Junmyeon would be the first to admit that he’d made a lot of mistakes in his life. He had a lot of regrets to go with it that sat heavy, filling up the space between his ribs. They all coiled around memories, some of events that played out within the now cracked walls of his childhood home. He stared at one of those cracks now, starting on the ivory ceiling then traveling down the lavender wall right into the corner of the doorframe.

It was a Thursday afternoon in that strange pocket of time between Christmas and New Years. Junmyeon’s refrigerator was stuffed full of leftovers that he knew would inevitably go bad. He sat in bed with his knees tucked to his chest, a small plate of lemon pie balanced on the dark floral bedspread in front of him. He hadn’t eaten all day so he went for what he assumed would be the most tempting. Instead, a myriad of Chopin’s nocturnes played through his mind as he ran his fingers over a small, leather journal.  

The good thing about being in a house that held so many memories is that even for someone like Junmyeon who had all but removed himself from the lives of his family over the past four years, was that little pieces of history were now all around him waiting to be explored. Even though he’d been here since late summer, his progress in doing so was admittedly slow. In the beginning there had been far more bad days than good days. Bad days were mostly spent in bed.

However as fate would have it, the one activity in the treatment center that he’d taken to somewhat naturally was journaling. Jongdae and the staff there encouraged him to continue even after he left but it hadn’t stuck. After two months of neglect, instead it evolved into something new when while shuffling through the things in his parents bedroom he uncovered his mother’s own journals. The pages detailed her thoughts over the last two years of her life, the years she’d realized just how much she’d lost her son but without knowing why. So one by one, he responded to each of her entries in his own journal. In this way, she had become his invisible companion.

He snapped out of his wandering thoughts when his phone buzzed, a text from Jongdae asking if he’d eaten. Junmyeon was very bad at taking selfies but knew Jongdae felt a bit better seeing him even if only a part of his face showed up in the shot. So that’s what he did, snapping a photo of himself with his slice of lemon pie.

It was only when he heard the familiar sound of the delivery truck groaning up the snowy road that he realized it was already that time of day. Quickly getting up, he ran his fingers through his increasingly shaggy hair in an attempt to look presentable - Jongdae would probably cut it next time he came over - and hurried downstairs. 

“Oh! Mr. Junmyeon!” Yixing said, his wide eyes the only part of his face visible between his beanie and long scarf that wrapped around him at least three times over his coat. Junmyeon shivered from where he stood in the doorway with Yixing’s Christmas tin gripped in his hands. He regretted not pulling on a robe. 

“Mr. Zhang,” he breathed, “I wanted to say thank you and return this. The cookies were wonderful and I was both surprised and touched that you’d come all the way out here on Christmas.” Perhaps it was his own anxieties, but Junmyeon worried that the way he spoke might come off as stiff. 

“No worries. When I arrived I saw you had company and I worried I was becoming a bother because… well… before with the doorbell I assumed… but I really wanted to repay you.” Junmyeon’s gut sank the more Yixing tripped over his words. It was what he had feared. 

“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to send that sort of message. It’s just sometimes I uh… I…” his voice trailed off the more he thought about how to phrase what had happened without coming off like a sick man.

“Prefer solitude?”

“Yes. No. Something like that, I suppose?” Yixing chuckled a bit sadly, the sound muffled by his thick scarf as he handed Junmyeon a catalogue in exchange for the tin. “But please know, I wasn’t annoyed by you. In fact,” he started, mouth once again running ahead of his mind, “I have a ridiculous amount of leftover food from Christmas dinner. If you wait a moment, I will put some in bags for you. My friend and his wife made most of it.” He turned to run to the kitchen until he heard Yixing yell for him to wait.

“I would be happy to take some food off your hands but I might get in trouble if I use the truck to transport it. You’re actually one of the last stops on my route. Do you mind if I come back in an hour? Once I return the truck and clock out, I’ll come right back for the food and the tin.” Junmyeon found himself bowing awkwardly in apology, reaching out to take the tin back.

“I’m sorry for the extra burden. I know it’s a bit of a trek to get out here. If you truly don’t mind, you can come back in an hour. But since you’re going through the trouble, I’d feel ashamed if I didn’t extend an invite for dinner. Then you can tell me which things you liked best and want to take home.” For some reason even with most of his face covered, Yixing’s eyes managed to be expressive enough to make up for it, the slight sadness in them vanishing instantly.

“That sounds fantastic! Thank you Mr. Junmyeon!” The two of them bowed profusely in parting and it was only after Yixing had waddled all the way back to his truck that Junmyeon realized how frigid he’d become. Once shutting the door behind him, he ran his hands through his hair again.

