“I’m not going.”

“Zitao, please, don’t be like this,” a softly aging woman pleads, sorrow deepening her frown lines. “We deserve a new start.” She takes his hand in her own, pressing her thumbs into his palm.

He softens, sighing, but he still doesn’t want to relent. He still doesn’t want to go, still doesn’t see the point in leaving. “Why can’t we start anew in a different city? Why a different country?”

“Please try to understand me. I can’t continue to live here and be constantly reminded of your father. I need something different. I can’t stay here and try to put your father to rest,” she says, squeezing his hand. Zitao catches the tears welling in her eyes and he mentally scolds himself for making his mother upset. She is trying, he knows she is. It isn’t easy for her like it is for him. He has to remember the years his parents spent together and the many more they were looking forward to having.

Pulling his hands away, he wraps his arms around her thinning waist. He still doesn’t like the idea of moving to South Korea but he’d rather be miserable instead of seeing his mother in pain.

It doesn’t hit him until they’re stepping into their new home — a small apartment complex on the line between Yongsan and Mapo — that he knows absolutely zero Korean and therefore will probably get lost or insult someone on accident and, consequently, get beaten to a bloody pulp.

"I'm sorry."

Zitao misses the knob on the key rack, his set of keys and assorted keychains dropping to the floor, clicking and clanging. He inclines his head, looking further into the large main room of his apartment. His surprised eyes meet with the glum eyes of his ex.

Sniffing, he shrugs, finding his equilibrium. Bending over, he picks up his keys and hangs them properly. He plucks off his shoes, kicking them into a corner. He leaves his broken umbrella somewhere over there too. Ignoring the man sitting on his couch, he strolls into the opposite direction, to his bedroom, nudging the door open with his toes. Footsteps pad behind him and he kicks the door shut behind him, not bothering to turn around.

His visitor sighs on the other side of the door. Zitao continues to ignore the gentle knocks at the door as he walks to his closet, ping his wet jeans and shedding them next to the foot of his bed. He slides open the closet door, searching for a fresh pair of pants and settles on a pair of old grey sweatpants he's had since for as long as he can remember. He changes gingerly, grimacing at the soggy feeling of his wet socks sliding off his feet, the same sensation sending a shiver up his spine when he changes into an ordinary blue shirt with english scrawled in an ineligible font across the chest. Satisfyingly dry, he sighs.

The knocking on his door has not stopped, if only getting louder and more obnoxious the longer he tries to ignore it, so he gives in. Make note that he does not give in because he feels pity for his visitor or because he wants to hear the apology; he only does it to get that infernal banging to stop.

"How did you get in," he grits between his teeth as soon as he swings the door open, fingers clenched tight around the brass knob.

The man on the other side — with his hair messily styled into some kind of updo that looks like the residual of a rough night instead of twenty minutes spent in front of the mirror and dressed in a white shirt, black cardigan, and a pair of simple blue fitted jeans — quirks his lips.

"I tracked down Chanyeol and forced him to get Xiumin to open the door for me," he says, staring at Zitao with gloomy eyes.

Zitao narrows his eyes at the other, two seconds away from slamming his bedroom door shut. Or better yet, shoving Jongin out of his apartment and out of his life for the last time. "So you tortured my best friend with his second worst nightmare just to sit your sorry on my couch and wait for me to come home to spit more bull in my face?"

Jongin opens his mouth. Zitao raises his free hand. "Don't bother. Get out."

He brushes past the younger man, rudely bumping into his shoulder. He stops in front of his front door, one hand on his hip and the other pointing toward the door.

"Zitao, please. Don't —"

"Out."

They stare at each other in silence until Zitao feels his anger bubble over and he growls deep in his chest. "Kim Jongin, I swear if you do not get out of my house, nothing will ever fix this."

And then Jongin's shoulders drop because he can hear the tiredness laced around Zitao's stern words. He thought he was exhausted but he doesn't think he's ever seen Zitao so pale, and the naturally dark hollows beneath the Chinese's man's eyes are more pronounced. Eyes following the length of Zitao's arm to the door, he exhales with resignation.

