I.

“You're staring again...” muttered Yukwon as he brushed pass Kyung, cupping a steaming cappuccino. Although he shot Kyung a pointed glance in passing, once he reached the counter—where a flustered customer awaited him by the register—he was instantly all smiles; bright and beaming. The girl, most likely a freshman judging from the hefty stack of intro to so-and-so textbooks on the counter, fumbled around in her pink Hello Kitty wallet to pay for the drink, mumbling apologizes when a few coins slipped her grip. Yukwon continued to grin, the girl continued to grow pinker.

Kyung rolled his eyes at this typical display, but not before grunting back a quiet “No, I wasn't,” to Yukwon, who was otherwise preoccupied with the task of giving the poor girl a minor heart attack. Needless to say, had he had caught the gruff protest, he would have dismissed it as Kyung lying through his teeth.

Which he was.

Ever since Kyung suggested that Jiho come work at the university café On The Block (and their desperate manager, Kim Himchan, had hired him without much question), he had been sneaking glances at the newest employee for the past few weeks. It was almost surreal to see Jiho working beside him, bringing drinks and food to tables, chit-chatting with the customers, and every now and then, joking with the staff. All of the staff, except for Kyung.

The last time Kyung had seen Jiho was five years ago when they were briefly signed to the same entertainment company—a period in his life he would mostly like to forget. The last time Kyung had seen Jiho, they had hurled every insult they could muster at one another.

Five years ago they were best friends. Now, they were hardly acquaintances.

“Does he have to wear his hair like that?” snapped Himchan, as he came out of his office to inspect all that was going on in his modest, yet popular shop. Although Himchan hired Jiho out of severe need, like with everything else in his life, he was still extremely choosy and very critical. That being said, Himchan had had every bit of his critical eye trained on Jiho since he began his stint at the shop. Kyung shrugged, checking to see how much whole milk they had left. He was used to this spiel.

“Unless you plan on firing him because of it, I think you need to give it a rest. It's been three weeks.” Kyung had been the first employee Himchan had ever hired, back when the shop was small enough for just two workers. Even before then, they had been acquainted through their families, and as such Kyung grew able to speak more freely with Himchan, than with the others. Himchan himself seemed to enjoy having at least one person to complain to (or gush) about the various occurrences in his life without having to command them to do something work-related in the same breath.

Kyung watched as Himchan narrowed his eyes at the diligently working Jiho, who was tending to minor spill from one of the customers. His thick, reddish-brown dreadlocks were piled on top of his head in a rather impressive tangle of a bun.

Kyung had to admit, that when Jiho first slipped into the coffee shop, the dreads threw him off.

When they were younger, Jiho swore never to attempt the style again after all the maintenance required and the pain he went through. But somewhere down the line he must have changed his mind. At least they looked healthier this time.

Himchan rolled his eyes. “Fine, but does he have to wear all those earrings? I can at last tell him to take those out, right?” he frowned as he focused in on the gold stud in each of Jiho's ears, curling his lip as he noted the additional red-studded tragus piercing in the left. Kyung sighed, feeling the shift stretch off into eternity—and it was only 10 AM.

“Taeil has both his ears pierced too. Big black studs, in case you didn't notice.” Himchan made a face, throwing a quick glance to a just barely visible Taeil by the doorway, flipping through pages on a clipboard in the back room in an attempt to find something in their jungle of an inventory.

“But he's so cute. No one takes those seriously.”

“What about Jaehyo?” ventured Kyung, referring to the assistant manager who was rarely at the shop. His father, who happened to own the café, granted him the position and Jaehyo himself only needed the job title to jot down on his mostly-full-of-bull-apart-from-his-name resume. They days he actually showed up at the coffeehouse, his work ethic was clearly not included with his presense.

“Jaehyo? But he's so good looking—a ing waste of space, but good-looking—that any respectable person would just ignore those awful piercings.” Kyung rolled his eyes again.

“Ok...what about Youngjae? He's got shining diamonds in his ears.” The worker in question was manning the other register, and wearing, as he always did, one of his brilliantly colored beanie caps. Today, it was an electric orange.

“First of all: not real diamonds. Secondly, look at that baby face. He needs something to make him look a little tougher. But he's still so adorable though, with those chubby cheeks,” Himchan cooed gleefully. Kyung stared at his boss and friend, though he sometimes-as-in-often questioned the second title.

