Archive of Our Own

“Heads up!”

Hongjoong stood in the center of the warehouse, arms limp at his sides.

“No fair!”

“Hit me with your octopus arms again, I swear-“

“No! It’s left foot on the third beat and then jump.”

He stared off, not really seeing anything.

But seeing everything.

Hearing everything.

In the echoes of his mind that were more chaotic than any echoes around the empty metal husk he stood in, he heard laughter. Yelling. Laughter. Shoving. Laughter. Music. Laughter.

There had been so much laughter…

The warehouse walls were dark and dingy and rusted and some were slimy with built up water scum… It smelled disgusting when it rained, the roof caving in in one corner that they set a tarp over…

It was abandoned. It was decrepit.

But it had been their home. Their safe haven. Their getaway. Their shelter. A place where they had found happiness away from the world that seemed devoid of it.

Four walls had never known so much laughter.

“Dog pile!” Mingi.

“You’re gonna break the couch with your fat-“ San.

“No throwing the equipment!” Hongjoong.

Laughter. Always surrounded with laughter. And the most jarring part was… Hongjoong’s laughter echoing right beside the others.

“It’s too noisy.” Yeosang.

“Bold words from a man about to get dog piled!” Yunho.

“Be careful, the little angel is fragile.” Wooyoung.

“I’m staying out it, you guys can get in trouble on your own.” Jongho.

“I don’t care what you guys do, so long as you don’t break anything or each other.”

… Seonghwa.

It was just echoes. Mirages. Memories overlaying with fantasies of what never happened mingling with the past that he hadn’t ever believed was possible.

Hongjoong looked to the couch, beat up and faded fabric that they had dragged out from behind a dumpster… It was bent up and warped from how rough they were with it.

It had never looked empty before, always carrying at least three people splayed across it.

He looked to the standing mirrors in the corner that they had pooled money for from a thrift shop.

The empty space before it was barren… It had never been barren before. There was always someone dancing, practicing, admiring themselves in the mirror, dragging someone over to make funny faces because why not?

What did they have to live for, if not the moments they made themselves?

Their recording corner was empty. All the equipment moved out days ago because… well, what was the point in keeping it here?

They were all gone.

One by one… Hongjoong watched the sources of his happiness disappear

He clenched a fist, the pain from his nails stopping anything that may have threatened his composure.

It was their choice to do what they wanted… Even if most of them had never had a choice.

Yunho was… gone.

San was dragged off by a woman with a policeman. Wooyoung ran back to the life he left for them.

Mingi fled with blood on his knuckles. Jongho stormed away with blood on his cheek.

Yeosang suddenly stopped coming without any indication he planned to leave… Someone said they saw him cleaning his locker out the day before he disappeared from school.

And Seonghwa… just disappeared.

And now… now Hongjoong was right back where he started. Alone, inside a decrepit warehouse with nothing but his own bitterness and anger.

Anger at everything and everyone who ever existed. Himself, his friends, the world, and even the fucking stars in the sky.

He hated all of them. He hated everything.

He kicked a bucket that had once been used as stool, watching it clang its way across the floor as it hit the edge of a mirror, sending it crashing to the ground-

Hongjoong made a half-hearted, aborted attempt to lift his hand, as if he could reach the bucket from across the floor.

He flinched as the sound of glass shattering ricocheted around the metal walls, grating on his ear drums- the loud sounding making him want to cry more as frustration bubbled angrily in his chest.

He glared at the broken shards that covered half the warehouse floor, sparkling in the evening sunset that filtered through the windows.

Yet another broken thing he couldn’t fix.

Maybe… Maybe if Hongjoong knew where things went wrong… maybe then he could have stopped it. If he knew that kicking the bucket would break the mirror, he wouldn’t have done it.

If he’d know… If he’d known exactly what drove his friends away, what tore them away, what drew them away… maybe he’d have been able to stop it.

His vision blurred as he stared blankly at the shards of mirror, his mind telling him to clean, but his anger telling him to leave them there.

What was the point? There was no one here.

He scrubbed at his eyes roughly, the course fabric of his jean jacket hurting his skin, but he didn’t care. It’s not like anyone ever cared what hurt him before.

Sucking in a breath through clenched teeth, he stumbled over to the couch, too tired to return to an empty home. At least here, he knew that it was meant to be empty.

Maybe he had been the idiot for trying to fill it. Maybe his life was just meant to be empty.

He collapsed on the couch, drawing his knees up and curling over them, burying his face in his dirty jeans.

He still heard it all.

The bickering. The laughter. The singing. The music. The laughter. The smiles. The teasing. The freedom.

More hot tears burned out of his eyes that he kept rubbing, over and over, against his knees, but he stopped after it was clear there was no stopping them.

They were silent tears. Hongjoong didn’t make a sound as he let them flow over, hot and burning against his skin, giving him something to feel other than the ache in his soul.

He placed his arms over his head, like he was expecting an airstrike, a protective gesture against… the entire world. A sign that he was blocking them out again. Once, he had used music to block it.

But now all the music just sounded like them.

The mirror was still broken. The sun still set. The world kept turning.

