Every morning he woke to the grim grey skies, every day he spent whiling away the hours with his sandpapers and oils, was a day he hated himself a little less.

He’d been in the house for three weeks, and hadn’t seen Wonwoo for two, having no excuse to go and visit him, and definitely not wanting to push his way in where he wasn’t welcome. He’d treated him to a day out, he’d paid for his lunch, he’d studied the book Wonwoo had so generously given him. Returning it wasn’t even an option; he still needed it.

The bed was hard work but was coming along nicely. Junhui had taken a delivery of a cheap bed frame from the furniture store in the next town over but had splurged on the mattress. He’d spent more on the mattress and the linens than everything else combined, including a new fridge and a small table and chairs set for the front veranda. Taking breakfast every morning with the cold wind in his face and the scent of salt in the air was healing and every day eating was a little easier.

Every day he ached a little less, in his body and in his heart. Every day each step was a little easier to take.

He called Jeonghan less and slept more. He walked everywhere, carrying his groceries back from the shop in two big calico bags, more often than not accompanied by the young man who ran the place. He seemed to have no regard for regular hours, closing up when he felt like it, wandering along the beach path chattering merrily. Junhui had begun to watch for him out in the surf if he woke up early enough, his hair whipping wildly in the wind as he chased relentlessly after each foam crested wave.

Junhui wished something would inspire that much passion in his soul. All he had was his sanding and his cooking and his head full of thoughts of the owlish man with the sharp jaw and mesmerising dark eyes.

On this particular morning he woke early enough to take coffee on the veranda and watch Hansol out on the waves in the distance. His persistence was to be admired; it was windy and the waves were fierce this morning but no matter how many times he was dumped from his board he just resurfaced and climbed back on.

Junhui sipped his coffee, fresh from his new coffee machine, and smiled to himself. Maybe if he’d grown up somewhere like this, where character mattered more than charisma and strength was admired over white teeth, he’d be able to do that too. He drained the coffee cup and put it down on the table and closed his eyes.

The smell of the beach was so addictive, salt and sand and sky, and he wished he would still be here in the summer to enjoy it. If it was warmer he could shed his sweatpants and hoodie and run down to the water’s edge in his underwear and throw himself away into the waves. He shook his head, opened his eyes, and chased the thought from his mind. He wouldn’t be here in the summer. He’d be back in his element by then, head to toe Gucci and Valentino, back in his clean crisp city apartment looking out onto the skyline of Seoul.

He didn’t even miss it.

He picked up his phone and decided to call Minghao. He’d asked for privacy and his manager had granted it, but he missed him. He missed having friends. At least Minghao would still be there for him clean and sober; even if he was paying him.

“Good morning,” he chirped into the phone when Minghao answered it on the eleventh ring.

“What time do you call this? Junhui it’s still dark outside.”

“No it isn’t,” Junhui laughed as he picked up the coffee mug and wandered back inside to make another. “The sun is definitely up. I saw it rise myself.”

“Three weeks and you’re a completely different person,” Junhui enjoyed the croak in his friend’s voice and the sound of sheets ruffling as he must be rolling over in bed. He could picture it, Minghao’s luxury apartment smaller than his but no less impressive, furnished with imported leather furniture from Italy. “Who are you and what have you done with the real Wen Junhui?”

Junhui put the mug under the coffee machine and inserted a pod into the top. He pressed the button and watched the smooth dark liquid drip into the mug while he filled the milk frother and set it to warm.

“Maybe this is the real me. Maybe you’ve just been seeing the fake one all along.”

The words flew out of his mouth unbidden, totally spontaneous and frightening in their truth. He’d never felt more like himself than he did in the dust and wind and sun of the little seaside village. In the house which seemed to breathe life into his heart the more he cared for it. In the friendly faces he saw every day and one more solemn that he never seemed to run into.

“What have you been doing?” Minghao sounded a little more alert now and was probably sitting up. He was probably clothed in luxury Louis Vuitton pyjamas and swathed in sheets of a thousand thread count.

“Woodwork,” Junhui smiled into the phone as he poured coffee into the two dollar mug hed picked up at the tiny grocery store. He added a shot of hazelnut syrup and poured the steaming milk in on top and watched the foamy milk turn the rich coffee into a swirl of white and brown.

“Woodwork?” The surprise in Minghao’s voice was palpable. Junhui could barely slot together some IKEA flat packs.

