“I guess this isn’t the best time to announce I’m not going to university, right?” Shang scratches the back of his neck – itchy from the starched white shirt – and grins sheepishly.

There’s a beat of silence; Yixing disengages himself from Jongdae’s hold and Kyungmi struggles to verbalise the inner turmoil inside. Joonmyun simply snorts. “Very funny, Shang.”

He coughs awkwardly. “Um, no. It’s not a joke. I, uh, haven’t sent my application in.”

Jongdae makes a strange croaking sound, his grip on the cake fork so tight his hand is shaking. Yixing can feel his expression hardening, even as he tries to keep calm. Shang would pull this at their wedding, of course he ing would –

“Would you like to explain why you’re not going?” He says, sounding deceptively serene. Kyungmi is still choking for air.

Shang shuffles nervously, tugging at the collar of his shirt. His tie – festooned with zippers and safety-pins, because of course it is – has long come loose. He looks nowhere near as well put-together as they would have liked, but then, they did let him dye his hair (which is longer than his sister’s) about seventy different colours. At the same time. Maybe that’s what spurred this on. Oh god.

“I just – I,” he bites his lip, unnerved by the fact that every single one of his parental figures is staring at him with varying degrees of shock on their faces. He should have tried this out on his nan before them. She thinks he’s amazing whatever he does, and she’d shut down his dad’s complaints with one steely look. “I want to concentrate on my music,” he mumbles. “I don’t know what I’d do at university.” Apart from shag a lot of hot, drunken undergrads, but according to his uncle Baekhyun, that’s the only reason people go to university anyway.

This is probably why he’s never allowed to talk to Baekhyun unsupervised for very long.

“You can still be in your band and get a degree at the same time.” Jongdae grinds the words out without sounding like he’s going to kill Shang. He considers this an achievement. “I pursued music with a degree, not without it – “

“You need something to fall back on,” Kyungmi says forcefully, eyes flashing. Shang scoots back in his chair, suddenly feeling very…unsafe. “I don’t want you to end up without anywhere to live, with no way to get a job – “

“Darling,” Joonmyun interrupts worriedly, placing a hand on her arm. “Don’t go down that route.”

She rounds on him, expression gradually getting angrier and angrier; Joonmyun winces. “But I want to make sure he’s safe! That he has a career that pays him enough to live on – “

“It’s not like your career pays well, and you’re the one with all the post-grad degrees.” Shang tells her, crossing his arms defensively. “You and bà have never made any money, you just do your jobs because you love them. Why am I not allowed to do something I love?”

This cuts across every argument all four adults had been busy formulating in their heads, even if only for a moment. Kyungmi’s mouth snaps shut, the fight going out of her, and Yixing sighs, running a hand through his now messy hair. He’s still surprised he has so much of it, to be honest; he thought the kids would have made him go bald about a decade ago.

“But music isn’t exactly a stable industry. What if it…doesn’t work out?” It’s a cheap shot, Jongdae knows, but he can’t help it. The idea of his son not going to university is inordinately frightening, because that’s just what you do if you want to get ahead. And he wants all of their children to get ahead – for them to carve out lives and careers far more comfortable and satisfying than his has been. Not that he’d trade it for anything, it’s just – he has a lot of regrets. He doesn’t want Shang to have regrets too.

“Just because you didn’t make it dad, it doesn’t mean I won’t.” Shang’s eyes are flashing just as dangerously as his mother’s, and it’s curious just how much he looks like Kyungmi in this moment, Joonmyun reflects faintly. “I’m talented, you know I am, and we’re going to make it – “

The fury flickering in the back of his eyes dampens when he sees his father’s resolve crumple in on itself. Suddenly, his dad – who’s always been cheerful and strangely youthful whatever he does – looks old, beaten down, on what’s meant to be the best day of his life. His bà – his scatty, sweet father who’s only ever tried to support him – looks furious, as furious as his dad should be and his mother – well, the disappointment on her face is crushing. He can’t even bear to look at Joonmyun. “Dad, I’m sorry – “

Jongdae raises one tired hand. “You better hope you’re as good as you seem to think you are, because otherwise they’re going to eat you up and spit you right back out. No, I didn’t make it, and I hope to god you will, but you better be prepared.” The chair makes a disturbing scraping noise as he pushes it backwards. Yixing looks up at him, concerned. “I’m going to check up on your brother and sister,” he says stiffly.

The table falls silent as he leaves, shoulders hunched ever so slightly. Yixing is torn between following his husband, or ripping into his wayward son, but the desire to make peace wins over. “I hope you’re happy, Shang.” The words are quiet, but they still send a shiver through the boy in question, because this is so not what he intended to do. “I think you better stay here while I see if I can salvage what’s left of the night.”

He throws his crumpled napkin on top of his plate, before taking a deep breath. “I’ll be back in a bit,” he promises, even though he’s not entirely sure he wants to see Shang for a while.

I've been very, very unhappy lately. Writing isn't easy.