Buttery sunlight spills through the windows, teasing Yunho into reluctant wakefulness and helpfully alerting him to the relentless pounding in his head.

He winces, sternly reminding himself that at thirty three, alcohol fueled free-for-alls have consequences. Changmin had begged off early, as usual, and Yunho thinks, that it’s high time he start taking cues from his exemplary dongsaeng.

Despite the crippling hangover, the memory of Donghae’s infectious excitement as he egged them on shot after giddy shot, makes Yunho smile and he can’t find it in himself to be anything other than fond.

Fond, and also ridiculously hungover.

Still face planted in a pillow, he reaches for his cellphone, wondering at the time.

“Odd,” Yunho thinks, when his clumsy fingers hit a smooth, cold surface instead of the roughened edges of his wooden bedside table.

”Odd,” Yunho thinks again, mystified, as he shifts so he can get a proper grip on his phone and finds his left thigh dangling off his queen sized bed that now feels remarkably like a twin.

”Odd,” Yunho thinks, with mild panic as he opens his eyes and sees that the pillowcase he’s buried in is white and silky and nothing like his cheap, starched navy sheets from Ikea.

He freezes, vaulted into complete sobriety by the gripping, terrifying realization that

Something. Isn’t. Right.

Memories from the past twenty four hours trickle back and he frowns, trying to piece them together. He remembers the fancy black limousine, the press conference and well wishers, the nonsensical drinking games that had occupied him for most of the evening. There’d also been that strange phone call from Jaejoong but after that, the rest of the night is a blank.

He bolts upright, his heart pounding as he takes in his surroundings.

This definitely isn’t his bedroom; the interior is stark and too modern, the furniture monochrome and the walls ten shades too white. If he wasn’t so distracted, Yunho might have noticed a distinct air of familiarity about the place. But his mind is on other things, namely a good contingency plan.

Running a hand haphazardly through his hair, he runs through a list of standard damage control protocol; figure out where he is, call his manager, hopefully get the other party to sign an NDA without any fuss, quashing any and all of whatever this is before it hits the media.

He may have ed up, but TVXQ doesn’t need another hit, not right now.

In the midst of his full blown panic attack, there’s a discreet cough by the doorway and Yunho braces himself for whatever’s coming, hoping against hope that his hapkido reflexes are still on point.

But as he looks up, adrenaline raised and blood pumping, it’s not a delusional fan, or a threatening reporter that greets him.

It’s… Jaejoong, leaning against the doorway carefully, like he’s trying not to intrude.

Clad in a soft woolen sweater that exposes the shadow of his collarbones, his hair dark and long and slightly damp, his cheeks soft and rosy from the cold, seeing Jaejoong in the flesh still takes Yunho’s breath away.

“Hey,” Jaejoong says, and Yunho marvels at sound of his voice, achingly familiar, even after all these years. “How are you feeling?”

Yunho tries not to stare, because Jaejoong is standing before him, after a decade of resentful silences, after the way Yunho had abruptly ended their conversation last night.

There’s no reason in the world why Yunho should get to see him like this, vulnerable, freshly showered and still smelling like lavender. There’s no logical reason to explain any of this, but if Jaejoong’s acquiescing, Yunho’s not going to be the first to shatter this fragile illusion of amicability.

So he swallows the confusion, the protests and questions, and says.

“Like death.”

“And you look like it,” Jaejoong shoots back, smiling, although it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“What happened?”

“Don’t you remember?” Jaejoong asks, crossing his arms across his chest. He sounds deceptively neutral, polite even, but even half awake and fully hungover, Yunho is an expert at his tells. “You had quite the night out.”

“Okay?” Yunho prompts and Jaejoong gives him a long, searching look.

“Hojun hyung called,” Jaejoong says, finally, and if Yunho hadn’t lived with Jaejoong for so long, privy to his every mood, he might not have noticed the way the corners of his mouth tighten. “You drank too much at the party yesterday and needed a ride home.”

Yunho pans the room, taking in the unfamiliar wallpaper, the vase of lilies carefully sitting on the bedside table, the black and white portrait of a laughing toddler, framed next to the dresser.

“This isn’t my home,” Yunho says, slowly, “where am I?”

It’s a reasonable question, Yunho thinks, but the hurt that flashes across Jaejoong’s face is so violent, so all encompassing and heartbreaking that Yunho immediately wishes he could take the words back.

Jaejoong’s jaw works. Yunho catches himself staring at the smooth curve of Jaejoong’s throat as he swallows, at the way his mouth shapes and abandons words, struggling for the right answer.

“It’s the guest room.” Jaejoong’s voice breaks, and Yunho’s heart twinges with it. Jaejoong looks away, brushing away defiant tears Yunho’s not meant to see. “It’s my guest room, all right? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

The accusation rattles him, an age-old indignation welling up inside his chest at once again finding himself the object of Jaejoong’s misplaced anger.

