Chapter Text
“You know I love you, right?”
The car of the ferris wheel comes to a sudden stop with a jolt, swaying slowly as they sit at the top of the wheel, looking over the theme park. They’re higher than Jisung should be comfortable with, but he can’t even be bothered to look down. All he can see is Minho, who’s clenching his fingers around the seat under him, terror on his face.
Was it Jisung’s words? Is it his fear of heights? Probably both.
Minho does what he does best and ignores him, staring at the floor, avoiding the windows at all costs.
Jisung laughs nervously, a tight feeling in his chest, somewhere between anxiety and just straight up dread. “Hello?” He nudges Minho in the calve with his shoe, trying to get his attention.
Finally, he turns to Jisung.
“Don’t be silly.”
Jisung wakes up to something cold and wet hitting his face, pulling him out of his nightmare so fast that it feels like his heart is going to escape through his throat.
He opens his eyes to the culprit, Changbin, crouched down in front of him next to the couch. The weapon is in his hand, a spray bottle filled with water that Jisung used to use to mist his plants before they all died.
Jisung knocks the bottle out of his hand before he can attack again, and then rubs at his eyes, trying to get the sleep out of them. “Remind me why I gave you a key to my apartment?”
Changbin grins at that, and grabs Jisung’s glasses from the coffee table, clumsily putting them on his face until they sit crooked on his nose. Jisung doesn’t even bother fixing them, because now he can at least see the stupid look on Changbin’s face in HD.
“Because you love me,” Changbin answers his rhetorical question. “Good afternoon, by the way. We’re late.”
Jisung kicks the blanket off his body and checks his watch, the heavy Rolex shifting on his thin wrist as he turns his arm. It’s already past 1pm. He was supposed to meet Changbin one hour ago.
“Sorry,” he groans, voice cracking with sleep.
“I’m used to it,” Changbin says, poking him in the ribs. Softly.
Jisung yelps and turns to his side in an attempt to protect his body from his friend. As always, he ignores the pain that shoots through the rest of his body. Finally, he notices how good Changbin looks, already wearing a suit, and hair brushed back neatly. “Did you cut your hair, Bin?”
“Yeah,” Changbin stands and rubs at his knees, trying to even the folds out of his dress pants. “And you should really cut yours.” Changbin leans down to ruffle his long hair, but his fingers get stuck in the knots. “Ew, actually, you should just wash it for once.”
“I know, I’m just so–” he gestures around himself, at his little island of candy wrappers and dirty socks.
“Busy,” Changbin finishes for him, nudging his foot at the empty bottle of lube on the floor, dirty tissue sticking to the side of it. “I can tell.”
“Shut up, asshole.” Jisung sits up slowly, vision going black for a few seconds as his blood runs to the rest of his body. His spine tingles and it spreads, until the familiar, heated pain arrives. He blinks the dizziness away and asks, “How’s work? How does it feel to work for the devil?”
Changbin puts his hands in his pockets, smug smile on his face. “I could ask the same of you.”
Jisung finds that he can’t stop staring at his friend. He looks so good that it’s almost annoying, like he’s rubbing his success in his face. From his designer suit to his diamond earrings, his expensive cologne and his limited edition watch which is probably worth twice the amount that Jisung’s is. All of it is perfect and it just makes sense.
“Come on,” Changbin juts his chin out to hint for Jisung to get up, “we pick up Lix from the airport in an hour.”
Right, Felix is flying in. Jisung almost forgot about that. He tends to forget many things nowadays, so he doesn’t even know if he willingly repressed that or if it just got lost in the maze of his brain.
Jisung tries to shoo his emotions away as he takes a shower. The hot water feels good on his body, and he wonders how long it’s been since he actually saw the inside of the shower stall. But it’s not like he’s got a lot of dirt to wash off anyways, since it’s also been a while since he’s gone outside.
He goes over the facts in his mind to distract him from the anxiety that’s slowly bubbling up in his stomach. Their old manager, from back in the days, is renewing his vows this weekend to celebrate his ten year long marriage with his wife. And he was so kind to invite all of them to the wedding, a three day event in a fancy hotel somewhere outside of the city.
Perhaps he doesn’t know how they kind of drifted apart after–after the incident. Or perhaps it’s his roundabout attempt to reunite them. Jisung doesn’t care about his intentions anyway, he just wishes he could’ve come up with a valid excuse to stay home.
The mirror feels cold under his hand as he tries to rub the steam off of it, the glass revealing his reflection slowly. His tired face stares back at him, dark circles reminding him that he is in fact turning thirty this year.