But Hongjoong fell asleep with his world empty and dark, like it was meant to be.

~~~~~~~~~~

Hongjoong woke up cold, with his feet planted in the middle of the warehouse floor.

He glanced around suspiciously, confused and startled for a moment at the sudden change in his position.

The mirror was upright, unbroken. The bucket was still against the wall.

The couch was still empty. But the equipment was there, covered in tarps. Their notes were still scattered across the table.

Oh.

It was a dream. Hongjoong scoffed, rubbing at his eyes, swollen from crying. Dreams had never gotten him anything but heartache.

It was quiet. Eerily…so.

He glanced from the couch to the large metal doors that stood ajar, open to the street outside. There were no cars honking, no roaring vehicles, no birds or people yelling…

Click... Click... Click...

Hongjoong squinted around the glare of evening light, the sound of sharp shoes tapping against the ground, approaching in slow, even movements.

Hongjoong took a step back as he realized someone was coming into the warehouse. And for a moment, he might have thought it was one of the others, but… those weren’t their footsteps. He braced himself, holding his breath as a silhouette appeared around the setting sunlight that was blinding-

Hongjoong stumbled back a step when he didn’t recognize the figure. Nor their dark clothing.

The stranger wore a fedora, the brim pulled low to hide his eyes. And a dark mask that covered his face nearly entirely.

One arm swung leisurely at his side, and the other tucked behind his back, holding something bulky that Hongjoong couldn’t identify.

Unease rose in his throat as Hongjoong matched the man’s steps- moving back for every step he took forward, speeding up once the man became fully visible, showing his dark leather coat and crisp shoes.

He looked like the kind of men who was sent to kill people. Hongjoong didn’t know how he could possibly be a target, but he knew all about those kids who were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Every single one of them had been one of those kids, at some point.

His feet stumbled over each other as the man continued approaching in silence, Hongjoong’s mouth opening to demand what he wanted-

His knees hit the back of the sofa, but the man still approached as Hongjoong crawled backwards, pressing to the sofa as fear and more built in his throat, eyes widening as the man still continued to walk-

“What do you want?” Hongjoong murmured, feeling oddly… well terrified, but almost… at peace.

As this was something inevitable. As if this was just another part of his day, no matter how threatening.

The man lifted his head, the brim of his had lifting enough to reveal sharp, cold… familiar eyes.

Hongjoong stared up at him, defiant and demanding to hide the tremor in his hands that he shoved together. He’d been scared before. He never let it show.

“There are countless dimensions in the world.”

His voice was… was…

Hongjoong stared into the man’s eyes. He stared back. His eyes were round and sharp… brown and dark…

But Hongjoong knew them from every moment he looked in the mirror.

His angry front melted as the man-

As… as he looked him.

As he looked at himself.  

Hongjoong’s mouth fell open, fear mingling with awe and confusion-

“You’re going to make a mistake,” his own voice told him, even and soft… and regretful, as much as it was warning.

Hongjoong felt his tongue dry out as he stared at this weird, terrifying… curious version of himself. His dream hadn’t based him off of any sort of comic or fantasy that Hongjoong had ever known. The dark clothing, the hat, the mask… it was all foreign.

But something about it… was whispering that Hongjoong didn’t need to be afraid. As if he knew this person.

Which… he did.

“What mistake?” Hongjoong managed, his shaking voice betraying him as he stared up at himself with calm eyes.

Fear became a background emotion, rather than an icy constant.

Curiosity and… familiarity replaced it.

“The same mistake I did,” his… dark self? Doppelganger? murmured seriously, voice an even calmness that Hongjoong’s had never managed.

But he frowned at the man’s words, scanning his face and trying to find some sort of emotion there, but all he saw were sharp, cold eyes that were demanding and… gentle. And war-torn and… sad.

Hongjoong had never seen those emotions, even in his own eyes.

The man’s other hand- hidden behind his back- drew to the front slowly, making Hongjoong stiffen and try to shift away-

But when he brought it out… all that was in his black gloved hand was an hourglass.

Old, worn wood- once polished but overused- clear, but slightly dusty glass curving in a figure eight with a sturdy base at each end.

The sand in the bottom of it was silvery lavender, like glowing stardust gathered in the bottom.

“You’re going to try and save them.”

Hongjoong jumped, snapping out of the trance of staring at the hourglass the man held out, his eyes wide. “S-Save them?” he stammered weakly, shifting forward unconsciously. “Save who? My friends?” he demanded, something too heavy to be called hope filling his chest. 

The black-clothed man’s eyes turned a bit less sharp. A bit less cold.

He extended the hourglass out further, a clear gesture to take it.

“If that’s who you believe needs saving,” he said quietly, an odd peace in his voice that unsettled Hongjoong.

Like the tone of a man… who had nothing more life could take from him.

“Who else would need saving?” Hongjoong demanded, standing abruptly before freezing.

Oh.

“Oh,” he breathed, staring at the hourglass that was glowing and the ridiculously dressed men, expression falling as much as it tightened in anguish. “This is a dream,” he whispered, shoulders falling as the tiny flutter of hope shattered in his chest.

None of it was real. Of course, it wasn’t-

“It’s not reality that makes you lose your dream,” the man said cryptically. “It is your decisions.”

Hongjoong frowned, shaking his head. “I… Wait, is this a dream?” he questioned, glancing around at the unbroken mirror, the equipment-

The man’s arm was fully extended with the hourglass balancing in his palm like an offering. “If it is a dream, it must be something you want,” he said quietly, eyes blinking softly, knowingly.

Hongjoong scoffed, glancing between the offered gift and the sharp eyes. “I’ve had dreams I didn’t want before. Trust me.”

“You’ve had dreams that you were afraid of before,” Hongjoong-

That… really was him, wasn’t it?

The other Hongjoong corrected sternly. “Each of those dreams still held something you desired. Even if you didn’t see it around your fear.”

Hongjoong snorted, rolling his eyes, but he couldn’t complete the disbelieving scoffs, his eyes drawing back to the hourglass that glowed gently, like… like a welcoming beacon.

It was quite pretty. And… And something in Hongjoong’s chest tugged, telling him to take it. He stiffened, stepping back a bit, distrustful.

“You said it was a mistake,” he said hesitantly, glancing at the man. “A mistake you made. Why should I take it, then?”

If it was a dream… then what was the harm in accusing his own subconscious, right?

Hongjoong’s own eyes blinked at him slowly beneath the hat, before he inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Change your future,” he urged quietly, lifting the glass higher.

“You just told me it was a mistake!” Hongjoong accused.

“Yes,” the man replied, voice weighing heavier with every word exchanged, as if more and more weights entered his thoughts with each passing second. “It will be the worst mistake of your life,” he murmured, staring at the hourglass that lit his dark eyes like stars. “But tell me… which is the bigger mistake?”

He lifted his other hand, equal to the hourglass, like mimicking a scale.

“To ruin it all?” he asked, head tilting one way. “Or never trying in the first place?” He tiled the other, eyes curious and dark. “Would you rather lose them all over again… or risk the chance you get them back?”

Get them… back?

Hongjoong wanted to scoff again, but he looked around the warehouse. Empty. Devoid. Nothing but a shell of the haven it once was.

In its silence was Hongjoong’s life’s end.

What would he give… to have them back…?

He stared at the hourglass, not knowing how it tied in, but mesmerized for a moment, swallowing thickly as the sands inside shifted like a breeze over the Sahara. “You tried to… bring them back?” he whispered hoarsely, disbelieving… yet somehow believing it all.

The hourglass wavered for a moment, his hand dipping like he lost his strength for a moment.

“There are countless dimensions in the world,” he reminded him lowly. “We are but two of many.”

“You’re from another dimension?” Hongjoong posed, humoring him for a moment before staring back at the glass.

“In a sense,” he murmured absently. “The same thread, different follicles.” 

“But you… tried to fix it?” Hongjoong rasped, swallowing the bitterness in his throat as the sand in the glass seemed to pick up speed.

“I did.” There was regret. Endless and heavy and bitter.

“What happened?” Hongjoong whispered, taking an involuntary step forward, wetting his lips as he couldn’t take his eyes off the offering.

“The worst,” he assured Hongjoong bitterly, though there was unspeakable sadness in his dark eyes.

“What… did you lose?”

The man blinked slowly, his eyes resting closed, like a moment of silence. “Everything.” 

Hongjoong’s hand reached forward, tempted-

He hesitated, drawing it back as he looked at the man, eyes wide and heart racing like a wild horse. “What happens if I do it?” he breathed. “If I try to fix it?”

The man’s eyes shifted, as if hesitating on what to say. He looked almost like he wanted to spare Hongjoong something. But he held the hourglass on a flat palm, only inches from Hongjoong.

“Either you save your future… or you become mine.”

Hongjoong flinched, staring at him with wide eyes, lips parting as the man stared at him, dark enough to be genuine, but regretful enough to… to be begging.

He was asking Hongjoong to fix it.

“I… I don’t know how,” he breathed, hands shaking as he stared at the hourglass. “What- What did you do to fix it?” He stared at him pleadingly.

After all… it was just a dream, right? Despite the very real fear in his chest and the desperation of his heart.

And his pity… his pity for the future he saw before him.

“Everything,” the man whispered, staring at the hourglass in his own trance. “I tried… everything. Countless times, endless possibilities, infinite timelines, over and over and over -“

His voice hardened for a moment as his eyes pinched in either agony or bitterness, difficult to tell behind the mask.

 “And I watched them slip away each time,” he whispered darkly, eyes hardening. “Each time… because of a choice I made. A new horror waiting for me in every iteration… each, of my own creation.”

Hongjoong stared, mouth agape and blink hard as he fumbled for words-

“Then- Then why did you keep-“

“Would you be able to stop?” he accused back, sharp like a whip crack, making Hongjoong flinched. “If you were handed the tools that could give you back everything you ever lost, would you be able to convince yourself to give up? To leave them to die and leave yourself alone for the rest of your miserable existence?”

Hongjoong shook his head numbly, eyes flickering between the glowing glass and the glassy eyes before him.

“I… I want them back,” he agreed readily, quietly, hands twisting. Laughter echoed in his ears. “But I…”

It was just a dream, wasn’t it?

“How… How can I-“

So… what could it hurt?

In a trance, Hongjoong reached out for the glass, his fingertips nearly brushing it before he flinched away a bit, wincing. “But how am I supposed to fix it?” he demanded weakly, looking at him for guidance.

His own eyes stared back at him with enough hopelessness to be crushing.

“I- I don’t know what went wrong,” Hongjoong cried, drawing his hand back to his chest protectively, eyes burning. “I don’t know how to- to fix it-“

“If you want them badly enough… you will find a way,” the man assured him quietly.

“Then why haven’t you fixed yours?” Hongjoong accused, looking him up and down sharply, glaring.

The man’s eyes flickered down to the hourglass, a million grains of san swirling in their depths, glowingly horrified. “Because somehow, for all my gifts, I am a fool,” he whispered, eyes pinching slightly. “For whatever reason, I am doomed to simply be tortured by a gift I cannot learn to use properly…” He lifted his head, reaffirming his offering. “You have a chance, however.”  

Take it, his dreaming brain whispered. What’s the harm? Take it.

Without a single decision to move, Hongjoong’s hands suddenly lifted, halfway to the hourglass before he stopped them, staring at the swirling grains, entranced and… and hopeful.

Hope.

It was such a dangerous weapon. A double-edged sword. One that had sliced Hongjoong to ribbons and left him to suffer.

He swallowed, the beautiful sands tumbling over each other, like a little bubble of freedom.

Hands twitching… he reached out further, unable to take his eyes away from the glass. His fingertips brushed the glass.

It was warm. As if it had been sitting in the sun.

“Take it,” the man whispered, hand shaking slightly. “Fix what I cannot.”

Hongjoong’s hand closed around the glass, warm and pulsing in his grip as he suddenly snatched it away to his chest, like his other self might try and take it away before he could get it.

The sand blew so hard, Hongjoong could feel it beating against his hand through the glass, his heart racing and throat closing up as his breathing picked up, like he had been running.

Something very close to fear seized his heart.

“Why me?” Hongjoong demanded, the hourglass hot in his palms.

He glanced down at its warm exterior, brushing a thumb along it tenderly, as if he already understood that this was something precious to protect.

“Why you?” the man repeated quietly, staring at Hongjoong with a knife-blade’s gaze, pinning him in place.

He lowered his hand, both hanging at his sides loosely, staring at Hongjoong with too much knowledge in his eyes.

“Because you are the focal point around which all compass points gather.”

Hongjoong blinked, heart wrenching, as if the words were a punch to his gut, winding him as he stared fearfully at this other person.

At himself.

Giving him another chance. He could see them again, he could fix it-

“What… does that mean?” Hongjoong whispered, horrified and electrified as he was suddenly hooked up to a life wire.

His own eyes blinked slowly at himself, the evening light behind him growing brighter and hotter, until Hongjoong had to blink, flinching away as it blazed.

“It means… that you have been charged in their guidance. They follow your magnetic pull. Lead them down the wrong path… and an eternity alone will become the least of your fears.”

Magnetic pull?

Compass points?

They? His friends?

“But what-“

“They need you. Fix it.”

Hongjoong hissed when he tried to open his eyes, the man now obscured completely by the blazing light that made him stumble backwards, rubbing the brightness from his eyes-

His back hit the couch.

Hongjoong shot up, gasping and breathless and ears ringing wildly-

He looked around frantically, one hand crushing the back of the couch that sent a cloud of dust up from the fabric-

The warehouse door was closed.

The mirror was shattered across the floor, the bucket laying among its remains.

The equipment was gone.

A… A dream.

Hongjoong swallowed, mouth dry as he heaved in quiet breaths that echoed around his dark loneliness, letting his tired arm drop from the sofa, dropping his head into his hands, a shuddering breaths that threatened to turn into a sob caught in his throat.

He was still alone.

Just a stupid, fucking dream.

It felt like someone was watching him.

Hongjoong’s head shot up, his nerves on end and his heart beating wildly as he scanned the warehouse intently- eyes wild, rather than dangerous, feeling off balance.

His eyes landed on the table, and his heart stopped in his chest.

An hourglass sat on the old wooden table, their matching dusty exteriors pressed together as the sand inside continued to whip around like stardust caught in a cosmic breeze.

His eyes widened, mouth falling open as Hongjoong pushed himself to the edge of the couch, reaching for the hourglass, but drawing back, cold seeping into his blood.

Where…

It had been a dream. The mirror, the equipment… But the hourglass…

You can save them.

Was he still dreaming? Hongjoong glanced around frantically, but there was no man in a fedora, and the mirror remained shattered like every home he’d ever made.

Swallowing, Hongjoong stared back at the glittering sands that rolled over each other.

If he could save them… If he could fix it… If he could turn back the clock and do better… If he could… bring them back…

Hongjoong reached for the hourglass, as if in slow motion, his hand shaking as fear gathered in his chest, making his eyes burn.

He never managed to touch it. His hand snapped back to his chest as he stared at the hourglass, the chaotic sands finally lifting, like a hurricane invading their environment.

As Hongjoong stared at it, the sands began to flow from bottom to top.