Zitao watches as Jongin walks toward the door, taking a step back when the other gets too close to him. He inhales, hoping the air will somehow calm him down and dry the tears prickling at his eyes, when Jongin stops with his hand on the door knob. The door is cracked open and he can see a sliver of the hallway outside, all nasty concrete base and dead white walls.

"I'll call you?" Jongin whispers but Zitao hears him nonetheless.

"Don't even think about it."

Nodding, Jongin pulls the door open and slips out into the hall. He turns around, hoping to apologize one more time but his eyes meet Tao's briefly before the door closes in his face.

"I don't know what you're apologizing for," Minseok says, his sentence muffled with his lips parted around the rim of a Rilakkuma coffee mug.

Zitao looks up from the floor. "What?"

Minseok snorts, sipping gingerly at the steaming liquid. "I said, 'I don't know what you're apologizing for’."

Straightening his shoulders, Zitao blinks. "But—" He pauses, not exactly sure what he should say next. That's always been the problem with Minseok. It's difficult to judge his emotions. Sometimes he reacts a certain way but then when a similar situation arises again, he does something completely different. Almost as if he's a completely different person. It's strange and off-putting and Zitao isn't sure how to converse with his best friend sometimes but he supposes that's one of the perks of being friends with Minseok. There is never a dull moment, that's for sure.

Setting down the coffee on the marble counter, Minseok crosses his arms over his chest. "Look, Tao, I appreciate that you care about how I feel, but don't worry so much. Chanyeol and I have an...interesting relationship, I guess," the Korean says, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Jongin doesn't know how to properly word things. Chanyeol didn't force me to do anything. He simply came up to me and told me Jongin needed to get into your apartment because he lost his spare key. Now I know that isn't the truth but nothing suspicious happened between us. I promise." He smiles, reaching out to place a comforting hand on Zitao's shoulder.

Reading his face and not detecting a hint of a lie, Zitao nods. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his black slacks. "I believe you. It's just...I know you have a lot going on with Chanyeol and Yifan and then there's the Gongyeon boy—"

"Lu Han," Minseok interjects.

"—Lu Han. I just feel like I'm not doing enough as your so-called ‘best friend’. I'm always afraid that one day I'm going to get a call in the middle of the night and hear that you're in the hospital again and you're not going to wake up. And it's going to be my fault because I wasn't there to protect you like I said I would."

“Zitao, it isn’t your job to protect me.”

“But —”

Minseok shakes his head. “I have everything under control. Trust me.”

Zitao just wants to go back to the apartment. He wants to go back to the apartment and finish unpacking his stuff and lie on the bundle of blankets he’s using to sleep on until his new bed arrives. But instead of spending his time taking a nap, he’s standing awkwardly in the front of a classroom with five other students, tripping over foreign words he really doesn’t know. They all stare at him with blank faces as he struggles to introduce himself. After the fifth time of messing up the pronunciation of the word ‘name’ and jumbling the sentence structure, he gives up, muttering to himself in Chinese as he stalks off toward the door. His mother wanted him to make friends but he can’t do this. How does she expect him to make friends like this.

“Wait! Don’t go.”

Zitao stops, a step away from leaving the room and heading to his new home. A hand clamps down on his shoulder and he looks behind him. The smile on the face of the boy behind him is blinding, much too bright for Zitao at the current moment. He blinks slowly.

“I…uh…hi! I’m Kim Xiumin. Welcome to the music club!” The smiling boy opens his arms, gesturing to the room around him.

Zitao stares, deadpan. He’s studied enough Korean to understand that much but he isn’t confident in his ability to respond with anything extravagant. Half a year really is not a substantial length of time to learn a new language.

Minseok’s smile weakens when he receives no response. He opens his mouth but closes it a second later, biting his bottom lip. Zitao takes his hesitation to finish walking out of the door. Not even two steps later, he feels a small hand grabbing his forearm.

“Stay. Please? We’re all really nice people…well, maybe not Chanyeol—”

“ you.”

“We won’t judge you or your language skills. I can help you,” Minseok trails off and Zitao scolds himself for glaring and intimidating the smiley creature, “If you’re not offended by the proposition, that is.”

Minseok blinks at him and looks over his shoulder at the other students in the classroom. Zitao is more than shocked when he repeats himself in broken Chinese, sounding just as awkward and stupid as Zitao in Korean.