It’s been six years. Six fucking years since their hiatus. Six years since they so desperately tried to get back together and make things work. Six years since they found out that they couldn’t do it anymore.
A lot has changed since then.
Most of them have left the industry, in some way or form. Only he and Changbin still produce. Changbin at a rival entertainment company, which Jisung is too bitter about to say the name out loud, or even in his head. Jisung was lucky enough to get picked up by a small company, run by his childhood idol, which allows him to work from home most days. Which is both a blessing and a curse.
Jeongin… now Jeongin was a whole other story. Somehow that kid blew up even bigger than they ever did as a group. Jisung sees him on TV a lot, on variety shows, stages, or just clips of him signing some auntie’s t-shirt. Who would’ve thought that singing trot could be that profitable.
Jisung isn’t bitter about it, no way. It’s just–it’s a little confronting seeing him be so successful, living the life that they used to share. But now, years later, he’s glad that he got out. He’s realized that there’s more to life, even though he hasn’t exactly found what that ‘more’ might be. But he’s not going to kill himself by looking for this allcompassing answer.
Hell, one of them already almost died doing so.
He rummages through his medicine cabinet, puts in his contacts and then finds his razor, rust already settling on one of the blades. It’ll have to do, since he can’t show up at a formal event with this much stubble. With shaking hands he shaves his face, and as the dull blade takes away the hairs, it reveals the blotchiness of his skin. He stares at himself for a moment, remembering how easily this used to be solved with a thick layer of makeup.
Oh well, it’s not like there’s anyone there that he wants to impress, is what he tells himself.
Because the opposite is true.
He tries to shake it off, and stretches his neck a bit. Pain shoots down his spine and back up again, making his head throb. His fingers still shake as he leans on the sink.
The voice in his head convinces him that he’s waited long enough, that it’s already past noon, that he’s done well even though he slept through most of the day. So he opens his medicine cabinet again, finds his prescription drugs, and pops a pill.
Changbin raises his eyebrows when Jisung returns to the living room, hair done and wearing a suit. “You still clean up well, Sung.”
“I try,” he says, trying to straighten his tie. It feels suffocating.
“We good to go? Did you take your meds?” Changbin asks, shaking Jisung’s second pill bottle that he found on the coffee table.
Jisung watches the pills dance inside the bottle, bouncing around in the plastic casing, and he zones out for a second. Then he says, “No.”
Lying comes easy to him nowadays.
With another pill in his cheek and his hands clammy from nerves, he climbs into the front seat of Changbin’s car. It’s one of those sleek, black cars, that he doesn’t know the brand of. He just knows it’s way too big for a short guy like Changbin, and way too big for him to ever find a parking spot.
But somehow he makes it look good, one hand on the wheel and the other on the gear stick. Jisung reclines his seat a bit to ease the pain. He can tell that Changbin is avoiding bumps in the road, slowing down in corners more than he should, just to make things easier for him.
Jisung hates it. Hates being treated like something fragile, like he’ll break if they shake him up too much. He fucking hates it even though it’s true.
They turn onto the highway and from there on out there aren’t any turns and bumps anymore. Just the car drifting over the asphalt with a quiet zoom. The pills finally kick in, numbing the pain that has spread all the way to Jisung’s toes in the meantime. They make his head heavy, but it’s lovely. Like a warm blanket, soothing him to sleep.
The car rocks softly, and as he slips into a dream, it’s almost like he’s on a ferris wheel.
“Don’t be silly.”
Jisung gasps for air.
“Hyung, don’t be silly!” A familiar, deep voice calls from behind him.
The familiar dizziness hits Jisung again as he blinks, the world around him slowly coming into focus. The car is still moving, that much is obvious, but there's another person with them now, his warm presence emanating from the back seat.
"Oh, look who's awake!" Changbin says, taking his hand off the gear to punch Jisung in the shoulder, softly.
Always so softly.
"You missed the airport, Jisung," Felix says, leaning forward and poking the back of his neck through the bars of the headrest, "Changbin hyung almost hit a cab when he tried to park the car."
Changbin turns slightly, but doesn’t take his eyes off the road. "Thought we agreed you wouldn't tell on me, Lix?"
Jisung laughs at that, his chest shaking under the tight seatbelt. He doesn't need a retelling to know how it must've gone. Changbin is talented in many aspects, but parking isn't one of them.
Jisung pulls down the sun visor, revealing the mirror to look at Felix, since there's no way he can turn his stiff body before he wakes up properly. Felix' excited eyes meet him in the mirror, and it's like he's radiating heat, so warm and familiar. Jisung feels a lump in his throat. Felix hasn't aged much. He's just grown into more of who he's supposed to be, no more make up, no more fake. Just Felix and his million freckles, slight sun damage on his cheek bones, and his hair dark and healthy.
