“You have to say it sharper: ruguo!” the host says. Minseok repeats him earnestly and Jongdae tries, but only halfheartedly. He doesn’t even remember what the ruguo means and even if he did, he knows he’d say it with the wrong tones in his thick Korean accent, and it would make everyone laugh.

                Whenever he got discouraged, the others would tell him that the audience was laughing with him. But the thing was, Jongdae didn’t really laugh. Even though it seems like he’s laughing, it’s never a real laugh.

                After the program, where Jongdae had made a fantastic fool of himself as he attempted to speak Chinese, they’re getting in the car to go back to the hotel. They would probably go back and eat more weird Chinese food that Jongdae only tolerated. He’d hear the others speaking in rapidfire Mandarin, talking about who knows what, and he’d pretend to study.

                All the characters run together in his mind. Why does shao look so much like xiao and what’s the difference between na and na?

                He sometimes wonders if this is all worth it. He’d been excited at the prospect of challenging himself in a new country with a new language; after all, he’d always liked languages.

                But after a few months of spending most of his days in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by people speaking a language he can’t understand and eating food he can hardly stomach, he isn’t so sure anymore.  

                “You did great today,” Zitao says quietly, making an effort to speak Korean for Jongdae as he slides into the car next to him.

                “I didn’t,” Jongdae shakes his head, frustrated beyond belief. “I don’t belong in this country. I don’t belong in this ing group. I’m not Chinese, there’s no way I’ll ever get used to being Chinese, and I don’t think I thought this through well enough, because it’s too much.”

                “You’re good at Chinese, though!” Zitao exclaims, looking worried.

                “I can’t even pronounce your name right,” Jongdae huffs.

                “I like how you pronounce my name,” Zitao replies, putting his hand on Jongdae’s leg. “I like how you say everything in Chinese. You have a nice voice and it sounds really good when you speak the language.”

                “It’s not just the language,” Jongdae mutters. Zitao tilts his head.

                “What is it? If you tell me, I’ll fix it,” Zitao tells him.

                “It just…it’s everything. I hate it here. I don’t belong—”

                “You do!” Zitao cries, “you do. I don’t know what I’d do if you left.”

                “If.”

                “What?”

                “If. Ruguo means ‘if,’ right?” Jongdae asks, looking at Zitao expectantly. Zitao nods slowly, smiling.

               “See? You’re better than you think you are,” Zitao says. He leans his head on Jongdae’s shoulder. “Don’t leave us. Don’t leave me. It’s worth it, or at least it will be. I promise.”

                “There is one thing that makes it worth it,” Jongdae says quietly.

                “What’s that?” Zitao wonders, and Jongdae intertwines their fingers.

                “You,” he replies in Chinese. “You make it worth it.” Zitao smiles as he nestles himself into the crook of Jongdae’s neck, and they stay like that for the entire ride back to the hotel.

                Yixing tells them that they’re having zhajiangmian for dinner.

                Maybe it’s not all bad, Jongdae thinks, kissing the top of Zitao’s head.  

(If you didn't know, Chinese zhajiangmian is very similar to Korean jjajangmyeon, which is why Jongdae thinks it'll be okay.) These two are kind of my OTP so sorry for putting off couples I should actually be writing :/

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