I apologise for how delayed this chapter is. I was waiting for my beta to look it through with me, but as she seems to be swamped at the time being, I today reached the decision that I can’t wait around forever (more than half a year, oops). That isn’t to say this isn’t beta’ed, though – she did read it through, once, but we haven’t done the final thorough edit I usually want before I post anything. Instead I did it alone, and that shall be enough.

The next chapter, just like this one, has been finished for more than half a year, and whether or not my beta has time to look it through with me, I promise it shall be uploaded within a fortnight and thus conclude this fic.

Sorry, again, for the delay – I hope the update makes up for it! Thank you for being patient with me.

Time was a funny thing.

In times of distress and anxiety, each minute could stretch into what felt like an hour, and then there were times of joy and happiness where an hour could pass by in a flash that felt like a minute.

Time was definite; infinite, yet everyone would ultimately reach the point where the last grain of sand slipped through the cracks and everything stopped. Time was deaf to pleas and blind to desperation and numb to touch. Knowing that yesterday would become a memory and tomorrow would forever be an unattainable dream – wasn’t that what drove people, the knowledge that the now was what counted, and making it matter?

Wonshik was sure there were times where he had let the now slip into indifference. There were times he stood still, each second inching by, his existence hardly one outside of the makeshift barriers he created. He had become more isolated, more secluded in his routine, until he almost didn't realise he was doing it.

When was the last time he had gone out with friends that did not include Taekwoon? When was the last time he didn't settle for a night in on his day off? When was the last time he opened up to someone, bared everything in his heart, after Jaehwan?

It had been two years, or twenty-four months, or approximately seven-hundred-and-thirty days, and perhaps that was the problem. There had been no one after Jaehwan. Only Wonshik, and even when he was alone he was never truly himself.

Maybe it was that thought that drove him out tonight, that need he felt in his heart that told him he was at a standstill while the rest of the world continued past. Regardless of the motive, he still found himself sitting on an uncomfortable stool at a bar.

Neglecting the vibrant beverage between his hands, Wonshik allowed himself to slowly sink into memories. It was rare that he did so, but already the blood thrumming through his veins buzzed from the alcohol he had knocked down upon arriving at the bar, and he figured, in his slightly intoxicated state, when would there ever be a better time to reflect on the past?

His memories of Jaehwan were always right there, lurking just below the surface, ready to assault him the very heartbeat he let down his guard. It was exhausting to keep them at bay all the time.

He could admit to himself, during these moments of indulgence, that he missed Jaehwan. There were incidents he’d prefer to be without, fights and arguments he’d much rather entirely erase from history – but amongst them was Jaehwan with that sunny smile Wonshik had so loved, back then. He recalled late nights of talking and giggling, but also heated kisses and hands that left fire on skin in their wake.

In the aftermath of their split, the bad memories had been all he let himself remember. He would go through great lengths to hold onto them, reining them in and pinning them to the walls in his mind, to remind himself of the reasons why he and Jaehwan had broken up.

Because it had hurt to lie in bed, alone. It had hurt to want Jaehwan back, sheets long soaked with his tears and wrinkly with how tightly he grasped at the fabric to stop himself from reaching for his phone. It had hurt, knowing it would bring nothing but more cracks in his heart, should he manage to get back together with the man he had loved so deeply, because there was nothing left for them.

Despite all the hurt, he had wanted Jaehwan back for a while after their official split. Only after the insults had started did that desire flee back into the safety of his heart, and had since simply made itself known through small sparks that were nearly too weak to really feel whenever he stumbled upon a fond memory.

Wonshik wanted to love again, and be loved. He needed someone he could bare his heart for once more, someone he could hold and comfort and be himself with. A partner he could depend on to be there for him when he needed the support, just like Jaehwan had once been. He was certain he still had some of the encouraging sticky note messages that Jaehwan had been fond of leaving him in the early mornings where he would’ve left for schedules first.

He wondered, dimly, if Jaehwan had also kept messages like that from him hidden away in a box under his bed.

Unless Jaehwan had moved on for good. There had been no news of him dating anyone – only the fleeting rumours that always arose online, like with Wonshik and Taekwoon – but, Wonshik figured, not without a slight pang in his chest, perhaps Jaehwan had simply learned from his mistakes. After all, Wonshik would always blame their decision to announce their relationship to the world a little bit for the way it had eventually ended.