“You know Mandarin?” The foreigner asks slowly in his native tongue, feeling a bit more comfortable than he was a second ago.

Minseok bares his teeth in a half-smile. “Sort of, not really. I have a…friend who is Chinese so I’m trying to pick it up.”

Zitao nods, not bothering to question the response, unsure of Minseok’s Mandarin abilities and of his own Korean.

“So…uh…who are they?”

Minseok brightens even more — Zitao has no idea how it’s possible — at his question, excited he can call another person a member of the music club.

“Okay, you remember my name right?”

Zitao nods.

“Good! The angry girl with the llama necklace is Soojung, but we all call her Krystal. Chanyeol is the one who cursed at me with the awkwardly crimped hair. Junghwan—"

“It’s Sandeul!” Junghwan exclaims, flailing his arms.

“He doesn’t know how to shut up but he’s funny so it’s not so bad. And Sohee is the girl sitting in the back, reading. We don’t really know why she comes,” Minseok finishes pointing out the other students in the classroom, all of them waving when they’re called.

“Oh, and there are other members of the club too, but us five are here almost every week. I guess you’ll meet the others later.”

Zitao sighs. Great. More people. Just what he needs.

“Sounds fun.”

“Aw, you just missed him. Too bad.”

Zitao stares blankly. He kicks Kyungsoo in the shin and brushes past, inviting himself into the other’s house.

“I’m not here for Jongin, for your information.”

“You Chinese son of a ,” Kyungsoo hisses, pushing his door closed and hobbling over to where Zitao has taken a seat on his couch. Leaning against the space of wall between the couch and his decorative bookcase, Kyungsoo crosses his arms over his chest. "If you're not here for Jongin, then what the hell do you want because I don't really like the idea of having you in my home for no reason."

Rolling his eyes, Zitao allows himself to get comfortable, even going as far to prop his feet up on Kyungsoo's also decorative coffee table. He ignores the way Kyungsoo snarls at him. 

"I see you've cleaned up since the last time I was here. Moving up in the world, eh?" He scopes out the interior, noting the vacuummed floors and the lack of beer bottles that usually are all over the floor and the counters. He's exaggerating a little, though, because it's fun to mess with Kyungsoo and see him get all riled up. The bug-eyed man is sensitive as much as he doesn't appear to be. 

"If all you've come to do is ridicule me, I suggest you leave."

Zitao watches as Kyungsoo breaks away from the wall and strides into his small kitchen to grab a can of coke. 

"I didn't know you knew the word 'ridicule'," the Chinese man jokes.

Sipping at the carbonated liquid, Kyungsoo raises his left eyebrow. "I have a better grasp on my language than you do, immigrant," he says as soon as his lips leave the rim of the soda can. "But seriously, what do you want, Zi —"

"When was the last time you paid your dues," Zitao interrupts, eying the other. 

Kyungsoo flinches, almost dropping his drink, but a bit of the dark liquid does spill out of the opening and onto the carpet. Neither of them notice. "...Why?" The Korean asks slowly. Zitao detects a bit of worry in his voice.

"Because you-know-who came to my place looking for Jongin because he knows Jongin is your best friend. And even though Jongin and I are taking a break, I'd rather not have him hassled for money. He still pays for the electricity when I kick him out."

Sighing, Kyungsoo takes another swig of his soda before nodding. "If he comes by again, tell him I'll have it to him soon."

"Aren't you going to apologize for the consequences of your actions?"

"No," Kyungsoo snorts. "Now get out of my house."

Zitao — who didn't expect anything else — pushes himself up and runs his hands over the front of his jeans. "Yeah, whatever. But before I go..." He looks down the hall before casting Kyungsoo a glance. "Did you two think I was really that stupid?" He laughs and walks down the hall to the door at the end leading to Kyungsoo's bedroom. He jerks open the door, stepping back quick enough for Jongin to fall out into the hallway without falling onto him as well. 

Chuckling nervously, Jongin looks up, his hair messily falling over his face. He bares his teeth in an awkward smile as he sits up. "H-Hey, baby. How are you?"

Squatting so their faces are level, Zitao smirks. "I'm afraid you don't have the right to call me baby but what do you say to dinner together tonight?"