~~~~~~~~~

When Hongjoong opened his eyes… he shut them immediately, the stinging burn of dirt invading his sensitive eyes.

He hissed, rising onto his elbows as he rubbed at the scratching pain, only making it worse when he realized his jacket was covered in dirt, too-

He lifted his head, blinking rapidly to clear the sting, and what he managed to see was… silvery lavender.

Hongjoong blinked again, breathing hard.

The ground… was covered in endless inches of rolling, silvery grains of sand that fluttered up in an invisible wind that brought them up into the air.

For a moment, Hongjoong couldn’t tell whether it was ash or sand, the particles floating harmlessly through the air. The air that was black.

Hongjoong blinked hard, but the space above the sands remained black, like an abyss hovering above stardust that swirled around Hongjoong’s legs. Darkness… Where…

Sand. The hourglass.

Hongjoong shoved himself to his feet, not even sure if he was breathing as he stared into the darkness, turning in a circle, trying to see if there was anything, if anywhere would-

“You’re here.”

Hongjoong yelped, whipping around quickly-

The darkness morphed as he spun, suddenly revealing a closer depth, like he was standing in a room. In the center, there was a dip in the sand as he cleared out, almost like a clockface covered in grains that continued to blow around in a wind he couldn’t feel.

Standing on the edge of the circle, in a sweater that Hongjoong had never seen before, was a face he’d never thought he’d see again.

His mouth went dry as he stumbled forward a step, numb and aching. “S-San,” he whispered, making it three whole steps before the figure smiled.

Hongjoong froze, his chest screaming at him.

San had never owned clothes like the ones he wore now, smiling at Hongjoong… sadly. He’d never looked at Hongjoong like that. His eyes had never been so heavy, so… so war-torn.

Like a Hongjoong’s own eyes had been.

“I’m not your San,” he murmured regretfully, eyes pained.

Hongjoong swallowed, mouth flapping for a moment. “W-What do you mean?” he demanded weakly, taking another step forward. “Not… Not my… But you’re him-“

“I am San,” he assured him gently, standing still, like a guardian statue that stared sadly at Hongjoong, as if his heart was breaking. “But I’m not yours.”

Not…

“Another one?” A voice asked curiously behind him.

Hongjoong whipped around, and suddenly he was standing in the center of the clockface, fewer pieces of ash and sand stirring around, but he was suddenly facing Wooyoung.

In a yellow striped sweater that Hongjoong had never seen before.

His heart sank in his chest as his eyes burned, suddenly seeing him again.

“Woo-“

“I’m not your Wooyoung,” he said, his face the kind of serious that Wooyoung’s face had never been before. It was heavy, but still glinting with mischief, as if he had a secret he wasn’t telling.

He stared at Hongjoong like it hurt to see him.

“But it’s good to see you again, hyung,” he said quietly, too somber, too heavy. “Even if you’re not ours.”

“Yours…” Hongjoong breathed, turning to glance at San, who wore an identical heartbroken smile.

The sharp eyes, heavy shoulders…

“The… other me,” he whispered, heart pounding. “He’s yours. You’re his…“

“Regrettably,” another, quieter whisper of a voice sounded in his ear.

Hongjoong turned to where 9 o’clock would be on a clock and found Yeosang standing there. He didn’t smile. He wore only heavy, dark eyes and a twist to his lips, as if there was a sour taste in his mouth.

His eyes… still held regret.

So much regret that Hongjoong had never seen. Enough to make him wonder how a human could stand to carry such weights on their minds.

“Yeosang,” he breathed, swallowing. “But not… mine,” he said when Yeosang opened his mouth.

“You catch on quick,” San chuckled, the sound so fucking sad . “Others took much longer to realize.”

They weren’t his friends. In the same way the fedora man was him… but wasn’t.

“The same thread… different follicles,” Hongjoong whispered, turning in a circle and seeing faces so familiar, but so… distant.

They stared at him like one might stare at the ghost of a dead loved one.

Hongjoong could feel a suffocating sense of longing in the air hung between the three of them.

“Where… are we?” Hongjoong whispered, looking up but only seeing endless black dotted with stardust.

“Ooh, it’s been a while since someone’s cared,” San noted, smiling but it never reached his eyes. “You’re in the hourglass.”

“Maybe you stand a chance,” Yeosang murmured heavily, making Hongjoong stiffen, feeling like a character facing three riddle-speakers, knowing that one wrong answer might ruin something he didn’t understand.

“There were… others before me?” he asked carefully, tongue dry.

“Many,” Yeosang answered, inclining his head heavily, eyes falling for a moment before flickering back up. “He always gives away a gift every now and then.”

“You… You’re his,” Hongjoong said firmly, pointing at them. “The man- The version of me, the one who gave me the hourglass, you’re what he lost-“

“We are,” San assured him gently.

“But- Does he know you’re in here?” he demanded, turning to Wooyoung from San. “He’s looking for you-“

“He doesn’t know,” Wooyoung said quietly, shrugging as if it wasn’t a big deal, though his eyes told a different story. “He thinks we’re dead. Or worse.”

“I suppose this might count as ‘worse,’” San noted, chuckling heavily. “But he doesn’t know we’re here. We were trapped here after… a mistake he made, once. Now, we guide the people he gives his gift to.”

“Others have tried to fix their… mistakes?” Hongjoong demanded, eyes wide. “Did they succeed?”

Yeosang shrugged, making him look. “Depends on your definition of success. They did what they could, and then they return the hourglass to its owner. None of them fixed it. At best, they could patch it up. None of them felt success, though.”