If there were one thing he had learned from that disaster, it was to keep a relationship secret until it was stable enough to withstand the pressure, from within as well as outside. Back then, they had both been busy with schedules, pressured by expectations and stress; it had been another factor working against them.

If Jaehwan were in a relationship, chances were no one knew save for a choice few Jaehwan considered his most loyal friends. Hakyeon would be in the knowing, no doubt, but Wonshik knew the man well enough to know that he wouldn’t tell Taekwoon about it. Then again, maybe even Taekwoon would hide it if he thought it was best for Wonshik.

In short, Wonshik had no way of knowing if Jaehwan were still as marked by their split as Wonshik was himself.

He tried to drown the sudden feeling of patheticness trying to worm its way into his chest in the alcohol sloshing in his glass.

A hand fell onto his shoulder, and the glass nearly slipped from his hand from surprise.

“Oi, you’re looking all morose here by yourself,” a familiar voice drawled next to him.

Wonshik snorted, turning to level his ex-bandmate with a cool look. “And whose fault is that for showing up just now?”

Taemin chuckled and sank onto the bar chair next to Wonshik, spinning around to look amusedly at him. “Ah, our fearless leader is moping.”

“It’s rude, really,” another voice piped up, and Wonshik fought back the urge to roll his eyes; of course the duo would turn up together. They had always been the ones their fans screamed the loudest at whenever they were being risky with their hands or whispering together. “You should be just about bursting from the uncontainable elation of seeing your sorely missed old teammates again. Not glaring sullenly into an empty glass of what once held alcohol.”

“I am not glaring sullenly into an empty glass,” Wonshik defended, eyes narrowing when Jongin and Taemin merely shared a look at that. Really, they had always been so obnoxiously in sync.

“Well, regardless, we’re here to liven up the party,” Jongin announced with a casual shrug, finding a seat next to Taemin. “Where’s the maknae? Sheesh, of course he’s showing up late. Ever since his solo career skyrocketed, he’s been too busy to so much as remember a text once in a while. If not for the constant articles online, I wouldn’t know if he were still breathing.”

“Ah,” Wonshik said, “that reminds me. Dokyun texted me an hour or so ago to say that he was going to be held up filming for his new drama, so he hoped we’d have fun without him.”

Taemin made a disapproving tsking sound, shaking his head along with it. “Oh, you bet we’ll have fun without him. With no adult to watch over us, we can drink until we burst – oh, I’m going to send him Snaps!” he said gleefully, swiftly finding his phone. “I’ll document all the fun we’re having without him –”

“When Jeongguk arrives, we can take a group Snap and send it to him,” Jongin hummed, hooking his chin over Taemin’s shoulder to follow whatever he was doing on his phone with interest. Wonshik recognised the Snapchat layout from his position, and shook his head fondly at their antics.

“Kids,” he mused, and both Taemin and Jongin’s head snapped up at the sound. Jongin snorted and Taemin cackled, spinning around to wave over the bartender.

“Oh, he’s getting sappy already,” he said, and Wonshik’s face contorted in a grimace. “We need to get you drunk. You’re at the stage where emotions – ooh.” He glanced knowingly at Wonshik before he turned to rattle their drink orders off to the bartender, the look mirrored on Jongin’s face once whatever also occurred to him.

“That’s why you were so gloomy when we found you,” guessed Jongin. “You were reminiscing, and I dare say I know who about.”

“Stop that,” Wonshik warned, but it held no heat. He should have known they’d see right through him. They always did.

“We should find you a one-night stand,” Taemin declared, turning back to the conversation while the bartender took care of their drinks.

“You know I don’t do one-night stands,” Wonshik deadpanned, and Jongin gave the kind of sigh befitting one carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders. Jongin and Taemin were a force to be reckoned with. They always came up with the absolute worst of ideas, and occasionally had even managed to coerce poor, unsuspecting Jeongguk into their schemes.

Though, according to Taemin and Jongin, Jeongguk was even worse than the two of them when he was in the mood. Wonshik had never quite believed it.

