[takes place in the future, au]

(Yijeong POV)
...
You're dreading everything about tonight. Every cell in your body is screaming at you to abandon this entire event as you walk into the restaurant, request your reserved table for five, sit down and order a glass of water while you wait for the rest of your party to arrive. You're about to bolt when Jaeho walks through the door, closely followed by Dokyun. Sihyung arrives a couple of minutes later, and the cloud of doom that's been growing inside you for hours now takes control. You watch the door, you don't even try to be subtle, it's years too late for subtlety. Your bandmates converse with each other, but they don't try to engage you until the bell on the restaurant door rings and he walks inside. 

You haven't seen him in months, but right now you can remember the last time so clearly, as if it's playing back in your mind like a movie. You thought you were doing fine, you thought you were handling everything fairly well, but then he walks to the table, smiling, looking intensely attractive in his casual attire and it's like you can't breathe, it's like it's happening all over again, it's like you've forgotten just how much you love him. (You never really forget.) He slides into the last empty chair, the one across from you, and his eyes are shining and he looks good, he looks so good and so happy and you feel it like a stab in the chest when you remember that you're not the reason why. (It gets worse when you remember that there was a time when you were.)

"Long time, no see," you hear Jaeho say. "Has it really been that long?" he says with a grin. "Six months," you say, catch his eye, lose your breath. His smile falters only slightly as he looks down the table. "We've all been busy," he says to excuse his absence in your lives. "It's just the way it is," you mumble as the waiter arrives to take your order. 

It takes three minutes for your drinks to be served and twenty-eight minutes for your food to arrive at your table, and you're already thinking that those should have happened in reverse. You eat quickly to compensate for the dizziness that's filling your head, you know you can't trust your mouth when you're drinking. "I see you learned how to eat while I was away," he teases. You stop, set down your fork, look up at him. "I guess there's a lot you missed," you say calmly before returning to your meal. Dokyun laughs awkwardly and tries to draw attention away from the situation by telling some probably fake, definitely ridiculous story about a traffic jam he'd been stuck in earlier in the week. You're grateful to him for that, for taking the attention away from you. 

Everyone takes turns describing what they've been up to for the past few months, but by the time it's your turn, all you say is, "I've been working." He nods. "We've all been doing our fair share of that," he adds to break the silence. "Does it feel like it's really been five years? Am I the only one who feels like we debuted last week?" Jaeho says and you're grateful to have the spotlight removed from you for a moment. "It's closer to five and a half now," Sihyung points out. "Time flies..." Dokyun muses, but you know the rest of that saying and you can't remember the last time any of this felt 'fun'. Definitely not today, not in this moment, because he's still looking at you and he still looks happy and it's apparent, probably to everyone, that you have only gotten more attracted to him over the past two years and this whole outing is only serving to piss you off even more. Whatever it is, it hasn't classified as 'fun' in years. (It's not fair, but you know it's still what you deserve.)

Eventually, someone suggests moving your little reunion to a karaoke room, but you make an excuse, you say you have to work, offer to pick up the tab. They try to persuade you, but only out of courtesy, they know you too well to think you're easily persuaded. They all stand from the table, except for one, except for the one sitting across from you. "I'm gonna stay a little longer," he says, and Dokyun eyes him for a moment before he nods. "Call me tomorrow, we'll get everything figured out." You want to say something, beg someone to stay with you, but he leans back in his chair and he stares at you and all your words vanish, you don't even know what you'd say. The rest of your band leaves and he reaches for his wallet, fishes around for his credit card. "I meant it when I said I'd pay," you tell him defensively. "You may have eaten a lot, but most of that tab is mine. I'll pay." You shake your head. "I can afford it, I don't mind." He's not insulting you, he's not implying that you're broke, not any more broke than you actually are, but it feels somewhat like an attack and it doesn't take much to put you on the defensive these days. 

Six months ago, Jaeho and Sihyung had teased you about seeing him behind their backs and you'd lost it, because what did they know? How could they possibly understand what this was like for you? What right did they think they had to bring it up? Why did they have to make assumptions and accuse you? Accuse you of things that you weren't even doing, not anymore. They'd stopped teasing you after that, and even though you thought that would make you feel better, in the end you just felt like it was another thing that had changed for the worse. 

"I'm paying, so deal with it," he says, pulling your thoughts back to the present. If he's paying, you think to yourself, may as well take advantage. You flag down the waiter and order another drink and you think he'll be annoyed, you think he might even leave, but he doesn't, he orders another drink himself. And then another, so you order another, and by the time you lose count, he finally asks for the bill. "What even happened between us?" he asks, slurring a bit, and maybe he's really forgotten, but you can't. (You've tried enough times to know for sure.)