Company on a Thursday night. Impromptu all because of his own rigid manners. In any other situation this would’ve made him anxious. Taecyeon had made him learn that all favors came with a price. But Yixing wasn’t Taecyeon. Yixing was his chronically friendly mailman who went out of his way to drop off homemade cookies on his day off because Junmyeon had robbed him of the chance to thank him in person any earlier. Yixing was perhaps the oddest person Junmyeon had ever met. 

Still, Jongdae immediately showed suspicion.

“Your mailman?” he said incredulously over the phone while Junmyeon looked at all his wrinkled polo shirts he hadn’t touched in months. “Wait, the one who dropped off those cookies?”

“Yes. Zhang Yixing.”

“And you’re ok with him coming over?”

“Well technically he’s already sat in my entryway before when he had that nosebleed. I think he means well.” Jongdae sighed on the other end of the line. “You don’t trust my judgment.” 

“Myeon…”

“No, it’s alright. I don’t blame you. But this is a friendship dinner. You always wanted me to make more friends.” Junmyeon could just imagine him pacing around his office because leave it to Jongdae to work when the rest of the city was still off visiting relatives.

“I’m just worried about your stress levels. A lot has happened these past couple weeks.”

“I need to start somewhere. That’s what you always say.” He repeated those words now not just to convince Jongdae, but to convince himself. “And all I have to do is put on real clothes and use the microwave. If I succeed, at least I won’t only have bad things to tell Baekhyun about when he comes.” 

When Jongdae sighed again, he knew he’d won him over enough to soothe his mind. 

***

Just over an hour later, Yixing pulled up in a car that looked like it was on its last legs years ago. Junmyeon couldn’t help but keep staring through the kitchen window only coming to his senses when Yixing had almost made it to his front door.

After giving up on finding a shirt that wasn’t wrinkled, Junmyeon covered a white polo with a dark green sweater which would hopefully distract from his equally wrinkled khakis. He’d deemed his hair a lost cause.

“Mr. Junmyeon! We meet again!” Yixing said in a greeting far too enthusiastic for anyone who just got off work.

Junmyeon moved to the side and watched with curiosity as he got out of what was officially the longest scarf he’d ever seen. After all of his winter gear was finally removed, beneath was a skinny young man with short brown hair just as disorderly as Junmyeon’s. He wore an oversized grey knit sweater that, like his car, had seen better days, and jeans that appeared to have been ripped the old fashioned way.

“Dinner is all set to go. You can… uh… wash your hands in the kitchen just over there. Everything else is set up in the dining room.”

Not long after, Yixing stared at the spread of dishes like he was a commoner who had lucked out getting to dine with a king. He asked questions and commented on every single thing. Perhaps if it were anyone else, he’d feel overwhelmed but with Yixing it struck him as more endearing.

“You arrived here back in August, right?” Yixing asked suddenly. “Your address had a hold on it until then. Were you traveling?”

“I used to work in Seoul but grew up here. Now I’m back,” he said simply, heart rate rising slightly. He bit his lip and pulled a pasta dish closer to himself even though he’d barely touched what he already had on his plate. Eating with Yixing was like being interviewed.

For the first time, the mailman seemed to be conflicted on if he should voice the thought pressing against the tip of his tongue. 

“I was warned about you by some of the locals. It saddens me that such a mean spirit could exist in a quiet town like this. Frankly, I think they should be ashamed of themselves. You are a kind man.” 

Junmyeon laughed nervously, fingers digging into his thighs. It wasn’t surprising to hear Yixing had experienced something like that. It was 2004 when the rumors spread about him being gay. That had quickly compounded into ia and everyone admitting there was always something just slightly off about the boy who lived in the house on the hill even when he was little. They’d talked about how unfortunate it was that his mother had such a hard time carrying a pregnancy to term and Junmyeon of all people was the one that made it. To this day Jongdae’s relationship with his own parents remains strained. Times had changed but Junmyeon still wasn’t allowed in their home. They had exchanged pleasantries at Jongdae’s wedding at least. But that was before his relationship with Taecyeon started. 

“It’s not as quiet as it used to be. When I was a kid, half the buildings out on the main road didn’t exist.” He could feel Yixing staring at him, perhaps debating on whether to ask more. Luckily, the man was seemingly too polite to do so.

“I think the same thing whenever I get a chance to go home,” he said instead.

“Can I ask where home is for you?”