“Okay, so no one-night stands.” Taemin shrugged, busying himself with passing around shots. “We can do no one-night stands. Let’s just enjoy the night, yeah? We can crash at yours, can’t we, Leader? It’s been months since we last met up for drinks and to catch up.”

Wonshik felt partially at fault for that, and he nodded his agreement. He caught the look of excitement from the other two as he did so and smiled into his glass as they took a group shot. He had missed this. As he set the glass back onto the desk, his eyes found Jeongguk’s over the giggling pair in front of him. He beamed and waved the younger over, who quickly pushed through the throngs of people and found his way to them.

“Jeonggukie!” Taemin greeted upon sight, reaching out his arms and catching Jeongguk around the waist. He dragged him into a hug, patting his back as he cooed. “You’ve gotten fitter, young maknae. And did you get taller, too? Why are all maknaes always towering over their bandmates? Is there some rule for that?”

“I’m long past my growth spurt, hyung,” Jeongguk pointed out, the edge of his mouth twitching with mirth. “Perhaps it’s you who’s shrinking in your old age?”

“No respect for your elders!” Taemin gasped, shoving a cackling Jeongguk away. “I demand a punishment – here, take the shot!”

Jeongguk accepted the glass and tipped it back with a smile. Taemin huffed, but it was all for show, and no one had any doubts about that.

Their maknae grinned at Jongin and Wonshik, and then Taemin was gathering them to take that Snap and send it to Dokyun.

“The light is ,” he remarked with a put-off frown, but they eventually managed to take a good enough picture of them all to send off to their oldest ex-member.

“Send it to me, as well,” Wonshik said, drawing a quiet laugh from Jeongguk.

“What, so you can save it on your phone?”

“He’ll probably upload it online tomorrow, after looking it over lovingly like a proud parent,” Jongin nodded, watching as Taemin tapped away on his phone.

“Oh, shut it, you two,” Wonshik mock grumbled.

“There, sent,” Taemin said over them, grinning in satisfaction just as Wonshik felt the notification tick into his phone in his pocket. He got it out to save the photo lest he forgot come morning with a hangover, for yes, he did want to look at it later, and perhaps he also did plan on uploading it on social media. Eventually.

#Somuchfunwithoutyouhyung! But pls hang out with us next time – we miss you! said the caption, and Wonshik smiled as he took a screenshot before putting his phone away. Next time, they’d plan a night out with all of them present. Perhaps a movie night. He was starting to feel too old for drinking.

But so long as they had a good night, Wonshik wouldn’t complain – much; if he had the hangover from hell tomorrow, they’d hear from it.

“All right!” Taemin shouted, “more shots!”

-

Following the end of ROVIX, I was suddenly alone in a way I hadn’t really been before, and doubt trailed my every move.

It was a decision we reached together to disband, and it wasn’t made over a couple of days, but rather half a year. Our last album came out two months prior to our disbandment, and at that time, all the talk of separating made us exceptionally mindful of every little detail. We knew this would probably be our last album together, so we put everything into making it special, for us and everyone else.

I won’t lie and say the prospect of disbanding didn’t cause fights between us, especially when it was first brought on the table. We had been a band for five whole years at that point, and fairly successful, so why stop? Not all of us wanted to face it, and so we fought.

Letting go is hard. It isn’t something you just do when it’s something you care a great deal about. But at some point, you also reach the conclusion that letting go is for the better, and that’s what we did. We were growing up, and growing apart – and I hesitate with that word, because we still to this day meet up and reminisce and enjoy each other’s company.

We still cared about each other. But our time as a band together had come to an end.

Was it wrong of me as a leader to allow us to reach the point where we disbanded? Could I have done something to prevent it? Perhaps. I will stand my ground, however. I think it was for the best. Does that make me a bad leader?

I’m not sure. But I am happy, and I think my members are, too.

-

Kyungil was devoted to his line of work, which was a quality Wonshik acknowledged and held in high regard. Passionate people tended to evoke passionate work-ethic, at least in Wonshik. Banished was the thought of half-hearted efforts; if Kyungil deemed it necessary to stay up until the early hours to proofread, he damn right would, and Wonshik would feel compelled to stay up with him and throw ideas back and forth. It wasn’t that Wonshik minded, really, because he was accustomed to hectic schedules and staying up late when inspiration hit.