“I'm starting to think you don't hire us for our skill. At all.” Himchan smiled his mischievous rabbit-like smile.

“I hired you for your skill.”

“Well, gee. Thanks.”

“Don't worry about it,” he winked, “and also don't worry about your friend. I won't fire him over those things. But I am leaving you in charge of him—make sure he doesn't screw up.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kyung muttered behind him, as the still chuckling manager returned to his office. Kyung snatched another glance at Jiho, watching as the man who was essentially now a stranger to him, whistled to himself while balancing a few dirty dishes. At the very last second Jiho's dark eyes shifted to Kyung, expression unreadable except for perhaps the slightest hint of a crease in his brow. But that could have been easily imagined.

Kyung hurriedly averted his gaze, as his hands found a meaningless task to occupy their time with. “And he's not my friend,” he grumbled to a long-gone Himchan on an afterthought.

* * *

“Hey, look who it is!” called out Yukwon waving to someone who had just stepped through the clinging front door. Kyung didn't have to turn around from wiping down one of the machines—a usual chore when the shift was slow—to know that Bang Yong Guk had just come in.

Yong Guk was probably Himchan's closest friend, as well as a first year Master's student at the university. There were many a morning that all of the workers could clearly remember, of Yong Guk stumbling into the coffee shop (while they were still setting up even, a privilege bestowed upon him by Himchan) barely able to talk (or walk for that matter) and in need of refueling.

But whenever he came around in the afternoon, during the rare hour that most of the tables were free save for the one or two people falling asleep over their books, papers and laptops, it meant that he was there for tutoring.

Everyone paused in their work to smile or wave at Yong Guk, who grinned back at them, all teeth and even more gums. Although he was always well-dressed (even during his early morning coffee breaks) with just the right amount of jewelry, he kept a very relaxed demeanor while still managing to look cooler than all of them combined. Even with the occasional dark bags of sleeplessness.

Himchan emerged once more from the depths of his (plush, pomegranate-smelling) office at the sound of Yukwon's greeting. Since there were only a few people in the café, all of whom had already been served, the other workers moved to huddle around the long counter where Yong Guk leaned over, seated on one of the stools. Himchan only gave them all one sharp look of disapproval before smirking at his long-time friend.

“Here to continue your string of hot dates, huh?” Yong Guk rolled his eyes but continued to smile. The others, even Jiho, who had only known Yong Guk for a couple of weeks, laughed.

“Who is it this time?” asked Minhyuk, who probably made the best coffee out of all of them. “The sophomore girl with those ridiculous eye lenses? Or the really tall senior with the big—”

“It's a guy, actually. He needs help in Chinese,” interrupted Yong Guk, with a raised eyebrow. Minhyuk only smiled. Kyung shook his head.

“Oh... is he that tall kid with the curly hair?” piped up Jiho, “I've seen you guys around campus.”

It still startled Kyung when Jiho actually opened his mouth to speak. Even his voice had changed. Kyung remembered back to when it was rougher, more aggressive, more excitable. Now it seemed to have mellowed out into an easy drawl. Kyung watched as Jiho played with the silver rings adorning the middle three fingers of his right hand, and he almost missed the looks the others gave Yong Guk at the word “kid.”

Yong Guk frowned at Jiho. “He's not really a kid. He's twenty, and a freshman here. I think he's just having a hard time adjusting.” Jiho shrugged, not at all deterred by the chastising look.

“I guess so. But I'm a freshman here, and I've never seen him except when he's with you.” Kyung had to force himself to keep from frowning. That was something else he didn't know—when he had caught Jiho crouching over several “Help Wanted” ads, furiously reading every line of text on the fliers while intermittently taking sips of his by-then-cold hot chocolate, he didn't even stop to ask what year he was in, or if he went to the university at all ( the café drew in people from all around the area on a good day). The only (stiff) words that were exchanged were the following:

“We're hiring. I can let the manger know you're interested."

“Oh. That—” the recognition showed itself almost immediately on the other man's face, Kyung noticed, but other than slightly narrowed eyes, Jiho held himself together amazingly. “—would be great, actually. Thanks.”

He began working four days later. The end.