“Changsha. I came to Korea for university. Got a job offer before I even started thinking about searching for work back in China. Ended up staying. And no, before you think about it, that job was not working for the postal service. This is all temporary. I’m a dancer.” That caught Junmyeon’s attention and Yixing smiled at him.

“Really? What kind?”

“I can do any style I set my mind to,” he said proudly, “but I was doing modern dance with the Daegu City Dance Company. I was having problems with my waist though. Eventually it got so bad I had to leave. But I’ve gotten a lot better. Half the reason I wanted this job was because it would get me moving again, help me see how much I could take.”

The more Yixing spoke, the more Junmyeon saw it - the love and determination he was used to seeing on the faces of his dancers. It was easy to see how someone like Yixing could tell stories with his body on stage.

“I used to stage manage for a ballet company. I really admire dancers a lot. Hopefully you can perform again soon,” he said quietly.

“Which ballet?”

Yixing’s question hung in the air for a few moments and it was the slowly dawning realization that he’d overstepped some sort of boundary that actually had Junmyeon answering him.

“Seoul Ballet Theatre.” 

“Wow,” Yixing said in awe. “You must be amazing at what you do. No offense, but you seem a bit timid for a stage manager.” Junmyeon blushed.

“Yeah. I get that a lot. But I’ve always felt the most comfortable in that environment. It’s like it gives… gave me superpowers or something.” He could see another flash of curiosity across Yixing’s eyes. This time, he did decide to press.

“What made you stop?”

“Circumstances,” he said a little more tersely than he’d intended. Yixing chose to not press anymore.

More so than food, once Yixing got talking about his own life dancing it was full speed ahead from his first dance class as a child to the competitions he hated to the unexpected charm of Daegu and all the people he’d met in the city. It’s how he learned about Chanyeol, a mechanic by day and sculptor by night, the man who was just as determined to keep Yixing’s car in commission as Yixing was. 

Yixing also turned out to be the perfect person to ask to help make the amount of food in his fridge more manageable. His friendly disposition made it so he seemed to be well acquainted with most people he saw on even a semi-frequent basis so not only did he select what food he wanted for himself, but for his next door neighbor, his downstairs neighbor, supervisor, physical trainer, and Chanyeol. 

By the time Yixing left for the evening, Junmyeon’s contact information newly saved on his phone, his ode to life on stage had warmed Junmyeon in a way he did not think was possible anymore. Tucked under the covers in his lavender room, Junmyeon opened the leather journal where he’d left off weeks ago:

“Our Junmyeon had his last performance of ‘Swan Lake’ tonight. The show got good reviews in the performing arts magazine Yongha subscribed to. I shouldn’t feel hesitant to call my own son but life in Seoul must be busy especially now that he’s no longer just an assistant stage manager, as I mentioned before. Our little Junmyeon, running the whole show just like he always dreamed. But what should I do? His dream keeps him so far from home. Maybe he’s finally found someone who appreciates him in ways this old town couldn’t. A nice boy. A nice someone.”

***

Between Christmas and his interactions with Yixing, Junmyeon felt his forever frayed nerves getting used to the sudden increase in foot traffic. So when Jongdae’s car pulled up at eleven in the morning on the first Saturday of January, the sight of an unfamiliar face wasn’t as off putting as it otherwise would’ve been.

“Happy New Year!” Jongdae greeted him when he opened the door. Junmyeon only moved aside in response but absorbed his friend’s happy energy nonetheless. After a year of what he could only call absolute hell, he was more than eager to start marking off the days on a new calendar.

Baekhyun was short and skinny just like Jongdae, neatly combed black hair framing a puppy-like face. Like Jongdae, he dressed smartly, briefcase and all. 

“Hello, Dr. Byun. Thank you for making the trip,” he made sure to say quickly.

“Please, call me Baekhyun. This is like me meeting a celebrity. Jongdae talks about you all the time. Do you mind if I set up my things over here?” he asked, gesturing to the dining room table.

“That’s fine.” When he turned back towards the kitchen, he saw Jongdae snooping through his fridge and cabinets, grocery list in hand.

“Should I be jealous? I don’t think Li Yin has ever brought me this much food before,” he said looking up at no fewer than twenty soup cans, all things that had been added to his kitchen inventory on Christmas. 

“Probably because you make me sound pitiful all the time.”

Junmyeon noticed Baekhyun observing the interaction from across the hall before the man went back to looking at the various pictures hung on the wall.

When Jongdae left to go to the store, it became considerably less possible for him to pretend that Baekhyun wasn’t someone who knew what kind of person he really was. So given the circumstances, he appreciated the therapist’s choice to start off easy.

“Jongdae tells me you like Batman.”