“Yeah, this house I bought, it came filled with all this old furniture. It’s all beautiful but really worn and I thought I could restore it.” He stirred his coffee slowly before dumping the spoon in the sink and walking back outside. “You know, maybe increase the value when I sell it…”

He sank into the chair and looked out at the water. This place was so stunning and he’d grown so attached to it in such a short time. He hoped whoever he sold the house to eventually loved it as much as he did.

“That sounds…… interesting…” Minghao said slowly and Junhui laughed. “You can say it. I know it’s weird but seriously I had to do this. Make some changes. You know?”

The silence hung heavy between them even over the distance. Minghao was only a few hours away by car but they were as good as worlds apart right now.

“I know.” He eventually concluded.

“Any news?” he asked and Minghao giggled through the phone in that endearing way he had. It always made Junhui smile, to hear the childlike noise coming from the chic and attractive Manager. “No except for every single label clamouring to be the first to book you when you come back. Coca Cola want you in China for a big budget commercial film in March. And Lee Chan contacted me. He said you promised him you’d model for his first collection if it ever got featured and they want it for next issue of Vogue.”

Junhui in a silent breath. He’d promised the younger man, a good friend of his, that he’d do him this favour. Sounds like the kid had finally landed his big break and Junhui was going to have to let him down.

He’d got his own big break modelling for Chan when the younger was a first-year student needing someone to walk the runway for his end of year assessment and Junhui was still flubbing his way through art school vacillating between singing and dancing. The groundwork had already been laid, he remembered, thinking back to how wasted he’d gotten before walking his very first runway. He’d swaggered out there filled with liquid confidence, eyes staring out into the crowd dark and wanton and enticing, his lean body the result of his disordered eating. He was a mess really but all that mattered was his outward appearance which was perfect model aesthetic.

It had gotten him noticed by the right people though and within a year he’d dropped out of his last year of university to model full time. His trajectory had been steep and sharp and his confidence couldn’t keep up. His mind wasn’t made for the vacuous world of modelling but the perks were just too addictive.

“When does Chan have to do the photos?” he asked and Minghao sighed through the phone. “He needs to submit them by the end of next week.”

A thought crossed Junhui’s mind and he wondered if it was too soon. If it was too forward of him to even ask, if he could handle it in his new and fragile sobriety, if he could erase that line between two worlds.

“I might know someone who can take the photos. Ask Chan if he will come here and do it.”

“Okay,” Minghao said as he shuffled around on the other end of the line. “I’ll ask him.”

“Thanks,” Junhui said. “I’ll let you go. Are you busy today?”

“I’m always busy,” Minghao’s snide sarcasm wasn’t lost through the phone. “Less so now I don’t have to clean up after your insane messes every morning.”

Junhui hung the phone up and finished his second coffee. At least now he had an excuse to go and talk to him.

He showered and dressed in a casual outfit and neglected styling his hair. He knew now why everyone who lived here had those slightly-too-long casual styles. It was because no matter where you were going, as soon as you stepped outside you were windswept. The breeze always whipped in from the ocean even if it was warm and Junhui wondered if the ocean’s white caps ever calmed.

He walked towards the town, deciding to stop in at the café for a sandwich then head to the hardware store for some more sheets of 120 grit, then finally brave the bookshop and the man who haunted all his waking thoughts. The little bell rang overhead as Junhui stepped out of the wind and into the café which was always warm and welcoming and smelled like vanilla.

“What can I get you?” the owner asked as he wiped his wet hands on a towel. Junhui leaned on the counter and perused the menu, simple coloured paper laminated sliding through his fingers, and he realised something as he looked for a sandwich.

He wasn’t afraid.

The idea of buying food, selecting something that would taste good and be good for his body, didn’t frighten him. His stomach didn’t churn with fear or revulsion, he was just hungry and wanted to eat.

“Hey,” the owner leaned a little closer and took the menu from his hands. “Hey, are you okay?”

Junhui didn’t realise he was crying until two huge tears splashed onto the smooth wooden counter.

“Yeah, sorry,…” he stammered as he drew his sleeves up into his fists and used them to wipe his cheeks. It was futile though, the ones he dried were quickly replaced by fresh tears and once he started he couldn’t stop. He didn’t know how he got to a chair or how the hot tea appeared in front of him or how the stack of napkins ended up in his hands but eventually the tears slowed and he was able to get himself together.

“I’m really sorry,” he choked out at the man sitting silently, patiently, across from him. The owner, Seungcheol he remembered, seemed so concerned but just sat and waited for Junhui to get control over his emotions before he spoke.