Upon reading what Wonshik had written so far, Kyungil had sat back, given a nervous Wonshik a contemplative once-over, and then turned back to the computer. In the end, he had erased more than half of it, and when Wonshik had protested, he had spun around in his chair to regard him seriously.

“Look,” he had said, “it has to be real. People who buy this book do not want a character. They don’t want Ravi. They want Wonshik. And you are the only person who knows Wonshik’s thoughts and feelings. You just… You have to write what you truly feel, and leave it out on the table. If you don’t, it just comes out as fake. I’m not telling you to write your deepest secrets – and if you’ve killed someone, leave that out. This is an autobiography, not a confession – but you have to be you.”

And who was Wonshik, really? Ravi was only a part of him. He had been leaving out entire novels of information without realising he was doing it, all for the sake of his entertainment persona.

Thus, he had gone silent, mulling it over, which Kyungil had appeared satisfied with, for he had turned back to the computer and started typing. Wonshik had been alone with his contemplation.

When Wonshik had been a bit clearer as to where he was going with this book, he had called Kyungil for advice. Kyungil was a wonderful sparring partner, and Wonshik appreciated having someone like Kyungil to guide him in his writing; Wonshik wouldn’t feel safer in anyone else’s hands.

Another thing Wonshik appreciated about Kyungil was his patience and understanding nature. It never got any easier to talk about what he and Jaehwan had been, but his part in Wonshik’s life was too great to ignore. There was no way, Kyungil pointed out, that Wonshik could simply skip over that time, for while it hurt, it had had a significant impact. He would have to address it.

“You need to figure out how you feel,” Kyungil said one evening, chin in his palm as he watched Wonshik jot down notes for the book, “and consider the backlash. I’ve told you before that you need to be real, which I trust you know by now, but it’s always a risk. Are you any closer to knowing what you want to write?”

“I think so,” Wonshik mused, looking up shortly from his notes. “I… don’t think I can write anything but the truth, really. And I think that’s for the best. I won’t feel good about this book otherwise.”

It wasn’t rare for Kyungil to smile, but this time, the stretch of lips and the light in his eyes settled something in Wonshik. He was doing the right thing, he felt.

“No one of us knows what Lee might write,” said Kyungil, unfolding his hands and sitting back in the couch, “but if he goes ahead with his threat, it is you who will emerge as the winner of this battle, not him, because people are not going to buy into the insults when you are being completely genuine.”

Wonshik knew he was right. It was better to be honest, even if he felt like a fool in the end. At least he would know where he stood with Jaehwan, without spikes of doubt, and perhaps that would be the kick he needed to get over him.

Douse those embers once and for all.

-

Wonshik often had this sneaking suspicion that irony followed him around, waiting in the shadows to make itself known. Like the time he found himself on the cover of a popular magazine with the headline Get the Look!, when he had been wearing one of Dokyun’s jackets that day, or when the first hit song he ever wrote was initially rejected by the company, only to be accepted later and become an instant hit. Thus, it made sense for him to lend his voice to a love song and show up to the set of the music video that would have Jaehwan as the lead actor and love interest.

It wasn’t that he had been completely unprepared for the sight of his ex smiling disarmingly at the female lead, Park Junghwa, however, for Heeyeon had informed him about her choice of leads for her music video as soon as she and the producer had decided on them. She was always so involved with the production of her music videos, both with storyline and casting, and it didn’t surprise him at all that she would know the minute Jaehwan was confirmed. She had even been considerate enough to suggest Wonshik’s scenes be filmed the next day, but he had shot that down firmly; he knew of the efforts that went into these things, and he wasn’t about to give them even more work for such unprofessional reasons.

If anything, Wonshik was probably blowing it out of proportion. He and Jaehwan had hardly spoken a word to each other over the last month, even if they’d passed one another in the hallways a couple of times. Who was to say they’d so much as give each other the time of day now? When one was filming, the other was needed elsewhere.

They would most likely not even stand in close proximity. Everything would be perfectly fine. Wonshik could be an adult.

The music video was in part meant as a tribute to Heeyeon’s fans, thanking them for their continued love and support following her debut. He and Heeyeon would film a couple of solos and joint scenes, portraying only themselves in the roles of rapper and singer, which required nothing much from Wonshik, appearance wise; a little bit of BB-cream, a casual set of clothes, and he was good to go.

