wen junhui doesn't remember when he fell in love with yao mingming.

maybe—he thinks it is, anyway—it is when he first came to south korea, some place familiar but not quite. when he was introduced to his new fellow members, tongue stumbling over the foreign language that comes from his mouth and when the other boy does the same.

he feels a sort of kindred feeling with the boy known as yao mingming. they both had used each other as crutches to rest on at first, someone who spoke their beloved tongue and someone who they could trust, if only just a little. they then grow into friends, then family, then one day—

a first kiss. a first love. a first time.

at the same time, wen junhui grows into moon joonhwi, gets used to the managers calling him that even though it sounds wrong, feels wrong. to lessen the blow, they have nicknames, and mr. blue earmuffs sounds ridiculous but it takes his mind off moon joonhwi.

then finally just jun, and yeah, he thinks he can accept that, because it's only one syllable, because it tells him that he only has to be one thing on stage, in front of the cameras, and that is jun.

new people come, but some leave (samuel and doyoon and dongjin, to be exact). jun is upset, of course, but he thinks he'll be alright if mingming stays. he thinks he can take on the world if only yao mingming stays by his side.

then yao mingming—

leaves. leaves with no explanation. he leaves seventeen, leaves a certain boy's heart shattered.

in that moment, everything he has come to accept all falls down, and he's wen junhui again.

then one day, a young man—a boy, really—shows up at the practice room with the managers. they introduce him as seo myungho, but jun knows that look of uncertainty, knows what that strong accent that comes with myungho's stuttered "hello" is.

it's home.

"are you chinese?" jun asks softly in korean after the mandatory cheering from the other members. myungho doesn't look like he understands much, but the word chinese makes him put his guard up.

"no, wait—" jun flails his arms around. "i didn't mean that was bad—i’m chinese, too—”

then the boy ing giggles, and his heart stutters because what the that's not good for his heart what the what the what the ?

"yeah, i'm chinese," he smiles softly, and his heart clenches because this is so unfair how is he so effortlessly adorable—"what's your name?"

and he is so ing gone he forgets that he is jun, not junhui god ing damnit—

"wen junhui," he says. "my name is wen junhui."