“Don’t be sorry,” he said softly. “Crying isn’t something to be sorry for. Just sit here for a few minutes and try to relax. Okay?” “Okay,” Junhui nodded in response and wiped his cheeks again. “I-is this for me?” he asked and Seungcheol pushed the tea closer. “Yes. Hot sweet tea always helps.”

It was strong, milky and a little too sweet, but Seungcheol was right. As Junhui sipped the hot tea he felt his nerves calm and his brain regain it’s focus. “do you want to talk?” Seungcheol seemed so genuinely concerned Junhui decided he did.

“I, um…. I have issues. With food. I was just hungry and wanted to eat and I know that’s supposed to be normal but for me it’s not. I was just happy I guess and then a little overwhelmed. Sorry.”

“Again with the apologies!” To Junhui’s surprise Seungcheol laughed loudly. “No more saying sorry. It’s unnecessary.” His eyes were so kind that Junhui didn’t feel like he needed to hide. “I actually think this needs to be celebrated. If you still want to eat I’ll make you anything you want.”

Junhui looked around. There was no one else in the café, time lingering in the dead zone between breakfast and lunch, no tourists in town looking for a brunch or takeaway coffee.

“A sandwich?” he asked and Seungcheol’s smile was so wide and bright he almost couldn’t look at it. “I’ll make you the best sandwich you’ve ever had.” As he got up from the chair Junhui wiped his cheeks again and this time they stayed dry. “I’m proud of you,” Seungcheol said gently, sincerely, as he put a hand on Junhui’s shoulder and Junhui wanted to cry again. He couldn’t remember the last time someone said that to him.

The sandwich that landed on the table in front of him was simple but perfection. Two thick slices of bread, golden on the outside, oozing with melted cheese and thin layers of salty ham. The smell was so enticing and Junhui looked up from the plate to see Seungcheol seated across from him with his own plate. “I don’t like to eat alone,” he said by way of explanation, “I thought you might not as well.”

The small talk made the food go down easily as they chatted quietly. Junhui told Seungcheol about his job as a model and his life in the city, breezing over the details he didn’t think were important. He left out the six figure pay cheques and the lavish parties, the blackouts and the crippling self consciousness of anxiety. He felt ashamed of his money, his huge apartment and his expensive lifestyle. These things mattered so little here where everyone was valued by their contributions to the community. No one here based self worth on an expensive watch or a fast car.

Junhui tried to pay him but Seungcheol chased him away with another huge gummy smile. It was so addictive Junhui found himself smiling back completely unbidden. It lasted all the way down the road to the hardware shop where the smile was quickly wiped from his face by a completely different reception.

“You,” Mingyu scowled at him from behind the counter. “Where have you been?” Junhui looked around to make sure the man’ barely concealed venom was, in fact, aimed at him. It was.

“Ah, I don’t know, home? At the house?” Junhui considered the way he easily referred to the house as home but pushed that down deep for another day.

“I told you he’s sensitive,” Mingyu continued to frown as he walked out from behind the counter and down the aisle forcing Junhui to scramble after him. “Wonwoo?” Junhui asked but he knew exactly who they were talking about. “I-I would never hurt him. Please tell me what I’ve done.”

“You took him out two weeks ago and haven’t contacted him since. He’s hiding it well but he literally spends all his day either checking his phone or looking out the window. If you don’t like him don’t lead him on. He couldn’t handle that all-“

Mingyu stopped himself from finishing the sentence but Junhui had already stopped walking.

“I would never lead someone on. Definitely not him.” He ran a hand through his hair, exasperated, these people were so much more complicated than he ever considered. The thought of Wonwoo staring out the window like a lonely cat waiting for it’s owner made his chest hurt. “I wasn’t sure he liked me…. I wasn’t even sure he was, you know….”

“Gay?” Mingyu shook his head as he began to search for something then stopped. “Actually what are you even here for?” “More 120 grit,” Junhui said as Mingyu began rifling though shelves of sandpaper.

“Are you thick? You took him out for lunch, he assumed it was a date, he even gave you a book and took your photo. In Wonwoo world that’s as good as a marriage proposal.” Mingyu began handing sheets of paper packed in plastic to Junhui who scrambled to catch them all from Mingyu’s frantic hands. “And then he sent you the photo and you never even responded. Never replied to him, never came back to the shop… nothing.”

“I’m sorry,” Junhui began to hand packets of paper back to Mingyu. In his irritation the man had somehow handed him about twenty packs and it was way too much. “I guess I am thick. I didn’t realise…. Anything. Any of this.”

