The next morning Junmyeon wakes up warm and well rested for the first time in years. It’s only seven in the morning, but he feels like he slept for days. When he climbs out of bed, pausing a minute to smile down at Chanyeol and Baekhyun who roll together into each other and cuddle back up, he notices that Kyungsoo is already up, and the couch where Yifan had gone to sleep is empty as well.

He finds them in the kitchen, following the sounds of pans clanking together and what sounds like a hushed argument. He walks into the kitchen to find Yifan whining with his head on the counter and Kyungsoo looking at him with what appears to be a very unimpressed stare.

“What’s going on?” Junmyeon asks as he walks in, standing an equal distance between them in case it’s a real fight that he doesn’t want to be involved in.

Kyungsoo huffs. “I need more eggs and Yifan is being a big baby and won’t go get them.”

“It’s always me.” Yifan whines. “Why doesn’t anybody else ever have to go grocery shopping for you?”

“Because you’re always the first one up, and by the time anybody else wakes up the rest of breakfast will be ready and I won’t have time to make it.”

“I’ll go, though.” Junmyeon cuts in. “I always wake up pretty early. I don’t care to go from now on.”

“No way, you’re barely one hundred pounds. Somebody will snatch you up.”

“They’ll bring me back.” Junmyeon said, with just enough of a smile for it to seem like a joke. He grabbed his wallet and cell phone from where he’d set them down on the coffee table last night and went to find his jacket on the coat rack by the door. “Are eggs all you need?”

“Maybe more milk, too. Are you sure you’re okay going by yourself, though?”

Junmyeon laughed. “I go grocery shopping by myself all the time. It’s a lot safer now when the sun’s up than it is when I go after my last shift at the convenience store. I’ll be fine.”

“If you’re sure…” Kyungsoo says, trading a look with Yifan.

Junmyeon nods. “I’ll be right back.”

---

When Junmyeon returns, he’s met with the site of Yifan standing outside in the cold, no jacket, hunched in front of a powerful man whom Junmyeon assumes is Yifan’s father. He freezes for a second, dreadfully familiar with the resigned and submissive pose Yifan is using with his father. It’s similar to how Junmyeon feels his own body bending when he’s at home. Head down, hands clasped in front of him, shoulders as relaxed as he can get them so he doesn’t look defensive.

“Yifan?” He calls, walking up to them. He bows to Yifan’s father, more out of obligation than respect. “What’s going on?”

Yifan smiles at him, a little forced. “Nothing. I have to leave a little early, though.”

“Oh.” Junmyeon says, glancing at Yifan’s father and then back at his friend. “Okay then. We’ll miss you though.”

Junmyeon stands still next to Mr. Wu as Yifan hurries inside to gather his things and tell the others that he’s leaving.

Mr. Wu grunts at him when he notices the stationary boy next to him. “Aren’t you going to follow him back in?”

“Do you hate Yifan’s friends, Mr. Wu?” Junmyeon asks instead, eyes glued to the doorway Yifan had scuttled in through. “Or is it that you just don’t like us poor ones?”

Mr. Wu frowns at him, but doesn’t bother to answer. Junmyeon continues, Yifan’s misery fueling him much more than his own ever had. “We may not have money like Baekhyun’s parents, or Jongin’s parents, but it’s Kyungsoo that makes sure your son eats when he’s too stressed to think of it himself, and it’s Jongdae that jokes around and cheers him up when he thinks he’s disappointed you, and it’s Luhan who seems to know exactly when he needs to be pulled away from his work to go play basketball and cool off. Because those are things you can’t just throw money at to make disappear. He needs friends that will look out for him.”

“So then what is it that you do for my son, child? I’ve never even heard your name before.” Mr. Wu says, cold and intended as an insult. But Junmyeon has heard much worse than that before, so he twists his lips up in a wry smile instead.

“I’m the one who will speak up to his father who expects too much, when he is too afraid to do so himself.”

“And just what is that supposed to mean?” Mr. Wu demands, turning towards Junmyeon angrily.

 “Do you love your son, Mr. Wu?”

“Do I- Just what kind of question is that?”

“It’s just that you remind me a little bit of my own father. And I promise you he is not anyone you want to have anything in common with.” Junmyeon drags his gaze from the doorway and looks at Yifan’s father. “My father demands a lot of me, and gets angry when I can’t keep up. He never puts any consideration into my condition, even if I’m sick or I’m depressed he expects things that are impossible for me to give him. And I’m honestly a little afraid of him.”

Mr. Wu opens his mouth, but Junmyeon speaks again before he has the chance to speak. “And you’re exactly the same.”

Yifan’s father recoils a little bit, but Junmyeon pushes on, courage running out under the gaze of someone who could squish him like a bug. “Mr. Wu, if you don’t love your son, go ahead and keep pushing him to take over your company. He loves you, and he is loyal to you, so he’ll do it. But he’ll be miserable. He’ll have to drag himself out of bed everyday knowing that he has to go to a job he doesn’t like, wondering everyday what his life would be like if he’d said no to you, but too afraid of the answer to actually find out. Is that what you want?”