“Return…” Hongjoong frowned. “They all knew you were in here?” he demanded, eyes widening in horror. “And none of them told him? He’s looking for you, he’s convinced he’ll never find you again-“

“You can’t blame them too harshly,” Yeosang said like a comfort, despite it doing the opposite as Hongjoong’s heart twisted in bitter anger.

How could they hide something like that? If they knew what it was to lose them-

“Hongjoong… Our Hongjoong,” San said quietly, eyes heavy, “spends his days trying to fix a mistake. He tries, over and over, to save us, to the brink of insanity in his desperation.”

Hongjoong thought about the desperate eyes, hollow and empty, as much as they were angry and dark. As if he had nothing left to lose.

“When he can’t bear it any longer,” Wooyoung continued quietly, “he gives another a chance. It’s the only relief he gives himself. However… when you fail for the hundredth time… you can understand why you’d become bitter enough to want no one to ever succeed. They hide the truth so he can’t get what they lost.”

“That’s stupid!” Hongjoong snapped, fists clenching.

“Once you fail enough times,” Yeosang whispered darkly. “Once you find yourself just out of reach, over and over… you begin to understand why some would curse anyone who might succeed where you failed.” He shrugged. “It isn’t their fault. The hourglass was given to Hongjoong, long before even we knew him. It is not a gift, but a burden.”

Hongjoong stared them, horrified and angry… He’d spent his days searching for his friends, his family… and other versions had had the cruelty to hide that truth from him?

“I’ll tell him,” Hongjoong swore, looking into the eyes of his friends.

They stared back at him. Their eyes were tired, like his were. There was longing there. The aching sense of missing someone, watching them tear themselves apart without being able to say a word…

“I don’t care if I fail, I’ll tell him,” he promised roughly, eyes burning. “I’ll tell him where you are-“

“Maybe you stand a chance,” San murmured, earning Hongjoong’s misty-eyed attention. “You’re not like the others.”

The statement was… ominous, as much as it was comforting.

They stood in silence, like three guardians, and Hongjoong felt a renewed vigor to save them. These people, and his own.

Dream or not, he had to try. He couldn’t bear to wake up now.

“What… do I have to do?” Hongjoong asked, voice shaking as he stared around at the three of them. “To- To save my friends- my real ones-“ he stressed, touching his chest. “What do I have to do?”

Wooyoung’s lips twitched up. “You have to fix what broke.”

“How do I know what broke?” he demanded, feeling a bubble expanding in his chest. “I- I don’t know what drove them away, I don’t know what happened, where I messed up-“

“Ah. The fall of humanity,” San said quietly, shaking his head, lips twitching. “Self-centered and prideful. Always thinking it’s about you.”

Hongjoong opened his mouth, about to protest-

You are the focal point around which all compass points gather.

“He said… I was the focal point.”

“Of course,” Yeosang said easily, staring at him like a knife’s blade. “You are the nail holding the compass points together. They still turn on their own.”

“But they all rotate around your pull,” Wooyoung continued cryptically. “You guide them.”

“So, it is about me?” Hongjoong demanded, frowning in confusion.

“No.”

“But you just said-“

“But it’s not about you. And we’ve spoken too long,” Yeosang broke in, making Hongjoong glare in frustration that was ineffective. “You have to continue on.”

Hongjoong opened his mouth, but they suddenly wouldn’t let him get a word in edgewise, speaking over him.

“You will watch, first,” Wooyoung said, like he was reciting rules. “You will be shown a pivotal point of their lives. A moment where everything changed for them. You cannot interact with them. You are merely a viewer.”

“Then, you will be given a chance,” San continued emotionlessly, though his eyes seemed to beg something. “You will be able to change something. You can move on at will. If you fail, you will start over until you give up.”

“If you succeed,” Yeosang’s soft voice said darkly, “you will wake up, as if nothing ever happened.” He paused. “When you give up, or when you wake up, the hourglass will return to its owner. You do not get another chance, after that.”

“But-“

“You may continue as long as you desire,” San assured him. “But… be careful not to lose yourself, Hongjoong. Time is fickle, and repeating it is even more fickle.”

“We’ve seen a lot of our hyungs face this,” Wooyoung said hollowly, eyes gaunt. “We’ve become selfish enough to ask you to be careful. Don’t lose yourself. Don’t make us watch that again.”

Hongjoong’s mouth closed, eyes staring and burning.

“I… I won’t,” he breathed, sand tickling his face as it stirred around faster.

“Good luck,” San whispered, voice beginning to drown out in the sandstorm.

“Hyung.”

He turned quickly, finding Yeosang staring at him quietly, still no smile in sight, but his eyes were wet.

Hongjoong stumbled forward when he realized there were tears dripping down his cheeks.

“It was good to see you again,” he said, his voice also drowning out, like he was getting farther away. “Even if you’re not ours.”

Yeosang looked like he wanted to reach out to him, as if he was in pain, letting Hongjoong go.

Hongjoong suddenly reached for him, heart wrenching as he stumbled forward. “Wait-“

He blinked.

When he opened his eyes again, there was only darkness.

Eerily silent after the chaos of wind of the hourglass, he blinked with tears still in his eyes as he spun around, searching the darkness for anything.

Only cold black pressed back on him-

Light suddenly exploded, making Hongjoong flinch, covering his eyes with a hiss as the blinding glow died as suddenly as it came-

When he opened his eyes, he was standing in a room.

Everything was faded and slightly blurred, like an old polaroid that was aged and greyed.  

It was a bedroom, a messy bed pressed into a corner with rock bands and musicians plastered across posters that covered every inch of the wall. At least, every inch that wasn’t covered with little foam squares from a sound studio.

There was equipment spread out across a work bench on the wall. Recording equipment and computers and wires dangling from every surface.

In a chair beside it all, curled over an old acoustic guitar… was Yunho.

Hongjoong almost ran over to him, but he found himself rooted in the spot, staring in wonder at the image that he’d never witnessed before. His heart felt like it was tearing itself apart, seeing him again.

Alive.

He was crying. His arms embraced the guitar like it was going to be torn away, tear tracks racing across the light wood, the strings humming as he shook with sobs, arms brushing against them.

“Yunho.”

He looked up sharply, his mother standing in the doorway, her expression tense and heavy with regret. It was clear she was determined, though.

“Yunho… you can’t just spend your days in here. It’s not healthy-“

“Five days!” he snapped, anger in his voice as he clutched the guitar to his chest protectively, fingernails digging into it as teary eyes glared in hatred. This was obviously not the first altercation between the two “He’s barely been gone for five days, and you’re already throwing away everything-“

“We’re not throwing it away,” she scolded sternly, stepping inside with disapproving eyes. “We’re donating it. It’s only gathering dust here, Yunho-“

“It was his dream!” Yunho yelled, making the woman jump, unaccustomed to him raising his voice as he stood, still clutching the instrument, like it was all he had left.

And it was.

“It was his dream- and you’re throwing it away!” he yelled, the wood creaking beneath his hold, teeth gritting helplessly. “He’s was so close! He had the album almost ready-“

“Yunho,” she scolded gently, eyes pained but unrelenting. “You need… to accept that he’s gone. Your brother wouldn’t want-“

“He wanted to make his album!” he cried, dropping his arms into fists, one clenched around the neck of the guitar. “He wanted to make music- You can’t just throw it away the moment he’s gone-“

“What good is keeping it?” she demanded quietly, spreading her hands. “Yunho… Your brother is dead,” she whispered, pained. “And we need to move on. Holding onto his old things is only going to hurt-“

“This was his dream!” Yunho shouted, angry and helpless and feeling like a child, standing among things too large for himself.

He glared at the woman. He glanced at the equipment that had brought his brother so close to his dream… The equipment she wanted to just… throw away.

No.

Before he knew what he was doing, Yunho was running, shouldering past his mother, guitar still clutched in his hand.

“Yunho!”

Her call was ignored as he made it to the streets, holding the guitar close as he sprinted away, tears flying off as he sprinted away, heart hurting worse than his lungs that burned without oxygen.

This dream would not die with his brother. He couldn’t let it. He’d sneak back tonight and steal the equipment away, hide it, something.

He didn’t know where he was running to. But he’d reach it.

He had to. For his brother.

Hongjoong blinked, winded and aching, more tears running numbly down his face.

He hadn’t… known.

They had all talked so much. They talked and talked… and yet, nothing of consequence was said. Hongjoong hadn’t even known Yunho had a brother.

Much less… that he’d lost him. His dream… It all happened so fast, Hongjoong was still reeling, feeling like he’d been slapped viciously across the face.

Hongjoong blinked, and the scene was gone, replaced with another.