He felt small and insignificant as Mingyu began to stack the rejected papers back onto the shelf chaotically. “You can’t dance around him like this. Either you like him or you don’t. He likes you and I haven’t seen him like anyone like this in years.” Mingyu began to walk back to the counter forcing Junhui to follow him again.

“I do like him,” he said as he pulled his credit card out to pay. “I like him a lot. I haven’t stopped thinking about him actually.” He wondered why he was confessing this to basically a stranger but no one in this town seemed to know what a stranger was. You were either one of them or you weren’t and they’d accepted him wholeheartedly into this strange little tightknit community where everyone apparently knew everyone’s business.

“Okay well go and tell him.” Mingyu handed Junhui the bag of sandpaper he’d chaotically packed. “I was on my way there anyway.” He replied and left without another word.

He stood outside the hardware shop and shook his head to clear it. What just happened?

Where Junhui came from, his world of parties and drugs and mindless faceless one night stands, you didn’t just like someone. Everything was a transaction, dating someone meant being seen with them, it meant being included or excluded. It meant being gossiped about. It meant trying to understand the minutia of every nuanced action, every flirtatious glance or passed phone number, knowing who worked for who and who advertised for what. Everything was about increasing your social capital or your brand value.

Here, you either liked someone or you didn’t, everything was just so black and white. Junhui didn’t know how to operate without the camouflaging shades of grey in between. He ignored the sick feeling in his stomach at Wonwoo’s distress and headed across the road to the antique shop.

He moved quickly but Junhui still caught sight of the man looking out the window; just as Mingyu had predicted. He heaved in a huge breath and silently wished for a mirror to see how wild his hair looked and how puffy his eyes were from his crying fit in the café. It didn’t matter anyway, he knew that, he was starting to learn how to live this slow paced life where looks didn’t seem to matter so much.

“Good morning,” he called out, a little shyly into the abyss of the book filled antique store. “Hi,” Wonwoo said from behind the counter. He must have sprinted across the shop to make it there before Junhui opened the door and it made him smile at the mental image. Wonwoo was quiet but so quirky and it made Junhui hungry to know more about him. He wanted to see him in so many different situations, to see if he would be shy when he was kissed, if he would blush when someone reached for his hand.

The way he was so carefree and affectionate with Mingyu made Junhui a little jealous; he wondered how long he would have to be a constant in the man’s life for him to treat Junhui with such casual affection and warmth.

Junhui walked closer and his eyes washed over the sight of Wonwoo staring at him from behind the counter. All the warm woods and grains and mountains of paper in the shop surrounded him like a mythical forest of dry barren trees. It made Wonwoo look so luscious, like a tall cool drink of water in a parched desert, his creamy soft skin and shining dark hair so lush in the dusty world of the bookstore.

Junhui didn’t know what to say to him. He didn’t want to say sorry; the people here didn’t seem to like it. They valued actions over empty words and Junhui decided to put the last two weeks behind him. He was here now and the present was so much more important than the past.

“Do you want to come over for dinner?” he asked and the spontaneity surprised him. He hadn’t planned on inviting him over but the look on Wonwoo’s face was more than worth it.

“Do you want a cat?” he replied and Junhui’s jaw dropped a little. “What do you mean?” he leaned over the counter and there, nestled in a basket of soft looking towels, were three squirming kittens.

“The mother died the other day, she got hit by a car, and they were going to starve,” Wonwoo offered by way of explanation. “There’s a shelter in the next town over but they’re full so I’m looking after them until they can find homes for all three.” Wonwoo looked down into the basket wistfully. “I want to keep one but I don’t know what’s going to happen to the others. I can’t keep them all and I can’t choose.”

Junhui had always wanted a cat ever since he was a little boy. He couldn’t say yes though, surely his lifestyle was not suitable for a cat, could he even keep one in his apartment? Would a cat be happy in a high-rise penthouse?

“I’ll think about it,” he responded which drew a smile from Wonwoo’s lips which returned to their grim set immediately.

“Are you serious about dinner?’ he asked and Junhui nodded. “Yeah, I should have come earlier, but I had no excuse to come and see you. I wanted to though.” It sounded as stupid as he felt but he couldn’t be any more honest. “You don’t need an excuse to come and talk to me,” Wonwoo peered at him from behind thick round glasses that magnified his eyes. “Am I not reason enough?”