"How are you, mate?" Jisung asks in English, mocking an Australian accent.
Felix beams at that. "I'm good! And you?" he says in basic, way too formal Korean, copying the way he spoke to them when he just joined their company over thirteen years ago.
Jisung huffs through his nose and decides to avoid the question. Instead, he asks, "How are the kids?"
If Felix realizes how he dodged him like that, then he doesn't show it. Instead he takes the bait and rambles on about his job. Jisung loves this about him. When you ask the right questions, Felix will just not shut up about the topic. It's adorable, and comforting. His friend tells him about the new dance studio he and his colleagues opened recently, about the new developments in the field of dance therapy, and how one of the children who he's been teaching dance for three years now finally started talking to him, slowly overcoming her selective mutism.
Jisung catches the small smile on Changbin's face from the corner of his eye. Perhaps he's feeling the same way Jisung feels. Sentimental, melancholic, safe. Longing for the past, for everything to be how it used to be.
But for now it feels exactly like that. Just like old times. Lost in nostalgia as they shoot across the highway.
Luckily, Changbin can't get them into another parking accident, because once they arrive at the hotel, it turns out they have a valet service. When Jisung stands with his hands resting on his hips, bending his stiff neck to look up at the building, he understands why. Not only is it in the middle of fucking nowhere, hidden at the end of a long and winding forest road, it's also a pretty impressive structure. Standing six stories tall, with high windows and obnoxious pillars on each side of the entrance. Jisung realizes it must be one of those awful American buildings that the fuckers built all over the country after the war. The amount of ivy growing onto the white plaster tells him it's probably been here exactly that long.
Changbin carries Jisung's suitcase. As always, he doesn't even offer to. Just takes it from the trunk of the car and ignores Jisung's outstretched hand. "It's, uhm–" his friend starts, looking up at the building, squinting his eyes at the low hanging sun shining over the edge of the roof, "quite quaint?"
"I love it!" Felix says, skipping up the stairs with his small carry-on bag. Jisung thinks it's kind of uncharacteristic of his friend to pack so little, even though he's only staying a couple of days. But then he remembers that much has changed after all, that there's parts now of his friend that he doesn't know, bits and pieces of his life that he'll never learn. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, much like the pills he's craving right now. But he promised himself he'd wait until dinner time, so he ignores how heavy the pill bottle feels in the inner pocket of his blazer.
The everlasting lump in his throat gets worse when the man of the hour meets them in the lobby. He whines as his spine cracks under the crushing force of a hug. But he breathes through the pain and closes his eyes, treasuring the moment as much as he can. Joowon has changed a lot over the years, gained some weight, lost some hair on the top of his scalp and added a bunch of wrinkles to his face. But he's still their old manager, still the only staff member Jisung had truly ever felt safe with.
"You're so skinny, Jisung," he says when they pull away.
"And you aren't." Jisung looks up at him while he says it. God, he thought people were supposed to shrink as they age.
Joowon laughs at that heartily, squeezing Jisung's shoulders even tighter. Then, "I'll have your stuff taken to your rooms, since we're starting dinner soon."
Jisung actually wants to freshen up a bit and also get a look at his hotel room, but Felix and Changbin agree eagerly, ready for some food, so Jisung swallows his complaints. Like he always does.
Hyunjin looks as wonderful as always, leaning back against a fancy chair at one of the dinner tables in the party room. He tucks his long hair behind his ear as they enter the room, the small smile on his lips showing the excitement he's trying to hide. But Felix makes short work of that, running over and wrapping his old friend in a tight hug. Hyunjin giggles and Felix joins him, the sound so wonderful and familiar that Jisung feels light in the head.
When Felix finally pulls away, Changbin holds out his hand for Hyunjin to shake. "Long time no see, stranger," he says, and Hyunjin rolls his eyes.
"How were your eggs this morning, darling?"
Felix looks between them and then snorts, fondness in his eyes. "I love you guys," he says with the biggest, blissed smile on his face.
Jisung grabs at his stomach, pretending to be sick. "Get a room, you two."
"Oh, shut up, nerd," Hyunjin says, but gestures for Jisung to come closer so he can also hug him.
Hyunjin, just like Changbin, has kept in touch with Jisung ever since they disbanded. It was kind of a buy one get one for free deal since Hyunjin and Changbin started dating shortly after the incident. But still, Jisung likes to believe that Hyunjin would've maintained contact with him even if he didn't share a ridiculously expensive, river view penthouse with Changbin.