Yifan comes back through the front door, looking shocked when he sees Junmyeon still there with his father, and Junmyeon speaks his last words quicker and quieter, so Yifan won’t hear.

“And one day, he’ll wake up, and he’ll realize he hates his company, and he hates himself, and he’ll hate you, too, for forcing this on him. And it’ll be like he died, to you, because he’ll never be able to smile at you again, knowing you took his happiness from him. Trust me, Mr. Wu, I know exactly how this goes. So if you don’t love your son, and you don’t care that he’s going to end up miserable, continue what you’re doing. But you better hope you don’t regret it. Because Yifan’s dream has a window, and once it’s closed, no amount of your money can get it back for him.”

“What’s up, Jun?” Yifan asks as he walks up, giving his bag to the driver waiting to stow it in the trunk.

“I just wanted to introduce myself to your father, since I don’t expect we’ll meet again anytime soon.”

“Oh…” Yifan says, looking at him oddly.

Junmyeon sighs. “I guess you have to go, though, huh? I’ll head back inside, then.”

“Alright, be careful on the steps, they’ll throw you off balance with all those bags.”

Junmyeon laughs. “I’ll be careful. You be careful, too, okay? Don’t stress out too much. Kyungsoo and I were going to make cookies, I’ll bring you some to school tomorrow, okay? Look forward to it.”

Yifan smiles, a real smile, and Junmyeon pretends not to notice Mr. Wu’s eyes widen from where he stands off to the side.

(And when Junmyeon’s foot catches on the third stair to the door and he stumbles, he pretends not to notice that too.)

---

Things sober up after Yifan leaves. The kids still play video games in the living room floor, and Jongdae and Baekhyun are still joking loudly from the love seat, but the overall energy has lowered. It’s almost as if they’re all putting an effort into not doing anything Yifan will miss.

Junmyeon himself is curled up on the couch, watching the three youngest bicker and listening to Yixing and Kyungsoo make lunch in the kitchen. Chanyeol is settled in next to him, fingers plucking out a random melody on his guitar. It’s slow and beautiful, and Junmyeon finds himself relaxing even further into the cushions as he listens.

“It’s pretty,” he mutters, into the back of the couch, eyes blinking sleepily. “Are you improvising?”

Chanyeol hums. “Sort of. There are a few parts that I’m trying to figure out what to do with, so like the basic melody is the same, but the rest of it is just stuff I’m making up.”

“That’s amazing,” Junmyeon says, eyes fixed on Chanyeol’s fingers on the strings. “How do you play?”

Chanyeol stops picking out chords in favor of looking at Junmyeon with furrowed brows. “Have you never tried before?”

Junmyeon shakes his head. “In elementary school the kids in my class all got to play around with instruments, but my music teacher wouldn’t let me because my dad wouldn’t sign the paper that said he would replace anything if I broke it.”

“That’s not right,” Chanyeol says, acting as if it was a personal insult. “She should’ve just paid more attention to you to make sure you were doing it right! Were you the only one?”

Junmyeon nods. “I just sat in the corner and watched. But I doubt I would remember anything now even if I did learn it back then, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“It does too matter.” Chanyeol sniffs. “You could be a musical prodigy but we don’t know because you had a crappy music teacher. I’m gonna call and file a complaint.”

Junmyeon laughs, and wonders how Chanyeol would react if he knew about all the things Junmyeon couldn’t do because his father wouldn’t sign the permission slips. Pizza parties, field trips, art shows, talent shows. He won’t be able to go on the study trip right before finals, either.

“I’m sure I wouldn’t have been any good anyway.” He says. “I’m not really especially good at anything.”

“That’s no way to think of yourself.” Chanyeol frowns. “Do you wanna try?”

“Try… playing your guitar?” Junmyeon asks, eyes wide. “What if I break it?”

Chanyeol snorts. “You won’t break it. But even if you did I think Baekhyun would just buy me a new one. There’s one in the window of the shop in the mall that he glances at when he thinks I’m not looking.”

Junmyeon still looks nervous, staring at the guitar like it will catch on fire as soon as he touches it. “Come here,” Chanyeol lays the guitar down in favor of pulling Junmyeon to lounge between his legs, Junmyeon’s back to his chest. He settled the guitar back into Junmyeon’s lap and helped him figure out how to position his fingers.

“This one’s a C,” he says, guiding Junmyeon’s fingers with his own. “And this one’s an E.” He can’t see Junmyeon’s face like this, but he can feel Junmyeon nod against his shoulder. “And if you hold more than one note down, it makes a chord.”

“It’s pretty,” Junmyeon says, twisting to look at him. “But I don’t think this is for me. My fingers barely reach.”

Chanyeol smiles. “Your hands will learn the best way to position for you naturally, but you don’t have to play if you don’t want to.”

Junmyeon bites at his lip. “Can you teach me a song? Like, a baby song or something? I think I’d learn better like that…”

Chanyeol’s smile widens as he nods, sliding down a little more so Junmyeon can settle against him more comfortably. “How about Mary Had a Little Lamb?”