Jiyong checked his phone for the 5th time, or maybe the sixth. He stared at the screen, watching, waiting, attempting to ignore the clench of his gut, the shortness of his breath. He stared, failing to keep from twisting his rings. The screen faded to black again and the waitress returned to his table. He ordered a large plate of beef, and soju. He definitely needed soju.

His knees bounced rapidly. He tried to do the math in his head. Ten minutes to shower, another 15 getting ready, he wouldn’t really care about what he wore this late. Jiyong checked his phone. Two minutes had slipped by while the waitress took the order, blushing and looking at him through obviously fake lashes.

The screen faded again. Seven minutes to walk here. Jiyong had picked the restaurant for its nearness, not because of the memories it held of midnight feasts and drunken chats as their fingers teased but never quite touched one another over the scored wooden tables. He’d made sure not to pick that table. His eyes found it, imagined they could see the initials they’d carved into the wood, lying to themselves that anyone who came after would think it the handiwork of obsessed fangirls.

He closed his eyes and steadied his breath and the image came, summoned. The two of them, faces hidden in overlarge hoods from worn hoodies. Giggling with too much soju. Lips still raw from kissing for hours on his couch. Kissing, and other things, before hunger got the better of them. Jiyong had giggled as Seunghyun took the knife in his slender fingers, carving the G first. Seunghyun had looked at him, dark eyes boring into him, lips quirked up as he finished the D.

“That’s a nice D,” Jiyong had said behind his knuckles, hand brought up to hide the smile that he couldn’t stop.

“You like the D,” Seunghyun had rumbled, finishing the N and moving on to the T.

Jiyong shook his head, stomach flipping over. That had been so long ago. They’d both been so much younger. Then came the end. The pain. The wishing for death so they wouldn’t have to see each other, only to have to share a stage. Then finally the reprieve. Months unbroken of nothing but the occasional schedule together. Each far enough apart that Jiyong could drink himself stupid after, numb the pain and not risk killing his liver.

Months that were coming to an end. Months that had actually been healing. They’d been able to talk now, at least. To work in the studio, kind of. It’s like they were two new people.

And so Jiyong had come tonight. Had hoped. Maybe enough time had past, maybe they could find a new future. Different than the one that they had once envisioned but still, a future.

His fingers were raw from the twisting of his rings and yet he twisted them, to keep from swiping the screen and realizing he wasn’t coming. He’d said he was coming when Jiyong had called. But that didn’t mean anything.

He swiped his phone. Forty minutes. It had been 40 minutes and his heart sank.

Plates of food clattered on the table and a voice startled him. “Yes, my favorite,” that voice, deep and rich reverberated in Jiyong’s ears. He looked up to see Seunghyun sitting down across from him, eyes dancing at the piles of beef. He took a moment to wink at the waitress before she walked away.

“You came,” Jiyong said, voice just a whisper around the fist clamped on his heart.

Seunghyun looked at him, brow arched, “I said I would.”

Jiyong nodded and watched as Seunghyun laid thin slices of beef on the hot grill between them. He was momentarily distracted by Seunghyun’s fingers, slim and nimble, wielding the tongs. There was a time he’d craved their touch. He was thankful that those feelings were gone. Not repressed, just gone. No, what he wanted was not Seunghyun, not anymore. What he missed was-

“Pass me a glass and pour me a shot,” Seunghyun said. His voice, Jiyong thought. That was what he needed. Not Seunghyun, but Tempo. The music.

He poured a shot and flipped meat as Seunghyun took it. “Ah,” Seunghyun said, wiping his lips, “so how are you Ji?”

The question was so honest, so open. No angst, no pretense, no hidden meaning. Seunghyun’s lips quirked, tentative, the prelude to a smile.

Jiyong smiled wide. “Great,” he replied. And with that the nerves subsided as he launched into everything going on in his life: recording, writing, the maknaes, Paris, Youngbae, Kiko, the club he went to last week, all of it. Seunghyun grinned at him, earnest and sincere.

Then Seunghyun spoke, of his friends, his classes, his movie, his co-stars, his latest acquisitions, his mom. And when they looked down the food was gone, as was the soju. How long had it been since they’d talked like this? How long since they’d been able to look at one another without pain?

They stood and, despite protest, Seunghyun settled the bill. Jiyong waited for him out in the street, staring up into the haze of Seoul's night sky. The tension that had slipped away returned. He remembered his reason for calling Seunghyun, his reason for coming. His heart began to race. Was it worth it? To ask? Things were good now. Would bringing it up destroy this?

He looked back to their table, colors harsh in the fluorescent lights of the restaurant. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe.

“Ya, walk me home,” Seunghyun said, joining him on the pavement. His hands roamed over his pockets before fishing out a box of cigarettes. He offered the open pack to Jiyong who took one. Seunghyun lit for both of them before turning towards his villa. Jiyong fell into stride with him.

They walked in silence and Jiyong reveled in it. This is what he had loved. That sometimes, they didn’t need words, that sometimes silence was ok. Still his stomach turned and his heart fluttered. He wanted - he wanted so bad to ask. Terror squeezed at his chest, blocking his lungs. He couldn’t ask. Not when things were like this.

Seunghyun turned at his front gate to look at Jiyong. He took a long drag from his cigarette and let the smoke slip past his lips.

“So-,” he started.

“So, I was wondering,” Jiyong rushed to cut him off. He just had to do it. He had to. He needed it too much.

“Yeah?” Seunghyun looked at him.

“Well I’m putting together the set lists for the Japan dome. We’re remixing a lot of the songs so we have to prepare early. And I’m putting together the set lists,” his words were just short of a rapid-fire jumble.

“Yeah,” Seunghyun repeated, eyes never letting up.

“And I was wondering-,”

“We should do some of our songs,” Seunghyun cut him off.

Jiyong spluttered, wind knocked from his lungs. “Yea- yeah?”

“Yeah,” Seunghyun nodded. “It would be good.”

“Are you sure you want to, you know, with me?” Jiyong asked. He let the weight, the implication, of the question carry in his voice. Can you bear to sing our songs again, together, on stage?

Seunghyun smiled. “Yeah, with you.”

He turned and walked into his home. Jiyong bent over to grip his knees, exultation chasing adrenalin through his veins. More than Seunghyun, more than the , more than the love (and he could be honest, now, about what had been between them), more than all of it was the music. The music was what he craved. The music that was never better than when it was Top, pushing him, challenging him, shaping him. The music they shaped together.

“Ya,” Seunghyun shouted down from his doorway and Jiyong looked up at him though a fall of hair, “come over tomorrow, bring your notebook.”

Jiyong smiled as he stood. “Yes, hyung.”

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(a/n: thank so much for reading. Let me know what you thought!)