“Yeah but it's possible not to have seen him. Look how many classes there are here. Even the ones that are required have a lot of sections to choose from,” pointed out Taeil as he wiped some mugs; ever the productive one. He was probably Himchan's favorite, after Kyung.

“Plus, he commutes,” Yong Guk added. Jiho finally lifted his hands in easy surrender and fell silent, looking none the bothered.

“Oh! Wait, that guy!” cried out Himchan, one delicate hand slapping the counter. Youngjae jumped. “You were with him here a few weeks ago. Don't you all remember? He's as tall as a skyscraper. Dresses...interestingly. I don't think he listened to anything you said during the lesson, by the way,” finished Himchan with a curling little smile.

“What do you mean?” ventured Yong Guk slowly. “He told me he's been feeling a bit more confident with his Chinese now, and he even wrote an essay that was actually—” Youngjae let out a jarring snort of laughter.

“Oh, yeah. Him. I remember: he was staring at you the whole time. Barely picked up his pencil. The rest of us couldn't stop laughing.” As if on cue, Taeil, Minhyuk, Yukwon and Himchan broke down into a fit of snickers. Jiho only smiled. Yong Guk, who normally took things in stride, being so used to Himchan's teasing, grew uncharacteristically quiet as he stared at a smugly grinning Youngjae and his backup giggling chorus for a good few moments. Kyung had no idea what any of them were talking about. He must had been off that day.

“Ok, stop laughing. Don't be so ridiculous,” Yong Guk fnally said with a shake of his head. Himchan grinned.

“It's nothing to be embarrassed about. Its just a case of puppy love,” he reassured, in the least-reassuring-most sticky-sweet voice he could ooze out, with an affectionate fluff of Yong Guk's dark brown hair. Yong Guk rolled his eyes before dramatically pushing himself away from the counter, the gold cross around his neck swinging back against him with the motion.

“I think I'm going to wait for him at a table...have a good shift!”

“Suit yourself....just don't break his little heart,” snickered Himchan after him. Yong Guk ignored him.

As the others got back to work, the “kid” in question—whose name Kyung later learned was Junhong—finally strode into the café with his lanky frame. It was difficult to pin a concrete age on him. He sported quite the soft baby face (but so did Youngjae) that housed a rather impish grin, and he lumbered around as though he was only getting used to his sprawling limbs (but maybe he was just one of those awkward ones). He had to be a college student, Kyung finally decide, as he watched him and Yong Guk together, because no parent would let their kid out of the house dressed so loudly.

Not only were there streaks of powdered blue kissing Junhong's bleach blond curls, but whereas Yong Guk sported a simple, clean white tee, with dark jeans and and gray sneakers, Junhong boasted a bright yellow shirt with black leopard spots and purple, slightly baggy skinny jeans accented with green converse high-tops. Where Yong Guk only wore a large, but for the most part simple, gold watch on his wrist, the other had thick leather armbands etched with intricate cross hatchings buckled on to each wrist. They were an odd pair.

“Don't you guys see? You can't tell me you don't see it! He's glowing like the sun. It's ridiculous! Ridiculous. Who gets that happy over Chinese lessons? Ridiculous! ”cried Youngjae in a husky whisper, shaking his head. Jiho shrugged as as he restocked the marshmallows, not bothering to turn in Youngjae's direction.

“So? They're probably getting to be friends, and he's happy about it. He's a commuter, right? It might be harder for him to get to know people closer to the campus. And it must be nice to have someone who makes you that happy, no matter who it is.”

Youngjae muttered something under his breath, most likely panning the remark before he turned to get a customer's order. Kyung didn't look up from fixing the chai latte that Junhong had ordered, but he had the sinking feeling, as his stomach turned and twisted into a surprisingly tight knot, that Jiho's response wasn't really for Youngjae anyway. But then again, that would be...ridiculous.

* * *

“It's so weird having him around, Gracie,” Kyung groaned into the phone as he flopped down onto his bed. He reeked of coffee (which, for the record, he had never liked), and his limbs pulsed and ache. The bed was so invitingly soft that he nearly dozed off once he found the perfect nook in his pillow. But Grace's tinkling laughter kept his eyes from falling shut completely.

“Weird that he's around, or annoying that he's barely acknowledged your existence since he began working there?” she teased, though the underlying ring of truth in her tone was not as hidden as Kyung would have liked. He suddenly pitched himself onto his side with a huff.