Junhui wanted to cry again. This place was like a different world and he could feel himself changing with every little conversation he had here. Every person here was a study in how to be strong, how to be compassionate, how to live a life free from fear.

His life in the city was defined by fear. Fear of people finding out who he really was, fear of losing it all, fear of being exposed. He was sick of it. It was crippling, being afraid of everything al the time, and he suddenly felt himself dig down deep and summon strength he didn’t even know he had.

“I need a favour. It’s actually not a favour, it kind of is but it’s also a job.” Junhui looked wistfully at the basket of kittens and Wonwoo seemed to read his mind. He bent down and picked up the smallest, a ginger kitten with white on her face, and handed the warm little bundle to Junhui who clutched her gently against his chest.

“A friend wants me to model some clothes for him, for a magazine shoot, and I’ve asked if I can do it here. So, I need to find a photographer and the photo you took of me the other day was stunning.”

“Where will the photos be printed?” Wonwoo asked sceptically and Junhui didn’t blame him. Wonwoo was an amateur, an artist, and the pages of a high-end fashion magazine weren’t exactly his style. “Vogue.”

“Vogue? You want me to take photos of you and you think Vogue is actually going to use them?” Wonwoo looked completely incredulous as he snuggled a tabby kitten close to his neck. It mewled at the touch, completely smitten with searching for warmth,and Junhui was jealous again. He’d never wanted to be a cat so much in his life.

“If it’s what I want then they’ll do it,” Junhui said quickly, betraying his power in the industry. He’d been trying to downplay his position but in this town, filled with honest people, it was getting harder to hide.

“You can be anonymous if you want. You can have them published under a pseudonym and I’ll get them to send me your cheque.”

Wonwoo nodded slowly as he considered the offer. “I-if I can’t do it here ill have to go back to the city and I’m not ready,” Junhui threw it out there as a final grasp for acquiescence and Wonwoo said yes. “Okay,” he said. “I like taking your picture anyway.”

“Thank you,” Junhui breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He didn’t have to let Chan down and he would be able to stay here and spend more time with the people he was fast growing attached to. “Why did you come in here all weird like you were in trouble?” Wonwoo closed his eyes, wrapped up in the bliss of the warm kitten mewling against his neck and Junhui felt hot all over. He’d been so immediately smitten with the man in a romantic way that he’d completely neglected the physical attraction he felt until now. Unfortunately, the delayed reaction caught him by surprise as a wash of   arousal and desperate craving ebbed and flowed inside him. He’d never felt like this before about anyone. Ever. Sobriety was full of surprises.

“I came from the hardware store and Mingyu-“ “Mingyu,” Wonwoo interrupted him, “ing Mingyu. I told him not to say anything to you. I wasn’t mad at you and I know he thought I was sad but I wasn’t. I was just….. waiting.” Wonwoo’s eyes were so honest and free from any sort of guile. There were no blurred lines here, no hidden meanings, no innuendo. Just honest feelings.

“I’m sorry I made you wait.” Junhui used his thumb to massage the kitten’s head and almost melted at the soft rumbling purr he managed to elicit. “It’s okay,” Wonwoo replied with the barest hint of a smile turning up the corners of his mouth, “It’s not like I was in a rush. I’m not going anywhere.”

The sentence, so simple and plain, cut Junhui to the bone. Wonwoo wasn’t going anywhere but he was. This wasn’t his home, his town, his place in life. He didn’t belong here no matter how readily they seemed to accept him. Maybe, when Wonwoo stared down the lens as Junhui clad in couture, he would change his mind. Maybe he’d see him for what he really was; a man with a life built on superficial lies.

“I am though. I’m only here for three months.” Junhui was brave today. Brave and finally understanding the value of honesty.

“I know,” Wonwoo replied as he stared at him with eyes like onyx glinting in the soft yellow lighting. He didn’t back down though. He just stared at Junhui and waited while the kitten tried to climb out of his arms, sharp baby claws clinging to his soft looking sweater, mouth hanging loose and soft with anticipation.

“So, will you come for dinner?” Junhui pressed ahead and Wonwoo’s mouth finally broke. The smile was so beautiful, glowing and bright, his eyes closing in happiness as his nose scrunched up below the bridge of his glasses. Junhui had never in his life, in his travels abroad to the most stunning locations or in the world of show business of beautiful people, seen anything so breathtaking.

“I’m not a very good cook,” he smiled back and shrugged and Wonwoo’s smile melted down in to something more permanent, a warm kind of happiness that made his eyes sparkle. “I’ll have to bring the kittens with me.” That was fine by Junhui. “Please,” he wanted nothing more than an evening with Wonwoo and three kittens in front of the fireplace. It sounded like heaven.