A look of confusion crosses Jongin's face but hope sparkles in his eyes. "Does this mean we're getting back together?"

"Not at all." Zitao laughs, placing his hand on his ex's chest and pushing him over. Standing, he wipes his hand on his jeans again. Nodding to the man on the ground, he finally turns to exit the apartment.

"Seven this evening, Jongin, don't be late. And Kyungsoo, get your together."

"Tao..."

Zitao looks up from his homework — Advanced Statistics — at the small Korean boy sitting across from him. They're in the school library, sitting at a table near the encyclopedias and the almanacs. It's where they always get together to do their homework and tutor each other in their respective languages. He didn't think it was possible, that he and Minseok could find any progress with teaching each other with their limited grasp on Korean and Mandarin, respectively, but he thinks they're both better than they were when they met. He also has the other to thank for his small group of friends from the music club. He was right. Jungwhan never stops talking, Sohee never talks, and Chanyeol is the biggest jerk he's ever come to meet in his entire life. But then, he doesn't consider Chanyeol a friend and he never will.

He hums, his full attention now on the other.

"You won't leave me, right? No matter what happens, we'll always be good friends, right?"

His eyebrows knit with confusion. "Of course," he laughs softly, reaching across the table to place his hand over Minseok's, frowning when his usual ball of sunshine slides his hand away. "Why would you even ask that?"

Minseok's mouth opens as if he's searching for something to say. After a minute of various facial expressions, he finally says, "no reason."

Zitao nods, not believing the other but not wanting to push the subject if Minseok isn't comfortable with saying his problem aloud. He starts to tell the older to finish his work when Minseok's phone vibrates on top of the table.

There aren't many people at this side of the library and Minseok picks up the phone, making sure to keep his voice quiet when he answers.

"Hello, sweetheart."

Zitao frowns down at his worksheet of problems, unable to focus on the chi-squared test he was previously working hard at finishing when he realizes who the caller is.

He doesn't have anything personal against Minseok's boyfriend, Wu Yifan — they haven't said more than five words to each other since Minseok introduced them two months after he moved to Korea — but there is something about the taller Chinese man that puts him on edge. He isn't sure what it is, but he gets this feeling that not everything is alright in the mind of Yifan, and the way he looks at Minseok sometimes, with burning ink black eyes, makes him want to separate the two. Really, he has nothing personal against Minseok's boyfriend. Except that he might have a darker side to his charming personality, that he's as much as a jerk as Chanyeol, and that Zitao may have the tiniest crush on Minseok and he hates how the smaller boy brightens so much more whenever he's around.

"I'm at the library. Tao and I are studying."

Zitao erases his previous answer, replacing it with another.

"Oh, you're here too? We're in the back. You should come join us."

He looks up at Minseok in alarm. He isn't seriously inviting Yifan to join them here. This is their table. No one else is supposed to interrupt their study time together. No one. 

The short boy is standing, waving his arm in the air.

"Over here, stupid. Don't you see me waving?"

Groaning, Zitao slams his head into the table. None of this would be a problem if he was still in China. He wouldn't be struggling to pass his classes taught in a language he still doesn't understand very well, he wouldn't be so distressed about someone sitting at a table in the library, and his chest wouldn't tighten at watching Yifan wrap his arms around Minseok's waist and kiss him on the lips.

Minseok sits and his boyfriend takes the seat next to him.

Yifan looks at him and nods. "Zitao."

He nods back. "Yifan."

He watches as Minseok turns to his boyfriend. "What are you doing tonight?"

Yifan shrugs. "Nothing," he says, leaning back on the hind legs of his chair. "Wanna get dinner tonight?"

Minseok looks contemplative for a second before nodding. "Italian?"

"If that's what you want."

"How about dessert?"

"Ice cream?"

Minseok shakes his head. "Cheesecake."

Zitao sighs, feeling left out. He gathers his things and in the middle of shoving his textbooks into his bookbag, Minseok reaches out to him.

"What are you doing?"

He stuffs the book and zips the bag closed. Hoisting it over his shoulder, he looks at Yifan and then Minseok. "I...uh...My mom asked me to come home," he lies. "I'll text you later?"

Minseok pouts but lets him go. 

Zitao has never run out of a building so fast in his life.