Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear—

“I said, don’t.” Jongkook waved off an arm that snuck around his neck, casually flipping at the bits of meat charring on the grill in front of him. The ventilator hummed loudly above them, indicating its functionality, but still the smoke hung around him. She was unable to make out his expression even till the last note of the song.

April 24^th, a quarter past midnight. There were only a handful of customers, despite it being a Saturday. The clamor that surrounded their table elicited some amount of attention, she knew, and he was embarrassed about it. It didn’t help either, with the restrictions that followed the Co-vid pandemic, that they were to abide by their social responsibility of limiting in-person gatherings. She felt cautious too, gathering for a mere party— a party of five, with two of the attendees being owners of the restaurant, but a party nonetheless. It wasn’t even his birthday today, technically speaking.

Jihyo turned around from her seat, observing the tables aback. Two middle aged men, exchanging quiet conversations with stolid faces, minding their own business. A distance away, another table was occupied by a younger man and woman presumably in a relationship. The woman chattered on with laughter etched in her crescent shaped eyes, looking neon red under yellowed lighting. The man looked on with a dull expression as if drained of energy. The clutter of green bottles said enough. Further away, sat more guests, in groups of two and three, four. The remaining tables in between were empty, or not yet cleared, decorated with stacks of used dishes and crumpled up balls of stained napkins. It had been a slow night, she figured.

“Blow the candles, hyung,” Kwangsoo said, as Jihyo turned to face forward, readjusting her position, and scooted the cake across, making it more accessible to Jongkook. Four longer candles and five shorter candles stuck out through the clouds of faint pink cream frosting, and Jihyo had to laugh. Who had gotten the cake again?

“Forty six,” Haha laughed with her unabashedly, and Jihyo imagined his obliviousness against Jongkook’s pointed stare.

“Meaning you’re now even closer to your fifties,” Sechan chimes in too, quite gleefully, but he’s casting side glances at Jongkook. Next to him, Kwangsoo finger counts the candle with a smile, as if it weren’t intentional— but then maybe again, it wasn’t. “Hyung, you’re forty six?”

Jongkook stands up abruptly, or maybe not abruptly, but with enough force to have the chair legs screech, scraping against the floor tiles. For a moment Jihyo considers he might be irritated, but the thought dissipates as quickly as it’s formulated. When Jongkook reaches for the ventilator, yanking it closer to the grill and clearing the lingering smoke, Jihyo finds that she’s right. The corners of his lips are curved upwards. His eyes crease just enough to express his amusement.

“Listen to me,” Jongkook said. He was completely sober, of course. “Kwangsoo, Sechan. I was like you two, once, content with where I am, not in the slightest of hurry to get married—“

“We heard.”

Jongkook kissed his teeth. “Your pool of options narrows as you age, and—“

“So you said,” Kwangsoo chirped. “Just yesterday, I think it was.”

“Hyung, you get yourself wedded off, first,” Haha says.

Jongkook scoffs, nostrils flaring, not unbothered, but finding truth in Haha’s remark, and chuckles in spite of himself. The rest of them echo his laugher— except Jihyo. She’s wearing an open grin that coughs out some sound, but her eyes don’t wrinkle. Marriage talk amongst men, when she’s a woman in her forties. They won’t talk about her in front of her face, but she knew what they were thinking. Beyond concern, care, and love, there was judgment— not out of spite, she knew, but it was inevitable, given the conventional boundaries of societal expectations, traditions. She wanted to leave; it was uncomfortable. She tapped hesitantly at her phone inside the jean pocket. The minute she leaves, they’d start talking.

So she stays.

“Jihyo. You really not seeing anyone lately?” Well, it wasn’t unexpected. Haha’s naturally blunt, and anyway, his eyes were tipsy.

“Single as ever,” Jihyo waves her hands dismissively; she wants to cut the conversation short. “I’m having lots of fun though, don’t feeling I’m missing out. I’m quite looking forward to my forties, truthfully.”

“So long as you’re happy,” Jongkook says, shuffling a load of cake into his mouth. He’d gotten the message.

“But you can’t know what you’re missing out if you’ve never experienced,” Haha presses on, ignoring Jongkook, who stared pointedly at him, shaking his head ‘drop it.’ Kwangsoo and Sechan exchanged uncomfortable glances. “I mean, you’re forty, Jihyo. You’re going to be fifty before you know it, and guess what. You won’t get pregnant. You’ll miss out on motherhood. Men won’t—“

“I said, I’m fine. It’s not like I swore off marriage,” Jihyo says, temper building. She remembers their public setting, and tones it down a notch. “In time, the right person will come. I’ll happily get married then, yeah?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Kwangsoo says. He refills their shot glasses, except Jongkook’s, since he’s been clinking cheers with a diet coke can. “The theme of modern marriage is true love and compatibility, hyung. People take their time with it, naturally. Just because you—“

“Lucky punk—”

“Just because you succeeded with—“

“He was all about the party life then, as you know. Hooking up left and right, drinking all night, not giving two s about building a stable, family life— couldn’t even remember the code to his house, at times—“

“Just because you succeeded with your rushed confession—“

“I know! And you know what I’m realizing? That I’m lucky! I’m so goddamn ing lucky! I’m so LUCKY! I’m so lucky, lucky—“

Jihyo laughs, and this time, it reaches her eyes. “I want to go home.”

