“Hullo?”

“Tiffany asked all of us to her wedding,” Taecyeon cut to the chase without any preamble as Nichkhun paused, pencil stilling over the music sheets that were still blank.

“And?”

“Did she ask you too?”

A longer pause.

“Yes.”

“Well?” His friend demanded impatiently when Nichkhun stayed quiet. “Are you going or not?”

Nichkhun sighed, putting down the pencil. There was no point continuing – music was shot to hell for now.

“Is the news out yet?”

“She announced it on Yoo Jae Suk's live broadcast yesterday night. People are going crazy and the internet's blowing up but that’s besides the point.” The frustration in Taecyeon’s voice was obvious, even over the phone. “When are you going to come back? It’s not the same without you, man.”

Nichkhun sighed again; deeper and harsher, weary. “Soon. Yes, I promised – I told her I’d go.”

“Geez, we beg you to come back for months and one call from her is all it takes to get you on the plane.” muttered without any real rancour before he hesitated cautiously. “You sure you’ll be alright, though?”

“I won’t break down halfway through the ceremony and protest against the marriage, if that’s what you’re imagining.”

Taecyeon muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “wouldn’t be surprised” but spoke louder, his deep voice firm. “Then we’re all going if you are.”

Nichkhun said slowly, “It would be good for you to go whether or not I attend. You’re her friend, Taec. You should be there for her, to wish her well.”

There was a brief silence.

“She was pretty cut up about it, you know. When you broke things off, she cried a lot. Jessica said she was in a really bad state.”

Nichkhun closed his eyes. He didn’t need this now, didn’t need the additional guilt.

His silence was glaring, telling in its presence.

“You still love her.”

It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes.” The word was almost a groan.

“Why, then? Why did you do it?”

“I – I don’t know. It was a stupid, stupid small argument which just blew up, and I never apologized, and when she tried to–”

“You were too proud to say sorry too.” Taecyeon deduced dryly.

Nichkhun exhaled, the sound hanging in the air, suffocating him with its presence.

“Apologies couldn’t save anything by then. We were young and proud and still too immature to sit down and talk things over without another fight even in our mid-twenties. By the time I realized what a fool I was being, she had already moved on.”

“That’s not like you – to be a fool, I mean.”

He laughed, the sound short and mirthless. “Stephanie Hwang makes me do things that are not like me at all, period.”

“I hope breaking down halfway during the ceremony isn’t one of them.” Taecyeon joked lamely as Nichkhun laughed in response, the sound quiet and weak. He picked up his pencil again, the tip hovering over the blank sheets of paper before him.

“I’ll be back soon; I’m flying this Saturday.”

“Seven whole weeks in Korea before the wedding. Huh.” Taecyeon sounded dubious.

“I’m not going to look for her before the wedding.” He could practically read Taecyeon’s mind. “I’ll behave myself and go to the wedding quietly, be the dutiful ex-boyfriend who wishes her well and send her off to her happily ever after with Choi Seunghyun. I’ll just pass by quietly, and go on my own way after that.”

His friend was quiet for a long stretch.

“I just wish you could find your own happily ever after too, man. Just one that doesn’t need to involve her.”

“Yeah,” Nichkhun breathed out as he glanced down at his music sheet that had only one word written in pencil, etched into the paper so hard that he could feel the bumps as he traced it with a fingertip.

Tiffany.

He laughed to himself, the sound sad and melancholic.

“Yeah, I wish I could too.”

“Oppa! Nichkhun oppa, I love you!”

“Nichkhun oppa, welcome home!”

“Oppa, oppa!”

Nichkhun waved at the crowd gathered right outside the arrival hall, flashing a boyish smile that made the screams ratchet up to a volume that hurt his ears.

“Nichkhun sshi, what do you think of Tiffany’s marriage to Big Bang’s T.O.P.?”

"How does it feel to be back in Korea after so long?"

“Please comment on Tiffany’s marriage news!”

"Is it a coincidence that you're coming back at a time so close to Tiffany's wedding date?"

Nichkhun paid those reporters no heed, his gaze and ready smile hardly faltering as he strode past them while his managers dealt with the overly enthusiastic paparazzi. He greeted his fans as he stopped once in awhile to accept gifts from fans whose reactions ranged to ecstatic “I love you, oppa, please marry me!” to concerned “Have you been well, oppa?” but he merely smiled, fending off the questions and proposals with sweet, vague replies before finally making his way to the dark van parked outside the airport.

As the door slammed shut in the face of more screaming fans and rabid photographers, Nichkhun breathed a sigh of relief, somewhat surprised at himself.

On the flight back he had been accosted by several college students who requested – or rather, demanded – photos and autographs, and the scene at the airport was almost shocking after he had successfully, for most part, evaded such events for the past couple of months.

It was almost funny how easy it was to slip back into the public persona that bestowed fan service as easily as candy, dispensing smiles and throwing hearts without a thought, he mused to himself as his harried manager started the engine. But then again, it had become second nature to him over the years – to always please the fans whose presence and level of devotion could make or break an idol, to have his professional character firmly in place at all times despite the boundary he so desperately longed to draw between his personal and professional life.

“It’s good to have you back, Khun.” Minjae muttered from the driver’s seat, glancing at Nichkhun in the rearview mirror as he smiled slightly. “The boys missed you a lot.”

Nichkhun smiled back, feeling a hot flood of guilt. Guilt seemed to be a default emotion now: for abandoning s, for prolonging their hiatus for longer than necessary, for being irresponsible, for just letting go of Tiffany so easily…

“Didn’t you miss me too, hyung?” he teased, easily falling back onto the familiar habit cultivated expressly for concealing his emotions.

“You missing being pampered and me enjoying a bit of a break with one less princess to take care of would be more like it.” Minjae snorted, expertly switching lanes to access the highway to Seoul. He paused then, his concern almost a tangible presence.

“You lost weight, Khun.”

“Oh, good. I have less work to do for getting back into shape then.” Nichkhun’s tone was light as he evaded the obvious implication. “It’s still going to take me awhile before I can get my abs as defined as before again.”

“It won’t be too much of a problem,” Minjae dismissed his flippant remark with one of his own, content to avoid pursuing the matter further for now. “You should be worried about Chansung and Junho giving you a run for your money in that department though. They’ve really bulked up the past few months or so. Taecyeon’s filming a new drama with lots of shirtless scenes, so he’s really had to keep in shape, and Junsu just got back from solo promotions in Japan. Wooyoung’s still the same – just mooning over Park Seyoung-sshi as usual.” His manager chuckled affectionately. “She still won’t date him for real even after all these years, you know.”

Nichkhun blinked, hearing all this for the first time, these reminders of how much he had missed during his self-imposed exile. He hesitated briefly, feeling like a stranger who had been away for years instead of months. But then again, the world had moved on and he was the only one who had stayed stuck in the past.

 “How are they?” Nichkhun asked quietly.

Minjae’s eyes met his in the rearview mirror, thoughtful and worried at the same time.

“You can ask them that yourself later. A more important question would be how are you?”

“I’m fine.”

Nichkhun glanced away tiredly, looking out of the window. The familiar skyline of Seoul came into view, rising up like an old friend to greet him as he gazed blankly, eyes pensive.

“Are you really?” the older man murmured.

Nichkhun didn’t – couldn’t – answer.