He mostly stayed by Heeyeon’s side, when she wasn’t buzzing around like a bee, when Jaehwan and Junghwa were filming, chatting lowly so as to not disturb the filming crew. Wonshik, so used to Hakyeon tailing Jaehwan wherever he went, was puzzled at the man’s noticeable absence, and eventually had to ask Heeyeon if she knew anything when the man still hadn’t shown up after an hour.

“Oh, Hakyeon dropped Jaehwan off, but had to leave for a meeting just before you arrived,” Heeyeon said, attention split between the acting before them and Wonshik. “He was upset that the higher-ups hadn’t agreed to push back the meeting, and left under protests and heartfelt curses.”

She side-eyed Wonshik, the corners of her lips pulled down in a frown. “Jaehwan wasn’t feeling well this morning, Hakyeon told me, but he stubbornly refused to stay at home.” A tiny, fond smile adorned her pretty face for a moment. “That’s very typical of Jaehwan, isn’t it?”

It was. She would know, for she was a close friend of Jaehwan’s, had known him for longer than Wonshik. It had been Jaehwan who had introduced her to Wonshik early into their friendship, and they had clicked well. Consequently, she, as all their mutual friends, had been caught in the crossfire when Jaehwan and Wonshik split up. She was more confrontational about it than Hongbin, though, if mindful of their wounds, and she’d be one of the first to tell them off if they behaved out of turn.

“He appears well enough,” she continued, and Wonshik reluctantly found his eyes straying to Jaehwan, habits that had been buried together with their relationship struggling to resurface to start looking for the tell-tale signs of illness in Jaehwan’s motions, all the warning signals he had gotten so used to heeding to. “He has been sitting down more between takes, though, and he’s been less chatty with the crew. He’s exhausted.”

“He’s working too hard,” Wonshik agreed. Neither pursued the topic past that.

The director’s voice announced the next scene, and Wonshik low-key followed Jaehwan with his eyes as he left the set to find somewhere to sit. A staff appeared next to him within heartbeats with a bottle of water that Jaehwan accepted with a kind smile and what must’ve been words of gratitude, albeit Wonshik was too far away to catch them.

Heeyeon’s gentle hand on his elbow brought him out of thoughts and he smiled down at her, ignoring the inquiring look she regarded him with as they went to get ready for their scene.

It went without a hitch, as did the next two, but then Jaehwan suddenly seemed to lose his footing in the middle of filming. Junghwa broke character to reach for him, although he had already caught himself against the desk.

“I’m okay,” he insisted breathily, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. “Just give me a moment. I will finish my scenes, don’t worry.”

“Are you sure?” Heeyeon asked. She regarded Jaehwan warily, brows furrowed in concern. “I am not interested in seeing you pass out, Jaehwan-ah. Please be considerate. If you are unwell, I want you to go home. No one will hold it against you.”

“I’m continuing,” Jaehwan stated firmly, straightening with a deep breath. First then did he open his eyes, squinting a bit at the light. “Can we start over with the scene? I promise I’ll do better.”

Heeyeon caught his eyes for a moment, her own narrowed, but then she turned to nod at the director. “All right.”

“I apologise for the interruption,” Jaehwan said with a slight bow – he tried to hide the wobble in the motion, but Wonshik caught it – before moving back into place.

Heeyeon returned to Wonshik as the scene started anew. “I should’ve said no,” she mused quietly.

Wonshik didn’t say anything as he watched over Jaehwan and gnawed at his lower lip. He had been right by Jaehwan’s side far too many times to keep up the pretence of not caring at least a little bit. He had been there when sickness brought out shivers and cold sweat on Jaehwan’s pale skin, had cuddled under the covers with him and fussed over him. He had held him when he cried over headaches, massaging his scalp in an attempt to soothe him whilst they waited for the painkillers to kick in, had sat with him and caressed his back as he threw up into a bowl or the toilet.

Jaehwan might not be Wonshik’s favourite person anymore, but it still didn’t sit well with him to see him like this.