The night air chills her nostrils as its charred-smoke scent penetrated through the clog. She sniffs excessively, welcoming its assault, as she waves her farewell to the departing members, waiting for Sungmoon to reply.

i’m thinking about heading out in twenty minutes. don’t want to bother the members about giving me a ride; it’s late. so. you’re going to have to give me a ride (1:47/ unread)

you’re not picking up my phone calls. i’m outside now. (2:01/ unread)

… i know you’re not busy. you’re either gaming or . while i’m freezing to death. come pick me up. (2:03/ unread)

pick up your phone (2:04/ unread)

hey (2:05/ unread)

pick up your phone (2:08/ unread)

i don’t even have my wallet with me. i left it in jooyoung’s car. (2:10/ unread)

“Aren’t you going home, Soohyun?” Jongkook had pulled up his car closely to the pavement, and looked at her concerned through the window he pulled down.

Lips pursed, she grinned, embarrassed. “Actually oppa, I’ve called for Sungmoon to have me picked up, but he hasn’t responded. I haven’t got my wallet with me. Do you mind sending me a cab?”

His frown deepened. “It’s so late. You should’ve gone with— should I call for Haha?”

“Don’t. I’d really rather not burden unnie.” Byul, bare faced and hair in disarray, shot Jihyo a miserable look when she came to collect her wasted husband. She rolled her eyes, exasperated, as Haha babbled drunkenly, but nevertheless pet his head affectionately as he planted sloppy kisses against her cheek.

His fingers tapped at the driving wheel as the engine mumbled on softly. Jihyo suppressed another wave of shiver.

“Come on then, get in. I’ll drive you home.”

“Oh, but I can’t. You live so far away. It’ll take an hour for you to drive back.”

“Stop being ridiculous,” he says, and beckons her in. So she gets in.

It’s not the first time she’s been in his car, and it’s certainly not the first time she’s alone with him. There’s something though, about being alone with a man— oh, alright, a friend first before man, but he is a man, is he not— in an enclosed, dark space that smelt distinctly of musk leather. Jihyo felt her nose flare in spite of herself.

“I owe you,” she says, just to say something.

“I’ll remember,” he says. She knows he will. He remembers everything.

She puts on her seatbelt and he warms her seat for her. There’s little light penetrating through the windshield, but she doesn’t have to see him to know he’s smiling. His comfort coaxes her own, and she allows herself to relax a little more against the car seat, wiggling to test out different angles of position.

“Happy birthday.”

“Thanks, Soohyun.”

His eyes are on the streets, left hand on the stirring wheel, the right resting casually against the gear knob— which she places her own hand atop, after a moment of hesitation. He doesn’t say anything or react much at all, except that his fingers twitched a little. His eyes were still affixed ahead.

She looks away, suddenly interested at the cars racing past them, observing them as she traced circles around the fleshy part of his thumb.

“Alright, stop.”

Jihyo sneaked in a secret grin. “What?”

“Stop seducing me. It’s not funny.”

She laughed— she couldn’t help herself. It was a game— their game. They’d sneak in secret touches every now and then, just to poke fun at the fact they’ve aged, with bodies unwilling to tingle, hearts incapable of fluttering at the slightest sensation of physical contact. Yes, they were single— they’d both been, for the longest time. But even loneliness couldn’t surpass the ten, eleven maybe, years of comradeship and brotherhood they’ve established. They were unbothered and indifferent towards each other by default. It sparked a thrill though, at times when she did manage to elicit a response from him— moments such as this— knowing she might have the power to possibly destroy everything they’ve built, only if she wanted. She had wondered, more often then she cared to admit, how it would feel to have him see her as a woman. It was a dangerous thought to explore, harmless in reality that suggested, nowhere. Jongkook was excellent at drawing lines, remaining within the boundary.

Jihyo tapped her fingers at his hand playfully. She’d stay within hers too if only it meant she could tiptoe along the threshold sometimes. It was fun testing his limits. He was all about discipline and routines, proper etiquette and manners, and—

Her palm suddenly meets his, dry and warm, when he without a warning flips his hand over, fingers loosely interlocking hers into a weave basket.

—and there were moments like this, when he acts unexpectedly out of character that she’s not sure what to think.