“I got him the job, he could have at least seem thankful.”

“Didn't he thank you about ten times after he found out he was hired?”

“That's besides the point. The only thing he says to me usually is “Hi” and “Bye” on a given day. On a good day even.”

“Stop it, now you're just being petty,” she said, a bit firmer this time. Yeah, so what? Kyung wanted to grumble back with a pout.

It had been about eight months since Kyung and Kim Grace had decided to end their relationship of one and a half years. It was her decision, with her reasoning being that she “had her reasons” (to which Kyung cried bull, and to which she ignored and left anyway). He had sworn never to talk to her again, but two months ago he couldn't resist hearing her smooth, reassuring voice. He had always been so fond of her, ever since they had become friends during orientation—those feelings would not simply just go up in smoke, unlike their relationship.

Whatever Grace's “reasons” were for pulling away bit by bit in the last few months of their time together, Kyung wasn't sure if he still had finished forgiving her for the dull ache she left behind. She had been first serious girlfriend, and also his first...well, first. However, he had missed her and the pain from her absence was not merely a dull ache, but a biting reminder that he hadn't just lost a girlfriend, but a good friend.

After she eventually reached out to him again as a friend (and after he ignored her the first three times) he began to entertain the thought that maybe repairing their friendship would do him some good. Or keep him from moving on—he wasn't sure which one, but he hoped for the former.

“I'm not, I'm not,” he grumbled, pulling the covers over him. “I just....I don't know.”

“You want your friend back.”

“I'm pretty sure I didn't say that, Grace.”

“Kyung,” she sighed. “I have never seen this guy, but in the time that we dated I feel like I have met him. Or at least, that I should meet him. That's how much you talked about him.” It was as if a bucket of ice water had been thrown on him. He turned back over in the bed, both eyes fully peeled open.

“That's crazy,” he said, after a moment.

“I know what his favorite color is, Kyung. I know that it changed three times since you guys became friends!”

“...you remember that?”

“Not the point! The point is, if you miss him so much—” here, Kyung cringed at the word “miss,” the familiar feel it carried, the closeness, the personal touch that he no longer associated with Jiho anymore “—then apologize for the things you said years ago and see if you can be friends again. I'm not saying it will be easy, but it's also not as hard as you're trying to make it. If it doesn't work, at least you can say you tried.” Kyung groaned, throwing a dramatic hand over his face. He wondered, had the situation been reversed, if she would would be so willing to comply with such a plan. Probably not; he remembered some of the spats she got into with her own friends.

“Grace this isn't magic, here. It doesn't work that way for us. We just don't do that. It's a guy thing, maybe.”

Except, not even he thought to himself.

“No, it's a stupid thing. I swear, guys are just so—” The sudden knock on the the door gave him enough of an excuse to tear his attention away from Grace and her well-meaning, but completely unwanted lecture. Mumbling a speedy “be right back,” he lunged himself out of the bed, blindly reaching for his glasses on the second-hand wooden stool he used as a nightstand.

Frowning, he d his way through the darkness to the front door of his tiny apartment. Ever since he decided to take a year off from his university studies, he had withdrawn from his relatively large circle of friends and they in turn had not made much of an effort to win back his attention. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about that.

He fumbled with the lock for a moment, flicking on the light switch before opening the door. There was no need after all, to great his guest with blinding, damning darkness. Once it flooded the room, however, he realized his living room was an embarrassing mess of empty takeout cartons, magazines, CD cases and books.

Oh, my life... Kyung thought as he opened the door, awaiting the judgment that was sure to befall him.

His gaze focused on his visitor and he stared. His jaw then clenched to keep from dropping.

“Uh...Kyung?” Jiho asked slowly, his voice low and soft; almost a whisper, as if Kyung would slam the door in his face if he dared to speak any louder.

And considered the option Kyung did, but the initial shock gripped him so tightly that he remained rigid in the doorway, hand still squeezing the knob. For a moment, not one sound escaped him, and he simply took in the cloudy confusion swimming across Jiho's face. His hair was no longer tied up for work, and Kyung realized just how long the locks actually were: a bit past his shoulders and this time neatly tied together, save for the few that framed his even-five-years-later-still-round face.