Of course you hadn't seen each other much over the past two years. Of course things had changed and you'd been busy and you'd lost contact. It was inevitable. Maybe that night was inevitable too, that night when he'd shown up out of the blue at the door of your studio, your new one, the one that you have all to yourself. That night when he'd used his brief vacation time to see you. That night that you should always regret, that night you'll never be able to forget.

"Why are you here?" you asked, tried to sound harsh, even though your heart felt fluttery and he looked better than you remembered. "I wanted to see you." One simple phrase and you felt your resolve melting. "Nice digs," he said, inspecting your studio. "It's alright," you said. "How long has it been?" He shrugged. "A couple months," he answered. "How long are you staying this time?" You sat down on the couch and he looked down at you. "As long as you want." So, you're staying forever? you thought, and even though you knew it was impossible, you wanted to try, you wanted to make him want to stay forever. (All you ever did was try.)

The sun was just beginning to rise before you realized why he'd come to see you, before he admitted what was really going on. "I met someone," he said abruptly, his eyes closed. "Is she pretty?" you replied, because your heart was breaking in his hands. He opened his eyes, but he still couldn't look at you. "She's... not you." You nodded once. "Isn't that what you want?" He shrugged. "It's never been a matter of what I want." You ran your hand through your hair and tugged at it. "You came all this way to tell me that?" He shook his head. "I came to convince myself that it would be the right choice, starting something with her. But maybe you're the only one who can convince me, so you should tell me if I'm doing the right thing. You're good at that, right?" He wasn't wrong, but he shouldn't have asked you anyway. "Do whatever you want," you replied weakly, stood up from where you rested in his arms, returned to work, turned away from him. 

"I'm going to go unless you ask me to stay," he said, gathered his clothes and got dressed. He'll never be able to understand how much you wanted to make him stay, but it only would have made it harder. You always knew he'd choose some pretty girl over you eventually, so you didn't say anything, focused on your work, tried to block it out when he leaned down to kiss the top of your head, when he apologized for everything, when he walked out the door forever. (When you almost ran after him and begged him to stay.)

You've been trying not to think about that night for six months, but right now it's all you can see, and you don't know what to do, you don't know how to cope with all of this, but you think you should start by going home and sleeping it off. "I'm coming with you," he says when you stand up, unsteady. "Go home," you tell him. "Not until you're home safe." You sigh loudly as he throws an arm around your shoulder and leads you out to hail a cab. You haul yourself into the backseat and rest your head against the door. "You're going to your studio, right?" he asks and you answer with a nod because your words would be more dangerous. He gives the driver the address and buckles himself into the seat, checks to make sure your seatbelt is fastened too. "If you get sick in this taxi, I'm not paying for it," he jokes. "I'm fine," you whisper, lean as far away from him as you can. It's not far to your studio, but the ten minute drive feels endless and you're tempted to jump out and walk the rest of the way, but he'd follow you and that would just prolong this. He pays the driver and you wish he wouldn't, but he follows you up to the door, chuckles while you fight with your keys, walks in behind you and closes the door. "I'm home safe, you can go."

"I missed you," he says. "Don't," you whine, sit down on the couch and pray you'll feel less out of control if you stop moving. "Don't say you missed me, don't say you're sorry, just go home and forget about me." He's never been good at following your orders, he sits down next to you. "I tried," he mutters softly. "Oh, that's right. So, how is she?" you say suddenly, gathering up your courage. He looks at you, his eyes warm and inviting. "She's..." he trails off, reaches toward you, rests his hand on your knee. "She wasn't you." Your head is pounding and your heart feels like it will surely burst this time and you're trying not to react, but it's too late, you feel tears welling up in your eyes, cascading down your cheeks. "I'm not asking for anything and I don't know what to do next, but... she was... she wasn't you."

"I missed you too," you whisper after a moment of silence, and you're falling apart again, and everything you've tried to do for months, everything you tried to forget is meaningless now because he's here and he's back for good and he's... still everything you've ever wanted. You turn to him, tears slipping down your cheeks, reach toward him, press your hands into his shoulders, push him back weakly. "You broke my heart," you choke out. "I know," he whispers. You push his shoulders again, even more gently this time. "You're gonna do it again." He shakes his head, looks more serious than he has in a year. "No, I'm not." 