 Mingi sat with his back against a rough brick wall in his too-large, raggedy uniform, his lunch untouched beside him.

His headphones were plugged into his ears, and at any other moment in time, they would have been blaring music to drown out the world, but he was existing in a brief limbo between the end of one song and the beginning of the other.

Because of this, he heard the conversation of the three students who passed by him- a girl and two boys.

“-the newest movie coming out!” the girl squealed in excitement.

“My mom already agreed to drive us to the theater,” a boy said, grinning. “Be ready by seven but have gas money.”

“I can cover half the snacks since I got that part time job at the store,” the other boy volunteered, throwing an arm around the girl. “Popcorn and drinks are on me!”

“After, we can grab dinner!” the girl put in. “And talk about all the horrible CGI.”

The all broke into laughter as the music began blaring in Mingi’s ears once more, drowning out their conversation. He stared at his feet that were covered in worn, hand me down sneakers.

Friendships… were built off of an understanding of each other. A system of questions and shared experiences that revealed whether or not two people were compatible. Those shared experiences came in the form of meals shared, movies watched, and time spent together.

No one… wanted to be friends with the kid who couldn’t afford a ride anywhere, the kid who couldn’t afford a movie ticket, who didn’t have a phone for communications, who couldn’t pay for a meal, who couldn’t go anywhere that wasn’t within walking distance of home…

How could you become friends, if you couldn’t do those things together? Mingi was too poor for friends.

No one wanted the know the kid with baggy clothes and dirty shoes, with an attitude problem and no motivation to do well in school.

Because Mingi did have an attitude problem. He was too poor to do well in school. He had no future, no way to afford college, so why should he bother? He was too poor for friends, so he was too poor to be kind, so he was too poor for letters of recommendation…

The world was built around money. You couldn’t get anywhere without it.

Ming was too poor for school. Too poor for friends. He had no future, and no dreams. Dreaming was too expensive.

Where could you ever get without money? Dreams were for the rich.

Mingi had no dreams. Mingi didn’t have anything.

But there was one thing Mingi did have.

“Hey, asshole!” A foot suddenly kicked Mingi’s leg, knocking into his lunch tray, gravy and peas smashed into the fabric, the voice practically inaudible over his music.

He looked up slowly, the song playing louder as he stared up at some boy from his year that bent over, glaring at him.

His mouth began to move, but Mingi didn’t hear over the music. Whatever it was, must have been a question because his face twisted in anger when Mingi said nothing, staring blankly.

Numbly. He was numb a lot. Even anger rarely showed its head anymore.  

He kicked Mingi’s leg out, making him fall forward before a hand tangled in his hair, slamming it back against the brick wall.

Mingi couldn’t afford dreams. He couldn’t afford to have a good school record. Because there was only one thing in this world that was free.

Mingi stood when the boy let go, brushing off the food from his pants.

Fighting was the one thing you didn’t have to pay for. Violence was the only thing available for people like him.

Violence was his future. That much was set in stone. No friends… and a family that thought he was nothing but a delinquent.

The boy doubled over when Mingi slammed his knee into his stomach, his elbow striking his spine so hard, he collapsed to the ground hard enough to nearly break his chin.

He curled up, groaning and whimpering.

Mingi stared down at him, numbed by the music blaring.

He kicked the boy over with a foot to his stomach, ignoring the blood on his chin as his expression twisted in pain.

Dreams were for the rich.

Mingi was poor. And he was alone. And all he had was this, as he slammed a foot down on the boy’s stomach.

Hongjoong stared in horror, his stomach rolling as the scene was ripped away, a call of Minig’s name silent on his lips as he flinched.  

He hadn’t known-

Jongho sat on hot bleachers that burned through his jeans, staring at the cursed blue cast covering his foot, his crutches laid down on the ground, nearly out of reach for how he’d thrown them earlier.

He laid a hand on his leg and tried to lift his foot, cursing at the twinge in his leg, making him curl over it with a harsh curse that the others were too far away to hear.

He hated this. He hated himself.

 “Alright, stop!”

The boys running laps suddenly stopped, collapsing onto the asphalt court, sweating and breathing too heavily.

“Good run, guys!” the coach yelled, saluting them with a grin. “Unstick yourself from the ground and go shower!” he ordered, turning away from them towards the bleachers.

Jongho stared at them blankly, lips thin and not bothering to try and appear unbothered.

“Jongho, do you need a hand?” he called, looking prepared to walk over and help.

But Jongho shook his head, half-prepared to die before accepting help like he was helpless.

The coach nodded, gave him a thumbs up, and helped the others grab the balls and head towards the showers on the other side of the park. Jongho stayed behind, glaring at his cast with hatred in his heart.

Jongho had basketball. That was it.

He didn’t care to study, he didn’t care to be smart or top of his class. All he wanted was to play ball, to run and shoot and score-

And now… all because of one trip, one misstep… there was a chance he may not ever play again.

How was that even possible? How could a doctor not know whether or not it would heal properly? How could they just taunt him-

Anger made him reach down, snatching up his crutches with a hiss of frustration. What was he even supposed to do, if not basketball?

He’d played his entire life, as if he’d be doing it until he died. And suddenly, he was barely 20 and it was gone? That was it?

What, exactly, was left for him?

He placed his crutches beneath him angrily, hurting his armpits, but he grit his teeth, hauling himself off almost too quickly, unbalanced but not caring enough to stop as he swung himself over to the court where a lone ball sat on the black asphalt.

Jongho stared at it with hatred, but an icy numbness in his chest.

One crutch dropped to the ground, clattering loudly as he managed to bend enough to snatch the ball up, about a quarter of the court away from the net.

Unbalanced, with his bad foot hovering precariously, Jongho glared at the net and threw the ball as hard as he could with one hand. It nearly sent him down- his bad foot landing on the ground when he tried to catch himself, crying out as he scrambled to relieve the pain.

He watched the ball fall short, barely even brushing the bottom of the net before rolling off.

Jongho stared at it, eyes burning as a feeling of restlessness and helplessness gnawed at his heart.

He threw his other crutch down, the rough ground scraping up the clean metal, but Jongho collapsed to the ground, his foot catching painfully, but he didn’t care as he landed too hard, bruising his tailbone, everything hurting enough to make him want to start sobbing-

What did it matter?

His life was over anyway. This was all he had. And he’d lost it.

Where, exactly, did he have to go? Nowhere.

What, exactly, was left for him?

Nothing.  

Hongjoong reached for him, his heart twinging at the sight of Jongho falling, but his hand hadn’t even fully extended before it changed yet again, making his stomach churn, like he was going to vomit.

Too fast, go back, too fast-

“Again?”

The angry yell echoed around the half-filled moving truck, making his mother wince sympathetically.

“We’re really doing this again?” San shouted, showing no remorse for being outside where anyone could hear.

“Calm down,” his father said firmly, though his eyes were apologetic. “We knew you’d react this way, that’s why we hid it-“

“We’re moving again!” San snapped, fists clenched at his sides as he shook with anger. “You can’t do this!” he yelled. “You can’t just tear me away from everything-“

“San, we both know that you never make friends,” his mother said gently, reaching out for him, but he tore away, glaring and fuming. “You weren’t happy here-“

“You never let me be anywhere long enough to be happy!” San accused, eyes burning with anger and regret. “You didn’t even tell me- We’re supposed to be leaving tomorrow-“

“My work takes us around places,” his father said firmly, reaching for his shoulder that was dodged again. “It pays well, though. It gives you a nice house to live in-“

“You packed my things while I was at school!” San snapped, staring at the boxes of things filling half the truck, a travel bag already packed for him in an old backpack. “When were you going to tell me?” he demanded. “When we were leaving? When!”

His mother looked near tears, but San couldn’t bring himself to be regretful about it.

“We’ll find a new home,” she promised-

“I don’t have a home!” San snapped, vision blurring with hot tears that he blinked away. “You never let me stay anywhere long enough to have a home! All you do is drop me somewhere and tell me to exist for a year before you pack us up and move on! How am I supposed to find a home in that?”

“It was fourteen months this time,” his father scolded gently. “You could make friends and still keep contact when we leave-“

“That’s not home!” San cried, staring at them, not understanding how they could be missing this. “I had a routine here- A life, even if not a home!”

Maybe he had no friends. But he had his days. He went to school and didn’t hate everything, he rode his bike around the back roads, he went to the park and kicked a soccer ball on his own. He stayed out late, and he wandered the town.

He had a place, even if not a home.

And it was going to be torn away, once again. And it would keep getting torn away. Again and again and again…

“Honey, we’re your home,” his mother tried to comfort. “Family is home. You could… maybe try harder to spend time with your family, when we move. You just stay out of the house all day, no wonder you never feel like it’s home.”