"You're skinny," Hyunjin says as he hugs him tight.
"Tell me something I don't know," Jisung speaks the words into Hyunjin's neck, the cashmere turtleneck, that probably came from one of the boutiques he owns, suffocating him.
They sit and catch up, and snack on the crackers and dip that seem to be endlessly restocked by the staff working the floor. Jisung wants to say something about the tacky decor, but it turns out the reason Hyunjin came here earlier than them is because he helped set everything up. So he swallows his words and resorts to people watching as the dining room slowly fills up.
He tells himself he's not nervous, but with every new guest that walks through the double doors, his stomach whoops. Or, well, his body is probably also unsettled for other reasons, but he ignores that. For now.
One of the elderly ladies at the other end of the room gasps loudly, and from that alone, it's obvious who just walked in.
Like he's in a fucking Hollywood movie or something, their friend is followed by a tall man in a suit, wearing sunglasses and a neutral expression on his face. Jisung huffs a laugh at the sight of the stereotypical bodyguard, and wonders if his friend actually needs one, or if it's just for show.
"Jeongin!" Hyunjin almost drops his glass as he puts it down and runs over to practically tackle their youngest.
It's weird seeing Jeongin in real life, and not on a billboard selling hair products, or on TV singing his latest song. He looks different like this, his shoulders raised and laughing that goofy laugh of his as Hyunjin presses a wet kiss on his cheek. Jisung can almost see it, can almost see traces of that shy, young kid they started out with way back then.
The staff either do a great job of hiding their amazement of a celebrity being present, or maybe they're just used to it, not even casting an eye on him as they refill their drinks. Jeongin's bodyguard stands against the wall behind them, glancing out of the window every minute. After a while, Jisung stops feeling nervous from his presence, and just tunes him out, listening to Jeongin and Changbin discuss their stupid sports car collection.
"Is this it?" Jeongin asks eventually, after their old manager and his wife have announced the start of dinner.
Hyunjin looks at the empty seats at their table. "I knew Seungmin couldn't come because he's in America, but–"
"Oh, he's still studying?" Felix asks.
"Yeah, his third master’s degree now," Hyunjin explains, "we FaceTimed yesterday,"
Jisung feels a pang of jealousy at that, thinking of how nice it must be to be able to just pick up your shit and move around the world.
"Must be nice, to still be in school," Jeongin jokes, but his eyes meet Jisung's and there's an understanding there.
Jisung excuses himself.
He was supposed to wait until he had a little more than crackers and cream cheese in his unsettled stomach, but he decides that he doesn't care. With some direction from the staff, he finds the nearest bathrooms and swings the door open, banging it against the wall as he does so. The sound echoes through the room and Jisung whispers an apology even though all the stalls are empty.
The water is cold on his wrists as he lets the faucet just run for a little while, to calm himself down. He finds his pill bottle easily, the motion like a ritual by now. He pops one and then, with more pain than should be humanly possible, he leans forward to sip on the cold water, to ease his throat as he swallows the painkiller.
All blood in his body races to his head as he's bent over, making him see dark spots and lighting. So he tries to ground himself while holding the sink with both hands, slowly unwinding his spine as he straightens his back. He blinks a couple of times, and when he regains his vision, it's not only him who's staring back at him.
"Chan," Jisung says, more as a statement than a greeting.
Their old leader's face is pale, almost like he's scared to see him. Hell, he probably is. "Jisung–"
Jisung doesn't let him finish. By now he can smell an apology before it comes out. So, instead he turns to face him and leans back against the sink with his arms folded in front of him, trying to fake some composure.
"How's the baby?" he asks with some genuine interest.
"Uh," Chan looks thrown off, but then visually relaxes, "She's, uhm–she's four already actually." His friend reaches in his pocket and unlocks his phone, holding it up to Jisung to show him the cute, chubby cheeked child with crooked ponytails set as his homescreen. "She's usually with me on the weekends, and I wanted to bring her, but..."
Jisung waits for him to finish that thought, but he never does.
Chan just stares at Jisung for a bit, like he doesn't know what to say. Then, his eyes land on the pill bottle that he'd set down on the sink. "How's your back?" he asks.
Jisung huffs a laugh. "How's your stomach?" he deflects.
Chan's lips thin into a strained smile, and it's almost polite looking, if Jisung didn't know better by now. "Fair enough," is what Chan settles on.
"Did you have a hard time finding this place?" Jisung asks, remembering how Chan was never one to use GPS.
"Not really," Chan says, and his next words put a chill to Jisung's guts.
"Minho drove us here."