“W...what the hell are you doing here?”he finally manged, watching as Jiho winced at the bite in his voice. He stood his ground however, and continued to watch Kyung with curious eyes.

Years ago, it would have been reversed. Kyung never used to feel the need to be so defensive, so rough and distant, while Jiho had once made it his mission to always be. At least to most people. Especially those who told him “no,” when it came to his music.

“Yukwon and I had plans, but he didn't tell me he lived with you. Thought he woulda mentioned that,” Jiho murmured the last part, reaching into the pocket of his dark sweatpants and retrieving his cellphone. Even though they were in the hallway, Kyung could still feel the chill from outside, yet Jiho only wore a red ped hoodie over his white Run DMC t-shirt.

“ He doesn't live with me. I live alone.” Jiho's frowned deepened, and then deepened even further after reading what must have been an incoming text message.

“That's...pretty damn weird,” he muttered.

“What is?” asked Kyung, arms folded. He could feel goosebumps beginning to prickle along his arms. He wanted to retreat back into the safe warmth that was his messy apartment.

“I just got a text from Yukwon. He apologized to me,” he said with a light snort, and a shake of his head. “And he told me to tell you that he's had enough of 'all the staring,' and something 'had to to be done.' So he did it.” Jiho looked up, he cocked slightly to the side. “What is that supposed to mean?”

This time Kyung couldn't get his get his jaw to remain locked and it dropped open with the force of a million tons of shock and what-the-hells. He always knew Yukwon was a meddler, but he never entertained even a passing glimpse of the thought that his coworker would stick his nose this far into business that clearly was not his to stick into—and now Kyung had half a desire to break said nose

Kyung was swimming (as in, drowning) so deep in his thoughts that he almost didn't catch Jiho turning away and heading back down the hall towards the door.

“H-hey!” he called out, as a reflex more than anything and once the words were out there, he wanted to lunge forward and shovel them back into his mouth. Jiho stopped mid-step and half-turned. He said nothing, however, and suddenly Kyung felt a rush of heat sweeping over him, even as he remained rooted in the drafty, dark hall.

The words on his tongue became thick, and he had to practically pry his lips apart to continue speaking. “Look, it's cold out. You're already here. Do you want...some coffee, or tea or something?” The words tasted sour in his mouth, and the taste traveled straight to his stomach bringing a round of nausea with it.

Jiho now turned fully around and shrugged. “Fine. Tea would be good, if it's not too much trouble.”

You're the trouble! You're the trouble! Kyung inwardly cried with just enough mental shrill to pass for an inner child, as he motioned for Jiho to come inside, his limbs still stiffly robotic. What the hell was he doing? It was if someone was yanking the strings and he was preforming the movements—he wouldn't have been surprised if it was Grace herself, clutching those strings. He could still hear her smooth honey voice whispering you miss your friend, brushing against the shell of his ear. Grace and her stupid advice.

Grace, who he had forgotten about on the phone. Without a word to a returning Jiho, Kyung dashed back into his bedroom and grabbed his cellphone. “Hello? Grace, you still there?” Silence answered him back.

When he switched to his home screen, he noticed a text from her that simply stated “we'll talk later, Kyungie.” Kyung groaned, wondering if Grace somehow magically sensed that Jiho had accidentally stopped by and left the two alone to....seemingly drink tea in silence.

Because Kyung refused to talk about anything else outside of the weather. The fact that Jiho was actually standing in his messy apartment was still difficult to swallow.

He returned back to the living room, grabbing the kettle and filling it. Jiho was still standing, looking around silently. Kyung risked a peek and saw his hungry eyes drinking in the entire room before him, a small smile playing on his lips. Why was he doing that? He needed to stop it.

“Oh, !” Kyung yelped suddenly, as water begin to spill over in hot waves once the kettle became too full. Grumbling, he shut off the faucet and tipped out some of the excess; Jiho, upon hearing his gruff cruses, dared a step or two in Kyung's direction, wary curiosity lining his face.

“Everything okay? Do you need help?”

“No. What kind of tea do you want?”

“...what kind of tea do you have?”

Good question. Kyung opened one of the top cupboards and inspected the goods. “Uh...Black tea...”

“....and?”

“....just black tea, actually,” muttered Kyung with a frown. When was the last time he went grocery shopping?