"Yes, you are," you sob desperately, "but I'm gonna let you do it anyway." He sighs and you lean in to kiss him, you close your eyes more tightly than should be possible and you make it happen, you let it happen, because you always do, because you never had any other choice, because you are never getting over him. You're not surprised when he kisses you back, when he wraps an arm around your waist like it belongs there, like you belong with him, you're not surprised until he pulls away, until he holds your face in his hands and looks at you, really looks at you and smiles. "It's you," he breathes, "it's always you." It shouldn't matter, it shouldn't make your breath catch, it shouldn't melt your heart and cloud your mind, but it does matter, and your heart melts, and your mind freezes up because it's always been him for you, you've never considered anyone else, never, but you never imagined that he could possibly feel the same way about you. "It's always me?"

"It is always you," he whispers, kissing you for emphasis. "You're drunk," you point out, because you're scared and this can't be real and you can't fall back into this again, especially because this is real and you are falling. "Not anymore. You're drunk," he counters. "And?" you prompt, bite your lip because he's right, you're still dizzy and clouded, but now it's mostly because of him, because you're basically straddling his lap and your face is only inches from his and you've never been able to think straight when he's this close. "And that's why I'm not going to let you take this any further than you already have."

"You're not?" He grins. "I guess I just want it to be different this time. I want it to be more... real." Your heart is aching and all you want is to kiss him again, to kiss him forever, to find out if that's even possible, to kiss him for the rest of your life. (You'll never admit to that last part.) "Don't leave," you whisper and he nods. "I'm not leaving." He leans in to brush his lips against yours, almost agonizingly slowly, so gently that you're not sure if you're even touching at all. You climb out of his lap, settle for resting your head on top of his thighs. He cards his fingers through your hair and it feels so familiar and tender and loving that you think you might start crying again. "I really put you through hell this time," he says. "I put myself through hell," you explain, "I just used you as an excuse."

"What do you mean?" he says, genuinely confused. "I knew how this would end, I just did it anyway." You clear your throat, but it doesn't help you feel any less emotional, your throat is tight and your head hurts. "But I'm back now, so maybe it hasn't ended." You know it's never going to end, you've always known there was no way to make it stop, you'll always come running whenever he needs you and you'll always drop everything the second he wants you and you'll never stop feeling like he's the only thing that matters to you, the only thing that you have, the only thing that you want. "Maybe we just have to... see it through to the end."

"Maybe it doesn't have to end," he suggests. "Maybe," you mumble, but he must not believe you because he says, "Maybe I'll just prove it to you." He looks away for a moment, but you only want one thing right now, you only want to be in his arms, you only want to forget all these months you've spent without him. "I don't have any answers and I don't really know where we can go from here," he says and you nod absently. "What do you know then?"

"That I missed you and I want to be here. With you. If you want me..." he trails off because you sit up, turn to him, maintain eye contact. "I want you," you say firmly, "I will always want you." He smiles, and you think he almost looks relieved, like he had managed to convince himself that you could have changed your mind about him. "I think we should move back in together," he says. "What, the band?" He shrugs. "The band or just... the two of us..." You laugh harshly, suddenly, and he looks confused. "You don't want to?" he mutters, and he looks genuinely hurt. "I just wasn't expecting you to say that. Wouldn't it be harder to keep it a secret if we lived together?" 

"If we tell anyone who asks that we're roommates, wouldn't that make it easier? People believe what they want, they see what they want to see... we could spend as much time together as we want and no one would care, because we're roommates." You sigh. "You just want to be roommates?" He shakes his head. "You want to be roommates like we were before?" He shakes his head again. "No, I don't want to be roommates like before." 

"Oh," you whisper and he grins at you. "What do you say? You want to move in with me?" Your head is spinning and you feel out of control and you can't believe this is really happening, but it seems to be and you don't want to waste any more opportunities. "Are you sure you're not still drunk?" He chuckles. "You don't have to say anything now, just think about it, okay?" He looks nervous and you can't believe he thinks you could possibly say no to him, and you feel like you might start to cry if you think about it for one more second, so you take advantage of a different opportunity, you lean in to kiss him, you tuck your hands beneath his shirt, you pull him down on top of you. 

You don't know if this is real, you don't know if you can trust what you're feeling right now, you don't know where to go from here or if he'll change his mind or if he'll leave again, but you manage to put all of those worries aside, file your questions away in the back of your mind, focus on him, on this moment, on making up for so much lost time, and for a moment you let yourself believe that this isn't doomed, that this is what you deserve, that things will be different this time. 

(He thinks you're asleep, but you're not, and he thinks you can't hear him say that he loves you, but you can, and he thinks you can't forgive him for all that he's done, but you already have.)