They don’t run in the same circles anymore. That’s common knowledge. So it’s inconceivable that even after a night of heavy drinking, Yunho would have ended up in Jaejoong’s house, even more inconceivable why Jaejoong is acting like this is normal.

”But why am I here?” Yunho asks, bewildered.

“Yunho,” Jaejoong begins, then sighs, exasperated.

It’s clear that he’s upset. At what, Yunho’s not sure he’ll ever know, but he watches as Jaejoong wills the fight out of himself, fierce anger dissipating into muted irritation, then resigned acceptance.“Forget it. You’re clearly still drunk.”

He pushes himself off the door so he can press two painkillers into Yunho’s palm, careful not to let their fingers touch. “Sleep it off. We can talk about this. later.”

As Jaejoong wordlessly turns to walk away, a wave of irritation hits Yunho, abrupt in its intensity. Yunho’s had years to get over it, but as if it never really healed at all, Yunho feels the feathery scar tissue rip apart, exposing the wound on his heart, fresh and bleeding again like it’s 2009, with Jaejoong’s moody silences and Yunho, powerless to stop it.

“Why am I here, Jaejoong-ah?” Yunho insists, because the last time he let things slide, he’d lost Jaejoong, he’d lost his career, he’d lost TVXQ. “Why are you?”

Say it, Yunho thinks, viciously, watching Jaejoong’s hands clench in the fabric of his jeans, tensed to fight, to run. For God's sake, tell me what you really mean, for once.

“Yunho,” Jaejoong says, evenly, “I don't think this is a conversation we should be having.”

Cryptic to the last, Yunho thinks, hating the paralyzing helplessness that washes over him now. Yunho’s tired of how Jaejoong never says what he really means, how their interactions are still a game of chess Yunho’s never been able to win.

“Jae," Yunho begins, gently and Jaejoong turns to look at him. "There's...there's never been a good time for us.”

“You made sure of that." Jaejoong says, bitterly, "you moved on, Yunho-sshi, you made it very clear that we don’t deserve to be a part of your life anymore. It's just funny that the second you go out and get drunk with your 85 club friends I have to go pick up the pieces."

It’s an old argument between them, and on cue, Yunho’s conscience prickles, but he shoves the guilty feeling out of his mind. “You don’t get a say in what I do anymore, Jaejoong-ah. They never left. They never ing gave up and stabbed me in the back. I ing loved you and you are a selfish—"

“Selfish,” Jaejoong bellows, “selfish? I sacrificed my life for you, everything I loved about my work. Because God forbid someone find out that we were together—”

“Your sacrifice?” Yunho starts, incredulous.

“All of that because you were too afraid of anything that would draw attention to the fact that you’re ing a man.”

“It’s about both our careers,” Yunho roars. “Do you really think Seoul was ready for you or me to come out?”

“I don’t think they’d give a ing damn to be honest!”

“Then you’re delusional,” Yunho sneers, “you could lose your career, you could lose your fanbase, everything.”

“Don’t you think that I know that?” Jaejoong asks, pained. He closes his eyes, a shudder running through his body, “but its better than living a ing lie.”

Is it? Yunho wonders, as TVXQ lies in shattered pieces. As Yoochun is ing locked up in a detention center and everything good about them is a muddied memory, dredged in infamy and scandal.

“I don’t know why we’re even talking about this,” Jaejoong says, angrily and he begins to turn away.

"Sleep it off, when you're less drunk you can take your ing things and go."

At such close proximity, Yunho can feel the heat radiating off Jaejoong’s skin, can hear the whisper of his soft uneven breathing. They’re so close, he has to clench his fists so he doesn’t give in to the overwhelming urge to stand, to do away with these polite formalities and take Jaejoong into his arms. To press his nose into his neck and see if he still smells like cedar and smoke under all that lavender.

“Appa?” A plaintive young voice calls from the door.

There’s a toddler shyly hiding around the doorframe, peeking into the room.

Jaejoong’s demeanor softens almost immediately and he reaches for the crawling toddler, stopping him before he gets to the foot of Yunho’s bed.

"Hi baby," he mumurs quietly, blowing a wet raspberry against the tiny wriggling bundle. "Did you get out of your crib all by yourself?"

The toddler giggles and Jaejoong kisses his forehead, tucking him against his chest as he makes to leave for the room.

The child lies obediently against him for a moment, but as Jaejoong begins to walk away he twists around, reaching a plaintive arm for Yunho.

“Enough,” Jaejoong says gently but firmly.

"Appa!" The child protests, looking at Yunho, with his large doe-brown eyes.

“No,” Jaejoong's eyes catch Yunho's for a moment and and he’s surprised at the sadness in them, “no, Yunho’s sick right now. We have to be quiet.”

“Appa,” the toddler insists, squirming from Jaejoong’s arms and reaching his chubby baby fists for Yunho.

“No,” Jaejoong says again, and the next words break Yunho's heart. “He’s not your appa anymore, Seungjoonie. It’s just us now.”