He left the antique store that day without a purchase but with something much more valuable. As he crossed the road to the grocery store to try and work out what he could cook he felt the beginnings of hope bloom inside his chest. He felt warm, strong and happy, and most of all he felt honest. He’d lived this whole day as the real Junhui, authentic and true, every word and every action altruistic and wholly unselfish. It was liberating and as fresh as the wild wind that whipped his hair into a frenzy.

“What are you doing?” Jeonghan watched Junhui from the screen of his phone where he’d propped it up to take the facetime call. “Cooking,” Junhui said. “I’m making a roast chicken. I’ve never done it before but I have sage and garlic and lemon. Potatoes and sweet potato…” his voice faded as Jeonghan broke into a wide smile. “I’ve never heard you speak about food like this.” The look on his therapist’s face was half thrilled and half incredulous.

“I’m actually feeling a lot better.” Junhui sliced the potatoes as he talked. “I feel… real? Like a real person? Does that make sense?” Jeonghan nodded and Junhui continued to slice the vegetables, making the wedges small enough that they would cook reasonably quickly. He’d already coated the chicken with olive oil and garlic and herbs, layered thin slices of lemon over the skin, and put it in the oven. He had a fire roaring in the fireplace and the whole house smelled of lemon and sage and cosiness; and just a hint of the linseed oil he’d used that morning on some of the skirting boards.

“I’m pleased with your progress,” Jeonghan said, “I just don’t want you to be too hard on yourself if you crash a little. Two steps forward and one step back is a reasonable expectation.”

“I know,” Junhui tossed the potatoes into a tray and sprinkled them with salt. “I, actually, I don’t know if it was a good idea but I’ve taken a job. I feel good here, strong, and I didn’t want to let the designer down. He’s a good friend of mine.”

“You aren’t ready Junhui,” Jeonghan warned. His face turned serious and Junhui shirked a little. “Its okay, I’m not coming back yet, I’ve asked them to come here. I’m going to get a guy here to take the photos actually. The guy I met. The one I like.”

“Junhui,” Jeonghan warned him, “you aren’t ready.”

“I’m not going to do anything.”

Junhui wasn’t sure if that was a lie. He didn’t know what he was going to do. He liked Wonwoo so much but he was leaving, the other knew he was leaving, this wasn’t his place. He didn’t belong here as much as he loved the old rambling house which always felt warm and protective; almost as if it was a shield from the outside world.

This house, this town and these people, were a haven.

“I have to ask you something,” Junhui broke the long stretch of silence. “What would you think about me getting a cat?”

To his surprise Jeonghan nodded. “If you feel ready then it might help you. Pets can be very therapeutic and grounding.”

“Okay. I haven’t decided yet but I’m thinking about it. I have to go.” Junhui wanted to shower and change while the potatoes roasted. “Okay, let me know when you need to talk again. You’re making good progress Junhui.”

He stood in the shower and let the hot water wash over him. Steam filled the room and fogged up the window and the shower glass and the mirror. He washed his hair and washed his face and finally got out after letting his mind wander too long.

The old Junhui needed expensive champagne and a handful of pills to impress someone. He needed the false confidence of a chemical buzz running through his veins. He needed makeup and brand names and endless vacuous small talk. Here he just needed to be himself. He dressed in jeans and a cozy hoodie and quickly dried his hair just in time for the ding of the timer on the oven to go off.

On his way past he suddenly remembered the plant and Mingyu asking if he had any pets. “I’m sorry,” he said to the potted spathiphyllum as he carried it out to leave it on the front porch.

The sound of an engine made him look up and his heart fluttered at the sight. Wonwoo was pulling up in an old white station wagon, glasses perched on the end of his nose, his hair whipped wild from the wind which persisted even into the sunset.

“Hi,” he waved as he waited for Wownoo to get out. He ran down the old wooden steps when he saw the man struggling with the cat carrier and a white box. “What’s in here?” He asked as he took it from Wonwoo’s hands. “Chocolate cake,” Wonwoo handed it over and gripped the cat carrier as the headed into the house. “It should be good,” he chuckled, “I didn’t make it. Seungcheol made it for me.”

As they walked into the house, arms full of cake and kittens and hope, Junhui knew. He couldn’t go into this under any more false pretences or fraud. He had to be completely honest. He had to tell him who and what he really was.