“I’m not moving,” San said darkly, glaring between them. “You can’t make me. You can’t just hide this from me-“

“You don’t have a choice, San,” his father said sternly, unappreciative of the defiance. “The movers are going to take our stuff this evening, and we’ll be following them tomorrow. This is why we didn’t tell you- we knew you’d overreact-“

San looked away.

His eyes fell on the backpack sitting on the edge of the truck, full of clothes and some snacks for the road.

He couldn’t keep living this life. He wouldn’t die like this.

“San, are you listening-“

He snatched the bag and he ran.

“San!”

He didn’t dare look back, throwing the bag over his shoulders, sprinting as hard as he could, fast enough that he almost lost his footing as he changed from his driveway to the road. He turned towards the highway that ran past his street, not stopping.

He didn’t know where he was going. But he wasn’t going to stay here.

He’d rather not have a home at all, instead of having one continually torn away from him.

“San,” Hongjoong whispered, tasting the salt on his lips, the two Sans mingling in his head, both of them with such heavy eyes.

Hongjoong had never seen such anger in his usually joyful eyes-

“That was amazing, Wooyoung!”

He lived for the stage. He was born for it, and as far as he was concerned, he’d happily die for it.

Maybe underground dancing wasn’t what his parents had envisioned for him, but it was all that Wooyoung needed.

The rush of the music and the people cheering him on in a circle as he let his body move to a beat another had created, but that Wooyoung had his own-

It was intoxicating. Thrilling. Unreal. Incomparable to anything else in the world. Wooyoung lived for the hidden basslines and the subtle melodies that were snuck in among the roaring instruments and synths.

Wooyoung loved to dance, and he loved to dance like no one else. He wanted and needed to be the best.

“That was unbelievable!” one man from the crew cheered, looping an arm around Wooyoung’s neck in a side hug. “You were actually amazing!”

“That bit with the spin? That was genius!” one girl cried, jumping up and down- the adrenaline contagious.

Wooyoung grinned, letting them shower him in praise after the dance he’d worked on for weeks. “Thanks,” he grinned, punching one of their shoulders playfully. “But, really, what would you change?” he asked, grinning around at them. “Personally, I think the ending is a bit rushed.”

“Are you kidding?” one of them laughed in disbelief. “You were actually perfect, dude!”

Perfect.

Wooyoung hated that word.

“Perfect” implied that there was no room or way to improve. And without a way or need to improve… why bother doing it? What was the point, if not to become better?

Once you reached the top, where were you supposed to go? Wooyoung never wanted to find out. He lived to dance, and he lived to grow each day.

Perfection was the bane of his existence. Perfection meant he’d reached the end.

“The guys from the recruitment agency is here!” one of the girls reminded him, clapping his shoulder. “He’s gonna watch the end performance, and everyone knows that you’re going to get noticed!”

Wooyoung laughed, shaking off their hold. “Yeah, right,” he chuckled. “Everyone knows they’re hard as fuck to impress. I’ll be lucky to get a pat on the shoulder.”

“Yeah, but all the recruitment officers here are alumni of this place,” a boy told him gleefully. “They take into account people’s opinions! Everyone here is going to tell them you were perfect, and they’re definitely going to choose you!”

Wooyoung felt a discomfort in his stomach as he smiled.

If he couldn’t get in on talent alone… was it really worth it? Getting recruited was big, if you wanted to make a name in the underground. But… But…

But what was the point of making it big… if you only got there because people sang your praises falsely? Wooyoung wasn’t perfect. And the thought of being so pissed him off.

“I’m gonna head out, guys.”

“What?” one boy demanded, eyes wide. “But the final performance starts in half an hour!”

“I’m just gonna head out and practice a bit more,” Wooyoung assured them, grinning and punching his shoulder. “After all… I’m perfect. I’ve got this in the bag, even if I only show up right on time, right?”

They were confused, but they grinned. “Totally, dude!”

“You’ll kill it!”

“We’ll wait on you!”

Wooyoung laughed, waving as he exited the underground parking area they met in, hurrying out into the night.

Staying and performing… would basically guarantee him a spot in a place of his dreams. He’d get everything he’d been working towards.

He’d be perfect.

He glanced back, hearing the bassline thrumming through the concrete walls.

He wanted a challenge. He wanted someone to tear his dancing apart, to make him defend his choices of moves, to critique him until Wooyoung wanted to slam their mouths shut.

He didn’t want to be perfect.

He wanted to be better. Even if it meant giving up the future he thought he wanted.

Wooyoung turned away from the underground dance grounds, walking away under a blanket of stars.

He didn’t know where he was going. But it was forward.

“No,” Hongjoong whispered, heart catching, watching him walk away. “No, that- that was your dream-“

He hadn’t known anything. All he’d ever seen were people like him… he’d never bothered to ask how they were different. He hadn’t known where they came from, what they did where their dreams came from…

Wooyoung had always been so vibrant when he danced, but he’d wanted so much criticism… Hongjoong had loved that about him.

But he’d walked away… from being perfect?

That… was so like Wooyoung.

Yeosang’s shoes were off, his bare toes buried in the cold grass.

To his left, there were half pipes and bowls carved into the concrete of the skatepark- the only place that had a fence able to be reasonably scaled. He didn’t have a skateboard, yet. There was no way to hide it.

But he stood in the grass beside the concrete- his backpack, suit jacket, socks and shoes, and violin case thrown into the grass- the case open and showing off the instrument he’d stopped playing after five minutes.

His white shirt was unbuttoned down his chest, and Yeosang stood in the carefully hidden darkness created by the night. Breathing in, he closed his eyes, bringing a hand up and running it through the neatly kempt hair.

As he breathed out, he bent over, ruffling both hands through the strands, so hard it almost hurt, until not a single piece of hair remained in place.

He popped his head back up, feeling like he could breathe, tearing his necktie off and throwing it back with the others.

Dream big, his parents had told him. Dream until you wanted to touch the stars.  

Yeosang was suffocating under his “dreams.” Violin and suits and crisp collars and demure hands and classical futures… Being the best, the most handsome, the most talented, the most notable-

Yeosang thought no human could breathe under the weight of it all. How did one keep breathing when you were crushed beneath dreams you didn’t want?

With slightly shaking hands, Yeosang unlocked his phone. He would never be comfortable enough to not be a little afraid of getting caught as he brought up music from the internet, setting his phone on the violin case.

He looked up at the sky.

There were no stars there. Once, Yeosang had danced, and there had been stars watching him. Seeing him, like no one else ever would. No one else could ever be allowed to.

This… this was everything he wasn’t supposed to be.

He untucked his shirt from his pants as he stepped onto the warm concrete, leftover from the sun of the daytime. The music kept playing, reaching a crescendo near the beginning.

Yeosang closed his eyes, and he felt free. That was all he wanted.

It was the cruelest joke, he decided as he began to dance, eyes remaining closed. Like a bird with clipped wings in a cage. He had all the things he needed to run away, to flee… but it didn’t work properly.

He had money, he had the will to do it, he could do it… but his entire life was a cage.

But for this moment… beneath a sky where stars should have watched him, he danced. Not well, not with grace or leisure… He danced as if this was the last time he would get a chance.

And maybe it was. Who knew when he would be discovered? When the grass stains would become more noticeable, when his absences would start being noticed, when his lack of practice would begin to show…

Yeosang felt his eyes burn at the thought of having it taken away.

But he danced anyway. He risked a glance up at the sky, praying for a single star that he could dance for.

He could never dance for another person in all the world. He didn’t have that freedom. His only freedom came in loosened neckties and bare feet on concrete.

He wanted to dance for the stars.

When he opened his eyes… there were still none. Yeosang dropped his eyes down to his feet.

All he wanted was freedom.

But no matter how strong a bird’s wings… the cage was always stronger.

Hongjoong hadn’t noticed when his legs gave out, a hand reaching for the scenes that kept fading away, tears dripping as his mouth stayed open in a silent plea, a silent cry-

“Stop,” he whispered hoarsely, watching Yeosang’s scene shrink away from his touch. “Stop, come back,” he begged weakly, trying to move forward. “Stop- Stop taking this from them- Please, they didn’t do anything wrong-“

The scenes vanished, leaving Hongjoong’s chest empty and hollow.

“Stop it,” He begged the darkness hoarsely, hands shaking. “Just- Just let them be happy- All they wanted was to be happy-“

Seonghwa was running-

“Seonghwa!”

Hongjoong was on his feet, trying to move-

He was stuck in place, another cry on his lips that Seonghwa gave no reaction to, the scene playing like a horror movie before him.