It didn’t come as much of a surprise when Jaehwan collapsed after his last scene, this time in a dead faint. Fortunately for him, staff caught him on the way down and assured the descend was gentle as they lowered him onto the floor. Wonshik found his feet taking him towards Jaehwan, Heeyeon just a step ahead of him. Two staffs were fanning Jaehwan with magazines, another seemingly checking his temperature and pulse.

“Have someone call Hakyeon,” Wonshik murmured to Heeyeon, who nodded and fished up her own phone from her pocket, fingers nimbly skirting over the screen to find Hakyeon’s contact information as she crouched by Jaehwan’s side.

Wonshik waited, arms folded over his chest, hands fisted, but after the second attempt, Heeyeon glanced over her shoulders and shook her head. It appeared Hakyeon was out of reach.

“Take him to the breakroom,” the director called, and two men were quick to step forward to carry out the instruction. The director exchanged a few words with Heeyeon and a couple of others while Wonshik stayed behind, aware of the stares from the rest of the crew and growing more and more uneasy by the second.

“I’ll keep trying to reach Hakyeon,” Heeyeon announced, leaving the director to talk with the others and coming to stand in front of Wonshik. “If I can’t –”

“I’ll film my last scene,” Wonshik interjected, his words stilted, slow. “I have only one left, right?” At Heeyeon’s affirmation, he drew in a long breath, reaching a decision he may or may not come to regret later. “If you haven’t gotten a hold of Hakyeon by then, I’ll take Jaehwan home. I know the process, after all, and will make sure he’s all right until Hakyeon finally picks up his damn phone.”

“You’d really take him home?”

Wonshik frowned at that, but met her gaze levelly. “I’m not a terrible person, noona. I’m just saying I’m the best option without Hakyeon here. I know what medicine to give Jaehwan, and I know when his symptoms require medical attention – but so long as he comes to soon, hospital won’t be necessary. I have done this before, which cannot be said for anyone else here, save you, perhaps.”

Heeyeon nodded along to his words, clearly considering his arguments. “I suppose you are right,” she murmured. “Okay. Go talk to the director about your scene – I’ll go check on Jaehwan and try calling Hakyeon again.”

Wonshik’s last scene was pretty straightforward and over in little more than ten minutes. He thanked the director and the crew before heading to the breakroom. Heeyeon was sitting next to Jaehwan, whose chair was placed next to the wall so that he could lean against it. His eyes opened half-way at the sound of the door opening, but he did little more than frown at Wonshik before closing them again. Wonshik turned to give the phone in Heeyeon’s hand a questioning look, but she shook her head.

“I’ve tried to call him three times,” she sighed. “It would seem he muted his phone or something. I had taken him for one who would’ve insisted on having it near in case anything happened, considering his concern for Jaehwan.”

She stood from her seat, eyes on the screen as she typed something. “Does Hakyeon have your number? I’m texting him to say that you’ll take Jaehwan home and that he should call you when he sees this.”

Wonshik shook his head.

“Okay.” She finished typing the message and put her phone back into her pocket, gaze moving back to Wonshik. “I’ll go out so you can get dressed,” she said, and once she had left, Wonshik did just that.

He packed Jaehwan’s things as well as his own, glancing at the other man every now and then. Jaehwan remained quiet, eyes closed. Wonshik suspected he might be dizzy; it seemed to come as a package deal.

Wonshik bid the crew goodbye on the way out, and even Jaehwan, with Heeyeon by his side to support him, insisted on a bow and a quiet apology. In the car, Heeyeon helped Jaehwan into the passenger seat while Wonshik got behind the wheel and started the engine. He then turned to watch Heeyeon, who smiled at him.

“Take care of Jaehwan-ah and yourself, Wonshik-ah,” she said as parting, before turning a slightly narrowed look at Jaehwan. “I told you this would happen. Learn to take better care of yourself, okay?” She waited until she received a nod and a quiet promise from Jaehwan before adding, “Thank you both for being in my music video. Get better soon, Jaehwan-ah.”

She closed the door and waved them goodbye as Wonshik backed out of the lot, and then it was onwards to Jaehwan’s place. Wonshik kept an eye on both Jaehwan and the road as he drove, knowing instinctively where to turn; two years weren’t anywhere near enough for him to forget the way to Jaehwan’s home, having almost lived there in intervals.