“Oh...easy choice then,” Jiho quipped with a weak smile. Kyung only shrugged, and the smile quickly melted away, leaving behind a solemn mouth. A pang of guilt ripped right across Kyung's chest for a blindsiding a second. He turned back around, fishing out two tea bags as he willed himself to get a grip. It wasn't as if he begged Jiho to come here. He was simply dealing with what had been dished out to him, and he could do that any way he wished. There was no need for candy-sweet smiles and stiff pleasantries.

“So black tea is fine, right?” he asked once more before he opened the second tea package.

“Yeah, thanks.”

It was impossible not to feel the chill from the frost coating Jiho's words, but Kyung gritted his teeth, determined to ignore it. He continued to lean against the counter as the water boiled, while Jiho, after looking around once again, eventually sat down in one of the rickety chairs by the small dining table. He took out his phone and began tapping away in silence. For a moment, Kyung wondered who he was talking to, if he was talking to anyone (and if he was, were they good friends? Who were his friends now, anyway?) and what was he saying? Complaining about his obviously doomed surprise visit?

The new swell of frantic rapid-fire thoughts invaded Kyung's mind with such surprising force, that he barely caught the kettle whistling as he tried to stay afloat in his own conscious. He poured the water, brought out the milk (which he prayed was still good; when he tried to check the expiration date on the sly, the ink was smudged), the sugar and a lemon.

“Thanks,” murmured Jiho, slipping the phone back into his pocket.

They sipped in silence for what felt like a stretched out eternity. Yet, it was as if they were playing a game—as Jiho stared into his cup— a creamy brown from the amount of (apparently good) milk he poured, just like when they were kids—Kyung stared at him. When he could no longer take the sight of his foreignly familiar face, he trained his eyes onto his own cup where the contents remained black without even the slightest touch of sugar. He could then feel Jiho's eyes searching his face, reading his movements, and judging him.

It pissed Kyung off. It pissed him off to have Jiho appear back in his life looking so different, looking better, even. It pissed Kyung off that buried deep within this anger ran an undercurrent of relief that Jiho looked healthy, sane and generally okay. It pissed Kyung off that he didn't know what to say around him; they were no longer boys, they were men and even so, Kyung's throat was tight, his tongue swollen, and he suspected his skin was hot to the touch, as if he were a nervous teen all over again. It pissed Kyung off that Jiho was seeing him in his current state—tired and defenseless against judgment—knowing, that the other was trying to piece together what happened since they split, trying to determine if the end of their friendship caused the hardness that had crystallized itself onto Kyung, onto his words, his actions, his very thoughts.

It pissed Kyung off, that on some level, perhaps, that is exactly what had happened. He gripped the handle of his cup tighter.

“--uh, hello? Are you...there?” Kyung snapped up from his drink and was greeted with a lightly frowning Jiho.

“What?”

“I asked, how long have you been working at the coffee shop?” Kyung shrugged.

“Almost three years, I guess. Since I started going to the university.”

“Oh, so you're almost done school, then? Next year is your last, right?”

Kyung inwardly groaned. While the entire point of his vow to drink his tea in as much silence as possible was to keep any other form of conversation away from the details of his life, the lie he wanted give as an answer simply would not form on his tongue.

“Not exactly. I'm taking a year off right now. So, I still have two more to go.”

“Oh.” The note of finality in his tone struck Kyung harder than expected. Jiho wasn't even slightly curious as to why? Years ago, he would go on without restraint, prying himself into everything he deemed interesting. And he always seemed to find Kyung to be the most interesting subject, hence them never keeping many secrets from each other.

That sure has damn changed.

To shake off the newest addition to his bothersome set of thoughts, Kyung continued forward into the almost painful conversation. “What is your major, anyways?”

“Music Theory and Music education. Yours?”

“...Business management,” Kyung muttered as he fiddled with his cup, swirling around the last grainy remains of his tea, eyes glued to the refreshingly mindless task.

Until Jiho began choking mid-sip.

“D-Did y-you,” the other man wheezed out, thumping at his chest. “...did you say business management?”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Kyung almost growled, even though he damn well knew what it was supposed to mean—he had heard this all before, sometimes from himself.

“I mean...” Jiho trailed off, eyes narrowed on him, as if trying to detect a lie. “It just don't seem very.....you.” Kyung nearly leaped up from the table.

