeply. “You flew all the way to Korea from China to apologize to me?”

“You don’t think you deserve an apology, at the very least, for what I tried to do to you?” Wei asked.

“I think a phone call would have been more--”

Wei insisted, “I wanted to get down on my knees and beg for forgiveness. You showed me mercy at the airport, even if I didn’t realize what it was at the time. You were merciful in showing me what I’d become, and what I should have been instead. But more than that, before I tried to hurt you terribly, you were my best friend. You hid me from my father’s rage, loved me in place of my mother, and were the only brother I could have ever needed or wanted. You deserved to dear me beg.”

Reaching across the table, Luhan covered Wei’s bigger hands with his own and said, “If  you and I are brothers, then you know I’m going to forgive you. Wei, I saw how unhappy you were in China. I saw how it was twisting you into someone you weren’t. I just want happiness for you. I don’t need you to apologize, I need you to be who you’re meant to.”

“We are brothers,” Wei said, sounding absolutely sure. “But I’m in your debt. Nothing will change that.”

Twenty minutes later Wei had a warm latte in front of him, Luhan’s juice was nearly gone, and Wei was saying, “I can see why you like Korea, but I don’t think this is the place for me.”

“No?” Luhan asked, and he’d been a little hopeful. “It could be, and the food is good here.”

“I have cousins in America,” Wei said, shaking his head slowly. “They’re distant cousins, not affiliated with the family anymore, but I’ve talked to a few of them recently. They’re going to let me stay with them for a while. I want to look at the schools in America. I went to the university for business management, like my father wanted. I’d like to go instead for writing now, if the chance is there. Maybe I’ll work for a while though, and improve my English. I already applied for a work visa.”

“You don’t plan on going home, do you?” Luhan hedged.

Wei challenged back, “Do you?”

A week ago Luhan would have answered an emphatic no. He’d have never even contemplated the idea. But now going back to China wasn’t such an impossible thought.

“Maybe I’ll join you in America,” Luhan said, sliding his fingers across the condensation of the glass in front of him.

“I’d like that,” Wei said happily, “but something tells me that’s not what your future has in store for you.”

“I don’t know what my future is anymore,” Luhan admitted. “I don’t have any clue how it’s going to turn out.”

Wei gave a slight nod. “I used to be scared of not knowing. If anything good came from my parents controlling my life, it was that I never had to worry what came next. I’m like you in that regard, Luhan. I don’t like the unknown. I like to see what’s ahead of me and anticipate it. I like predictability. But …”

“But now?”

“Now,” Wei allowed, “now I’m getting better at being okay with my future being murky. It’s scary for sure, and sometimes it makes my skin crawl, but it’s certainly keeping me on my toes. Once in a while, you need to learn how to think on your feet. That’s not a bad thing.”

Though Luhan supposed it was different for them. Wei was a bit older, but he wasn’t tied down with a baby on the way. He wasn’t trapped in the way Luhan now was.

“I wish you all the luck in the world,” Luhan said, reaching across the table for a hug when Wei announced he was leaving.  “But you’re the kind of person who’s never needed luck, Wei. You make your own, and it’s something I’ve admired in you since we were kids.”

Wei hugged him tightly, the move certainly a farewell. “If you need me or anything, don’t hesitate to call me.  I’ll be there for you, Han. And if you ever come to America, you’ll have a place to stay and family to welcome you, no questions asked.”

“Who was that?” Sungjong asked once Wei was pushing past the coffee shop’s doors and leaving out onto the cold Seoul streets.

Luhan nodded after him. “That was my best friend as a kid.”

“You looked scared when he came in,” Sungjong said cautiously.

“I was,” Luhan replied, his eyes glued to Wei until he vanished around a corner. “I forgot who he was for a short while. He reminded me.”

Sungjong shrugged, a little uncertain.

“You’ll understand when you’re older,” Luhan said, feeling as if his past had finally been settled, and now he could face his future completely. “Sometimes your friends become enemies, but eventually, the ones that are worth it, come back around as friends.”

Luhan thought of Sehun then, and what they were now. Then for the first time, had hope.