Jaehwan was starting to look a little more aware, and less like he might collapse again any moment. It was a small relief.

The twenty minutes’ ride to Jaehwan’s place was done in silence, sans the low music playing from the radio. Wonshik thought Jaehwan was feeling a mix of miffed and confused about the whole thing, but the reason for him being quiet could most probably be credited to him still feeling disoriented and sick.

He had with few words insisted on walking from the car to the front door without Wonshik’s help, but Wonshik still stayed near in case he suddenly keeled over; it had happened before, so Wonshik was taking no chances.

The memories assaulting him from every corner of his mind the moment he stepped over the threshold to Jaehwan’s home brought him to a complete halt, briefly taken aback by the memories and the ache in his chest that came along with them. He hadn’t been fully prepared for that, and he hesitated before closing the door softly behind him.

He would follow through with this. There was no going back now. He was here, and he would stay here until Hakyeon called him and told him it’d be okay to leave, or until the man himself arrived.

He was distracted from the feelings accumulating in his chest by the sound of meowing, followed by a fluffy, sand-coloured cat rounding the corner of the hallway and approaching him curiously.

“A cat?” he murmured and sank into a crouch. “I don’t remember…” He trailed off, holding out his hand for the cat to sniff to.

Jaehwan snorted by his side, leaning against the wall as he took off his shoes. “Yes, well,” he breathed, sounding reluctant to talk, whether that be due to Wonshik’s presence or sickness, “it has been a while since you stepped foot in here. I got her, ah… a few months later.”

“A few months after our split,” Wonshik hummed, mouth curving when the cat pushed against his hand, demanding to be pet.

“Yes,” Jaehwan said tersely, crossing his arms and looking down at Wonshik, who paid the glare directed at him little mind as he nuzzled the animal under her chin. She had started purring. “Well, aren’t you going to leave now that you have oh so graciously made sure I returned home safely?”

“I’m not leaving,” Wonshik murmured, finally sparing Jaehwan a glance when the man huffed. “At least not before Hakyeon calls me and tells me it’s all right to leave.”

“I would like to go lie down now.”

“No one is stopping you.”

“I don’t want you here,” Jaehwan snapped, growing more and more frustrated. “And stop petting Aegi.”

“I think she likes me, though,” Wonshik shrugged. He couldn’t resist smiling again when she butted her head against his ankle. “She’s affectionate.”

“Wonshik,” Jaehwan hissed, and Wonshik looked up as he wobbled in place, “get the  out –”

Wonshik caught him before he hit the floor, and he laughed with his face against Wonshik’s chest, his hands gripping Wonshik’s arms tightly. The sound of his laughter was off, however, and it worried Wonshik. He sensed that if he were to let go of Jaehwan, the man would collapse, unable to stand on his own.

“Hey,” he called softly.

“I am feeling so unwell,” Jaehwan complained into Wonshik’s sweatshirt, still with faint laughter in his voice. “Everything is distorted, I feel like I’m going to throw up, I am freezing, and you are here. Why are you here, Wonshik? I don’t want you here.”

He whined, slumping further in Wonshik’s hold. “My head is killing me, oh, .”

Ignoring the cat meowing for attention by his feet, Wonshik worried his lip and looked down at Jaehwan. He needed to get Jaehwan’s medications; Hakyeon had probably given him some earlier, but they’d be wearing off by now, he guessed. They would make him sluggish and whiny, but they’d take away the pain and possibly the nausea, as well as fight to stabilise his temperature. Wonshik also needed to get him to lie down and rest; stressing over Wonshik’s presence probably wasn’t doing much good, but that was something Wonshik wasn’t going to do anything about for a while. He’d just have to pick his battles, for now.

“Come,” he murmured, carefully steering Jaehwan in the direction of his bedroom, “you need to lie down. I’ll go find your medications once you’re in bed, so just try and endure it for a little longer.” Jaehwan didn’t protest.

They reached Jaehwan’s bedroom, and Wonshik followed Jaehwan inside. He helped him get comfortable under the duvet, his body trembling with the fever as he buried his face in the pillow. Wonshik fetched another blanket from the cupboard in the corner and spread it over him, and then went around the bed with the intention to draw the curtains. Darkness would help.