“How would you know, what's 'me,' these days, huh? Just think about that for a sec,” he snapped, immediately regretting the outburst. Even he could hear the pain in his voice, and he felt the sharp ache as it bit into him. This was a completely different to anything Grace had caused him to feel when she left. This pain not only ached, it choked him. It gripped his insides and twisted, feeling as fresh as it did five years ago.

Jiho quickly backed down, nodding. His gaze no longer met Kyung's as he stared at his hands.

“You're right,” he said softly. “I'm sorry.” Kyung was not used to hearing those words come from Jiho's mouth. The rush of emotion ebbed a bit, and his muscles began to relax a fraction. He let out a deep breath, in an attempt to steady himself.

“I still love music, I do, but...” He owed Jiho no explanation, and yet he was still trying to sort out the whirring thoughts tangled about in his mind, searching for the right words. Jiho however, shook his head

“Don't worry about it.”

“Yeah, well...you're one to talk, anyways,” Kyung tried again, even as he mentally demanded himself to shut up. But now the defensive edge had melted away from his tone, and his voice matched Jiho's subdued softness. “I thought you would try and major in something like music production. I'm kind of surprised you don't own your own company by now,” he almost smiled, but caught it just before it was too late. Jiho shrugged.

“I still love making music. It's always going to be in my life, but...after what happened to us,” Kyung winced at the sudden unearthing of buried memories, “how they treated us, totally screwed us over—I don't think I can work for an entertainment company. I just keep thinking, y'know, what if I get to caught up in all that profit bull, what if--”

“No.” Kyung's voice was firmly steady and calm and yet he felt as as surprised as Jiho looked. He continued on, shaking his head, feeling the need to finish speaking even though he had the urge to simply melt away from the conversation. “No. You aren't like them. You wouldn't do that.” Kyung leaned back in the chair, sinking under the weight of his words. The smile that broke out onto Jiho's face did nothing to soothe the nerves racing on overdrive through his body. Jiho chuckled.

“How would you....nevermind. Thanks, Kyung. I hope you're right.” Kyung gave a slight nod. The warmth in Jiho's voice was more jarring than familiar, it was too warm, and Kyung had to suppress the sudden desire to leave the room, to curl back into his bed and burrow underneath the blankets like a child, protecting himself from the monsters of his past.

As if hearing his silent plea for isolation, Jiho suddenly stood up, the faint outline of his smile still on lips.

“I should go now. Need to finish up a project.” Kyung nodded wordlessly, scooping up the glasses and placing them down in the sink. He walked with Jiho a few steps to the door, his mouth as dry as a desert. Jiho gave him one last half smile.

“Thanks for the tea.”

“Anytime.”

“...really?” asked Jiho quietly, looking at Kyung with those ever-curious eyes. Kyung fell silent, cursing himself. No, Kyung wanted to snap, not “really.” It was a just a careless, reflexive response, one that you used with people. It was so common, so devoid of personal meaning, and yet, Kyung should have known better: after five years, Jiho still was not simply “people.”

“Kyung...” Jiho began, still quiet. “If you want, next week, maybe you could come over—“

“i don't know, Jiho,” Jiho looked away, and Kyung wondered if the same pain he had felt just moments ago had now finally made its way around to the other man. He would never ask, of course: he was afraid of the answer plain and simple, just as he was afraid to entertain any thought of Jiho becoming a part of his life again.

“Alright, that's fair. But think about it, okay?”

“Yeah. Sure.” It was all he was going to be able to think about in the next few days, Kyung realized, and not without a a dose of dread either.
 

“Okay,” he turned to leave, and then paused. “Kyung?”

“Hm?”

“You don't have to say anything to this, and actually I don't want you to. But I do want you to know that even though this is... pretty damn hard for me, it's still good to see you again. I don't want you to think otherwise.”

He did not turn around, and before Kyung could smooth over the hitch in his own breath, before he could begin to think of how to respond (Jiho's wishes be damned), Jiho was already gone, leaving Kyung's pulse racing faster than he dared to dwell upon.

I'm back! I know this chapter was long, but hopefully worth the read. I"m having fun writing about the BAP members--I've always wanted to do it :D Let me know what you think so far. Poor Kyung, he seems to be in quite a bit of a slump right now, but maybe Jiho can help with that....or make it worse, lol. See you next chapter ;)