Seonghwa was right there. Close enough that Hongjoong could have touched him-

He wanted to touch him again-

Seonghwa was running, a note clenched in his fist and tears threatening at his eyes.

He sprinted past vendors who tried to yell their wares to him, the street darkened with nighttime, only lit by streetlamps he passed under.

His expression was torn between pain and anger as he ran, praying that he wasn’t too late, the note beginning to weaken with the rough treatment inside his fist-

He turned a corner, and across the street, there was a convenience store that stood in all its glowing glory, a few tables set up outside, the light from outside giving it a warm glow in the darkness.

Seonghwa kept running, unable to make out much in the darkness, crossing the street until he stood on the sidewalk on the other side-

She was there.

She was dancing.

Seonghwa wanted to cry and scoff at once. She was… dancing. He was holding her note in his hand, and she was dancing.

Seonghwa stood at a bit of distance, unsure of how to approach. If he even should at all. The note was quite explicit.

It wasn’t working out.

She turned and twisted, graceful as always, and Seonghwa’s stomach twisted at the thought of the dances they had learned together, their first days together-

She noticed him, freezing. There was no fear in her eyes. No sign of being caught unawares. She was calm when he caught sight of him, straightening as acceptance flooded her face.

She removed her headphones slowly, curling them around her hand. “Seonghwa,” she murmured quietly, eyes flickering down to his hand. “You… got my note.”

Seonghwa stared at her, his chest tearing itself apart. And it only got worse when she continued to stare, making no move to assure him it was a misunderstanding, that he’d interpreted it wrong… She was right here… but she wasn’t Seonghwa’s anymore.

“You…” His wounded voice sounded pitiful in his ears, and even as her eyes softened, there was no regret. No sign that she would take it back. “It… It’s been nearly a year,” he whispered hoarsely, note crushed further in his grip as his eyes burned. “And you thought I only deserved a note?” he demanded weakly. “You couldn’t even talk to me-“

“I didn’t want to say the wrong thing,” she said, eyes tight with apologetics as she stepped forward.

She regretted hurting him. But Seonghwa could see in her eyes that there was no chance left for him.

“I wanted to phrase it just right,” she whispered quietly, pausing in front of him, eyes begging him to understand. “I just… I’m sorry, Seonghwa. It just… isn’t going to work.”

Seonghwa didn’t want to cry. Not in front of her. Maybe when he was safe at home, but not now.

“You… I thought we were happy,” he said helplessly, splaying his hands helplessly. “I- I thought-“

“We… We were happy,” she assured him gently, wincing. “But… we weren’t going to work, Seonghwa. Maybe we were happy, but only as far as being distracted from those things that would have hurt us.”

“That’s- If we were happy, then why-“ He wanted to make demands of her. He wanted to say something scathing, something horrible- something to make her hurt as much as he was, because she was so sure of it. So sure that it was over…

Why didn’t it hurt her?

“We were happy,” she whispered, reaching out and taking his hand gently.

Seonghwa wanted to rip it away, but he couldn’t move.

“But… it wasn’t going to work for long,” she murmured, eyes pinching. “In the long run… we’d only hurt ourselves, Seonghwa. I… I don’t know how to love you like you deserve,” she whispered. “And you… you need to learn to love yourself, Seonghwa.”  

Honestly, a slap to his cheek would have hurt less.

“Love- What does that mean?” he demanded, shaking his head roughly. “You loved me just fine! And I do love myself, I-“

“No,” she whispered, squeezing his hand weakly. “No, Seonghwa, I… We were distractions for each other. You need someone… who can love every part of you… And maybe I love you, but it’s not the love you deserve. It’s different. And you…” She swallowed. “You need to love yourself, Seonghwa. Love yourself before you try to love someone else.”

“I don’t-“

“I’ve seen too many sides of you, Seonghwa,” she whispered, grip loosening on his hand. “And I know… there are too many sides that you don’t like. Sides that you hide, sides that… that make you afraid. You’re stagnant, Seonghwa. You need to live your life before you commit it to someone else.”

Stagnant? That wasn’t true. Seonghwa just knew what he wanted- He wanted to love someone, and he wanted to be loved by them.

He didn’t hate himself. He…

Well, maybe love was a strong word, but who actually loved themselves? Who wasn’t at least a little bit put off by looking in the mirror? That was normal, it wasn’t something to dump him over-

“I want you to be so happy, Seonghwa,” she whispered, pressing something to his palm. “But I can’t give you that. Not while giving myself the same thing. I’m sorry… but I sincerely hope that you love yourself… and that you find someone who can love you like you deserve.”

Something clinked in his hand, and Seonghwa glanced down, finding the bracelet he had given her on their first date.

That was Seonghwa’s bracelet. The one he always wore and never took off, even when he slept. It was simple and worn… and Hongjoong had always wondered what it meant to him… but he’d never bothered to ask.

By the time Seonghwa glanced up… she was gone, leaving only the faintest scent of apple and cinnamon on the wind.

Seonghwa… felt so very alone. He felt empty and cold.

All he wanted was someone to love. Someone who loved him back. That was all he wanted. He didn’t care about anything else.

Love himself? How the hell was he supposed to do that when no one else apparently did?

Hongjoong… and Seonghwa… had been a thing.

It was a thing that never got a label. It had been a thing that involved kissing and… a little bit more than just kissing. It involved touching and being close to each other…

Hongjoong had never known a Seonghwa who didn’t love himself. Seonghwa was someone who was so comfortable in his own skin that Hongjoong envied him more than half the time.

Their “thing” had had a lot of Seonghwa being affectionate, because that’s what Seonghwa was. He pet the others’ hair, fixed their clothes, gave them hugs… and he did the same to Hongjoong.

He stroked his hair and pressed kisses to his skin like it was second nature, he held Hongjoong in his lap and always had an arm around him… he whispered things in Hongjoong’s ears that Hongjoong could never be caught dead saying out loud.

Half the time, embarrassment made him shove Seonghwa off with a laugh before the touches could last long.

He’d only told Seonghwa he loved him once, and it was in response to Seonghwa saying it for the first time. Seonghwa had said it so many times over so many months, but Hongjoong never said it back.

He didn’t have to, he figured.

Seonghwa knew, he was sure. He made it obvious, he was confident.

He knew in the way Hongjoong accepted every touch before pushing him off, he knew it in the way he could get Hongjoong to smile like no one else could, he knew it in Hongjoong being bold every now and then and kissing him first, he knew it in the way Hongjoong stared at him as if he hung the stars…

He hadn’t needed to say it.

Or… so he had thought.

Seonghwa had compliments like they were spare change, calling Hongjoong every diminutive under the sun, everything from sexy to beautiful, everything from his entire world to his whole universe… Seonghwa breathed and lived love.

Hongjoong didn’t do that. It was awkward and stilted, and Hongjoong despised being awkward above all else, so he held his tongue, even when he may have wanted to repeat those words back to Seonghwa.

Because Seonghwa was beautiful and his whole world, and a huge part of his happiness, and he was his home, his friend, his confidant, his safety, his whole reason for getting up in the morning…

Seonghwa had been his everything.

But… he was gone, too. Disappearing with everyone else with nothing but a betrayed, hurting glance at Hongjoong before he ran off, leaving Hongjoong bruised and confused.

The last thing Seonghwa had ever said to him was… “I loved you with everything I had, Hongjoong… Did you ever do the same?”

Hongjoong hadn’t understood. Because he loved Seonghwa so much, it hurt. It ached like a physical pain because he loved Seonghwa that much.

But then Seonghwa was suddenly gone.

And Hongjoong didn’t know what had gone wrong-

Hongjoong blinked, and suddenly the darkness was gone.

The faded photograph filter was lifted, and he was standing at a blindingly bright intersection, doubling over as the midday sun shone blisteringly overhead-

Car horns honked viciously, making him stumble into someone, them snapping something at him before shoving him off-

Hongjoong lifted his head.

He was standing at a four-way intersection, staring at a red light for his crosswalk as cars roared back and forth.

Disoriented, Hongjoong frowned, trying to figure out what was happening, where he was-

He recognized the intersection. It wasn’t near the warehouse, so he didn’t cross it often, but he knew it was one that was crossed often by-

Hongjoong’s eyes fell on the crowd of people directly across from him, waiting to cross to his side when the light changed.

Standing at the front of the crowd was Yunho.

Hongjoong’s eyes widened, reaching for him, gasping when his feet actually moved-

First, he would observe. And then… then he had to change it.

Change it.

He stared at Yunho, who had a hoodie on, hood pulled up over his head and curled in one himself, looking smaller than any six-foot person had any right to look.

