Jinyoung wakes up and slowly gets a grasp of three things. The first is that his eyes still feel puffy from the previous night’s events. The second is that Bambam is snoring lightly next to him – Yugyeom and he invited Jinyoung to sleep in their bed for the night after seeing him so broken and exhausted.

The third thing Jinyoung realizes is that last night actually happened. He’s finally out to his bandmates and his manager -- and they’ll let him stay.

It’s a sigh of relief, and then some. Despite a night’s rest, Jinyoung still feels uneasy, on edge. Aftershocks, he tells himself.

Yugyeom walks into the room with two ceramic mugs. One is white, belonging to Yugyeom. The other is a light green, belonging to Jinyoung.

“Oh you’re awake.” Yugyeom greets, handing Jinyoung the steaming cup of tea. “It hasn’t steeped yet.”

“Thanks Yugyeom.”

“I’m sorry for putting you through that last night. You’re very brave, Jinyoung-hyung.”

Jinyoung carefully places a hand on the side of the mug, absorbing some of the heat to get more alert.

“I guess. Eventually you just get used to the idea that you might get beat up or kicked out.”

The moment’s silent for a minute. It feels a little awkward, as evident by Yugyeom persistently lifting and plunging his tea bag to steep it faster. Jinyoung’s impatient and takes a sip of his mug anyways. It’s still mildly watery, but there’s an aftertaste that’s reminiscent of white rice. He takes a look in the bag and sees the brown roasted kernels. It’s from Yugyeom’s personal stash of genmaicha, which he rarely shares with anyone else.

“You know when I was younger, I used to make the worst kinds of friends?” Yugyeom says, lifting his mug up to breathe in the aroma.

“What do you mean?”

“The ones that started trouble. We’d beat up the loners in our grade.” Yugyeom takes a sip from his mug.

“Do you ever regret it?”

“Once or twice, maybe. There was one kid in my class who smelled bad. When school ended, me and my friends would chase him, throwing rocks at him and calling him names.”

“How cruel.”

“They were small rocks. And I must have been seven? Eight?”

Jinyoung smiles at the thought of a younger Yugyeom. He imagines him to be a little chubby from the baby fat, and with a bowl cut. Jinyoung’s reminded of the time he rocked a bowl cut.

“One day I followed him though, all the way to where he lived. He lived in this tiny, poor old shack with his mom."

"That's terrible." Jinyoung remarks, his brow contorting with pity.

“It was. I felt bad, and after that I didn’t bully anyone ever again.”

Jinyoung coughs, raising his hand. Yugyeom smiles at the reaction, and Jinyoung can’t help but smile back.

“You know, you’re a lot different when you speak directly.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re much more charming.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

Yugyeom’s brow creases a little, and Jinyoung’s holding his breath out of worry that he’ll take the comment the wrong way. A moment later, Yugyeom relaxes his brow relaxes as he takes another sip, smiling a little more warmly than before.

“What do you see in Mark?”

“He’s someone who makes me happy, I guess. I feel a lot less lonely. I feel like I have a lot more freedom to be myself.”

“You know if you guys have a fight, this apartment will be a bad place to live in for all of us.”

Jinyoung chuckles. “Don’t worry, we’re all grown adults.”

“What do you mean, you’re the only omma here.” Yugyeom teases, grinning.

Slowly, Jinyoung feels a lot less on edge, more at ease. He realizes Yugyeom’s making an effort – not to just cheer him up, but to let him know nothing’s changed about how he feels towards him.

“One more week until L.A., Gyeommie!” Jinyoung says, stretching his vocal cords to muster the omma-hyung role.

“Yes! Mark and I always talked about it when we were trainees. I had never been on a plane then.”

“And now we’ve flown all over Asia.”

“But not America. Not yet.” Yugyeom says, over another sip of his tea. “I can’t wait.”