He barely registers the walk back to the dining room, just following Chan as a million emotions fight for dominance inside his head.
Betrayal? Bitterness? Jealousy? Something else?
Jisung doesn't know which one is winning, but he curses them all. He wishes he didn't have any of these emotions to begin with, one more vile than the last. He wishes he could just be calm and collected for once, not sweating and shaking as he finds Minho sitting in the chair next to Jisung's.
Fuck.
Somehow Minho looks better than the last time he's seen him. There's a healthy glow to his cheeks, and the slight weight he's put on makes him look young, face no longer plagued by deep, dark circles. His hair is combed neatly out of his face and the silk, black dress shirt he's wearing makes him fit in with the rest of the guys. Fancy and expensive.
"Look who I found," Chan says, putting his hand on Jisung's shoulder as he pushes him forward, the joy in his voice the complete opposite of how he acted in the bathroom earlier.
Jisung wishes he could be as fake as him.
He also wishes his fucking pill would start working already.
Changbin eyes him wearily as Jisung sits down in between him and Minho. He looks even more nervous when Jisung takes Changbin's half empty glass and downs whatever expensive champagne is left in it. Changbin knows he's not supposed to mix alcohol with his meds. He knows about Jisung's complicated past with Minho too. Changbin knows too much.
"You look good," Minho says and Jisung wants to vomit.
Instead, he clears his throat, tries to clear the lump right out of it, and says, "Everyone's been telling me otherwise all day long."
"Guess I just have low standards," Minho says, a playful glint to his dark eyes.
It takes a second for Jisung to realize that it's a joke. It's just been so long since he's been around him, he's no longer used to his sense of humor, to his deadpan sarcasm. But God, has he missed it. So he allows himself to enjoy it and laughs. The moment he laughs, Minho's face lights up, a small but proud smile on his lips.
Maybe if Jisung surrenders to it, pretends that what's in the past is in the past, if he forgets what Minho used to mean to him, then he can enjoy tonight.
Maybe he can forget everything after another glass of champagne.
Maybe he can–
Wait.
Why is he staring at the ceiling? Why is he lying down on something soft and fluffy? And is that the sound of running water?
"This is the third time I see you waking up in one day."
Jisung turns his head to find Changbin sitting next to his hotel bed. "You passed out after the second course," he explains, "Jisung, you know you shouldn't–"
"Yeah, yeah," Jisung's voice cracks as he says the words, throat dry, "I shouldn't drink with my meds."
He reaches for his head, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, already feeling his upcoming headache. All the sounds around him are too loud, too invasive. Even the sound of the water running in the background enters his head like a chainsaw. "Who's in the shower?" he asks.
"Your roommate," Changbin answers. Jisung turns and finds worry on his face. He hesitates, but continues, "Chan's sharing with Lix, I'm with Hyunjin obviously. Jeongin's bodyguard has to stay in his room, so–"
The shower turns off, and then there's silence.
Changbin gives him a supportive pat on the leg, an apologetic smile on his lips, and then leaves the hotel room.
Jisung doesn't even have time to compose himself before Minho comes out of the bathroom, wearing a robe with the hotel's name embroidered on the chest in golden letters, toweling at his hair. "Oh, you're alive," he notes, sounding disinterested.
Jisung tries to sit up, but his body doesn't let him, too stiff and painful to move. "Barely," he answers.
Minho sits down at the foot of the bed and watches him for a bit. Then, with an annoyed frown, "So you're not gonna go dancing with me tonight? I heard the clubs are great around here."
That makes Jisung feel a bit better. At least Minho doesn't treat him like he's fragile, like he's about to break. "Oh yeah? Wanted to party with the forest spirits?" he jokes, knowing fully well that there aren't any clubs within a fifty kilometer radius.
"Heard they have a better alcohol tolerance than you," Minho jokes, and somehow, the jab doesn't hurt.
"I hate you," Jisung says, and he doesn't mean it. At least he thinks he doesn't.
He watches Minho for a bit again, as another wave of dizziness crashes over him. Minho just stares back like he's challenging him to break eye contact first. Jisung likes to convince himself that he doesn't know this person, that they're starting anew, but when they joke around like this, it's hard to not dwell on the past. It's hard to not remember how things once were.
How he once almost thought that he was Minho's, and Minho was his.
He wants to ask Minho why he and Chan came here together, if they kept in touch while Minho ignored the rest of them. He wants to ask him if he ever meant anything to him, if all the kisses and cold shoulders were just to play around with him, like a cat pesters its prey before putting it out of its misery. He wants to ask him so many things, but his vision darkens again, and then it's all quiet.