“I’ll get you some water and the pills,” Wonshik said as he rounded the bed again, glancing once at Jaehwan before leaving the room and closing the door. In the kitchen, he grabbed a glass from one of the cabinets and moved to the faucet to fill it with water. Old habits had all too easily taken control of his body and led him to the bathroom, where he found the medications in their usual place. Not much seemed to have changed since Wonshik left.

Jaehwan was still buried beneath the covers when Wonshik returned, and he emitted a truly pitiful noise of protest when Wonshik told him to take the pills and the water, but he eventually peeked out, squinting up at Wonshik. He accepted the medication and drank the water, and then he got back under the duvet and blanket, facing away from Wonshik.

When Wonshik returned after refilling the glass, Jaehwan was asleep.

It was half an hour before Hakyeon called. The meeting had run late, but he assured Wonshik he’d be there in fifteen minutes. Wonshik sat back and continued to pet the cat in his lap as he waited.

It was odd, being back at Jaehwan’s place after two years. He remembered most things vividly, with a few changes here and there, like the new couch he had discovered during his tour of the apartment after he had soaked a towel and laid it on Jaehwan’s forehead. There were paintings Wonshik had never seen before, ones that carried Jaehwan’s distinctive artistic style. He was glad to see Jaehwan hadn’t stopped painting.

Hakyeon arrived later, asking about Jaehwan’s condition and checking on him. Once he had made sure Jaehwan’s fever hadn’t climbed and was firmly cocooned in blankets to keep him warm, the towel on his forehead newly changed, he joined Wonshik in the kitchen.

“Thank you for taking care of him,” Hakyeon started, smiling kindly at him. “I imagine it can’t have been easy, what with you two usually going at each other’s throats. I’m sorry for being out of reach. I tried to check my phone regularly, but couldn’t keep up with it.”

He sagged in his seat, chuckling lowly. “I nearly had a heart attack at the sight of so many unanswered calls. I almost worked myself into a state of panic before I saw Jung Heeyeon’s message.”

Wonshik’s lips curved in a smile. “You are usually by his side,” he hummed, nuzzling Aegi under her chin. He was quickly falling for her charms; she was much like her owner in that sense. “It figures something keeps you away on the one day that he collapses on set.”

“I’d even been so aware of it this morning,” Hakyeon groaned, shaking his head. “He’s such a brat for not knowing when to call it quits. It makes us all worry.”

It makes us all worry. Wonshik was starting to feel out of place, sitting there in the kitchen and talking about Jaehwan and his well-being as though nothing had changed. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to worry. Not anymore.

He cleared his throat, aware of Hakyeon watching him as he gently nudged the cat down from his lap before standing, much to her disgruntlement. “I think I’ve overstayed my welcome,” he murmured, flashing Hakyeon a slight smile. “I’ll go now. He didn’t want me here to start with, so.”

“Wonshik,” Hakyeon called just as Wonshik started for the door. “Why did you stay? Why would you help him, after all the you two have put each other through?”

The question flustered him, and he paused at the doorway with a hand on the wood, like the question had thrown him off balance. He wasn’t sure what to say – if he even wanted to say anything at all. He wasn’t sure about many things.

Hakyeon didn’t press him for an answer, which was almost a first for him; the man was notorious for never backing down, pushing until he got the answers he wanted. But not now. Perhaps he wasn’t really expecting one. Or perhaps he realised just how complicated this was for Wonshik.

Wonshik lingered for a few breaths, before saying softly, “Because it’s Jaehwan.”

Hakyeon gave no verbal answer, and Wonshik didn’t look back to see what kind of expression he was making.

-

I have a confession to make.

When I started this idea out, I had not envisioned sitting here in front of the computer screen with the cursor blinking patiently, if insistently, at me, waiting for me to get a move on and start typing.

I wanted to write about all the things that made Jaehwan a bad person, and an even worse partner. I wanted to, well, drag him through the mud. I wanted to tarnish his good name and make you all realise how flawed and unpleasant he really is, how completely miserable I was around him.

But I am no liar.

Sure, he snores in his sleep, and he can be quite a pest, but honestly? Jaehwan is the nicest person I’ve ever had the honour to meet and be with, for how long it lasted.