Change it. Change what? What was he supposed to do? Talk to him? Where was he? When was this? He didn’t understand what the faded scene he had watched was telling him-

Yunho suddenly bolted forward, still curled up.

The light was still red, Hongjoong screaming something that was drowned out by the sound of a truck’s horn blaring, warning and crying like a death toll-

Hongjoong gasped, kneeling in a pile of sand, breathing it in his lungs as he coughed, a scream still in his throat-

“Hyung.”

A gentle voice was accompanied by a gentle touch on his shoulder, holding him steady as he tried to breathe, looking around frantically, panting and choking-

Yeosang’s face was there, inches from his own, heavy and somber and pitying as he held Hongjoong up. “Breathe,” he murmured warmly, familiar and strong-

It wasn’t his Yeosang.

But Hongjoong’s hands leapt up, clutching at his forearms desperately, dropping his head and panting as sobs mixed with his breaths, heart rendering, the sight playing over and over-

“It’s alright,” San’s voice whispered, a hand on his back. “The first failure is always hardest.”

“You made a mistake,” Wooyoung comforted, his presence at Hongjoong’s side as he stared at their knees on the ground with his. “It’s alright. You can continue-“

“Or you can stop,” Yeosang murmured, squeezing his shoulders. “This isn’t… easy, hyung. You don’t have to keep going. You can stop…”

For a moment… Hongjoong couldn’t tell if he was speaking to him… or his own Hongjoong, vicariously.

Both tore his heart apart equally.

“He- He stepped out,” Hongjoong cried weakly, hands shaking, the truck’s horn blaring in his ears. “He- Why- I- I didn’t know - I didn’t know he was feeling like that, I never knew-“

He knew Yunho had died. He hadn’t known why.

“There are… a lot of things you never know, hyung,” San whispered, heavy and regretful. “And it’s not… your fault for not knowing. People are really good at hiding things… especially when they feel alone.”

Hongjoong… hadn’t known what happened. They just got news that Yunho was… was gone.

He hadn’t known-

“Do you… want to stop?” Wooyoung asked quietly, squeezing his knee gently. “You can stop, hyung. It’s not wrong to do that.”

“No,” Hongjoong whispered, shaking his head automatically, still stunned. “No- No, I can’t let it end like that, I can’t- I can’t let him think he was alone-“

The thought of it… that throughout everything they had done together… he’d felt… he’d felt alone…

“I can’t let him die like that,” Hongjoong whispered hoarsely, managing to lift his head weakly. “I can’t let him think we weren’t there with him-“

“Then you don’t have a lot of time here,” Yeosang told him, releasing his hold on him. “You… are going to have to face it again, hyung. But just… don’t lose yourself,” he begged quietly. “Be careful, hyung. Don’t lose yourself trying to save them. It’s not what they’d want.”

It wasn’t what we wanted.  

Hongjoong tried to imagine what it felt like… knowing that your friend was searching for you, obsessing over saving you… and you couldn’t even tell him you were okay, that he could rest…

The sand began to pick up again.

“Good luck, hyung,” San told him gently. “You’re a good person. You’ll make it.”

Hongjoong turned, blinking-

When he opened his eyes, he was standing at an intersection, the light red.

Hongjoong stared across the way, breathing picking up. He didn’t have time, it had happened so fast- How was he supposed to save him? How was he supposed to get to him?

He needed to talk to him, to find him-

How-

Hongjoong didn’t think. He cupped his hands around his mouth, shutting his eyes for how hard he yelled- “Yunho!” he practically screamed, hoping to be heard among the cars rushing by-

“Ow!”

Hongjoong yelped, stumbling back a step, looking to his right and seeing Yunho standing in his hoodie, covering the ear Hongjoong had yelled near, looking annoyed and tired.

“What the fuck?” he demanded, glaring at Hongjoong as he rubbed at his ear, Hongjoong staring, stunned.

He was here. Right in front of him.

Hongjoong’s mouth flapped, completely blanking.

“Do I know you?” Yunho demanded, glancing Hongjoong up and down. It confused Hongjoong, since Yunho should have known him at this point, but fucking with time was probably more complicated than that. “What the hell, man-“

Hongjoong wanted to sob. He wanted to apologize, to hug him, to tell him how fucking sorry he was, how much he wanted Yunho back-

He wanted to beg Yunho to come back. He wanted to promise to fix it, whatever it was. He wanted to hug him and not let him escape until he understood the part of Hongjoong’s happiness that he’d become-

You are the focal point around which all compass points gather.

But it’s not about you.

 Hongjoong froze, staring at Yunho with wide eyes.

It wasn’t about… Hongjoong’s hurt. Hongjoong’s loneliness, Hongjoong’s desperation to bring them back… It wasn’t about fixing Hongjoong’s heart.

It was about… fixing what broke.

He was supposed to guide them. He couldn’t guide them astray. That was when he lost them-

The light changed green and Yunho glanced at it, something disappointed in his gaze, lips setting in determination. “Whatever,” he scoffed, beginning to walk off, muttering to himself-

Hongjoong snatched his arm desperately, an unintelligible cry on his lips as he yanked Yunho back, away from the road hard enough to have them both stumbling-

“What the fuck?” Yunho demanded, genuinely annoyed as he tore his arm away. “Are you fucking crazy-“

“You have sound equipment!”

Hongjoong yelled it in desperation, making it sound like a command, rather than a question, but it made Yunho stop, frowning. “What?” he questioned, as if Hongjoong had lost this mind.

The timeline seemed messed up to hell and back, but Hongjoong couldn’t think clearly enough to care.

Hongjoong stared blankly, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, the pallor of his face and the gauntness of his cheeks…

“You… I heard you had sound equipment,” Hongjoong stammered, grasping at strings, breathing heavily. “I- I need sound equipment. And- And someone who knows how to use it.”

Yunho frowned, glancing around, as if looking for a camera. “Who… How did you know about that?” he questioned, voice softening despite remaining confused.

Hongjoong swallowed, wetting his lips, brain racing. “I- Someone from your school. They- They saw an ad I put out. They referred me to you.”

Yunho frowned deeper. “Who would have known-“

“Do you have it?” Hongjoong demanded weakly, shifting and wringing his hands. “I- I need-“

“Dude, are you okay?” Yunho asked, looking him up and down like he was on drugs. “Are you going to try and sell it for something?”

“No!” Hongjoong burst, shaking his head quickly, making Yunho blink. “No, I… I have…”

The picture of Yunho clutching the guitar flashed in his mind.

“I… I have a dream,” he said breathlessly, staring at Yunho desperately. “I- I want to make music. I want to make an album. But I need…help. I need someone… with the same dream to help me. I can’t do it on my own.”

Hongjoong saw it.

Something in Yunho’s eyes shifted, turning shocked and then brighter. And hope bloomed in his chest dangerously fast.

“A dream… to make music,” Yunho said quietly, frowning and glancing down at his feet.

“Yeah,” Hongjoong said, voice quieter as he stared at Yunho. “Have… Have you ever had a dream… like that?”

Yunho paused, swallowing as his hands shook at his sides when he glanced up. “Um… sort of,” he confessed quietly. “My… My brother had a dream like that,” he said quietly, glancing down. “He… He died, a while ago,” he said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “But I sort… I sort of made it my dream to carry out his dream for him. He was… actually really close to releasing an album before… he died.”

Hongjoong wasn’t breathing. He swallowed the pain in his throat.

“That’s… amazing of you.”

Yunho glanced up, looking stunned.

Hongjoong stared at him, realizing that this was… Yunho. His friend. The one who was twice his size, but twice as kind as anyone in this world could be. This was him… and his dream to carry on his brother’s legacy.

Hongjoong had never known that was part of his dream.

“I can’t believe… that someone loved their brother so much.” He smiled quietly. “I think he’d… be really happy that you made his dream your own. I think that’s incredible.”

Yunho stared at Hongjoong like he wasn’t sure he was real. “You… You really think so?” he asked quietly.

Hongjoong nodded. “I… I never had a family that cared that much for each other,” he said heavily, the words catching.

Family… had been something none of them ever talked about. Their warehouse was an escape from that. They never… talked about things like that.

“I started making music as an escape,” he said quietly. “And thinking that you loved your brother that much… I can’t imagine he’d feel anything but pride, knowing that you were doing that for him.”

Yunho blinked and a tear ran down his cheek.

“Sorry,” he said roughly, dropping his head to rub at his cheek. “Shit- Sorry, I just… I never really… stopped to think about it,” he croaked, choking on a quiet sob. “It- It hurt a little too much to- to think about what he would do…” He sucked in a breath.

Hongjoong’s chest ached.

“Th-Thanks,” Yunho managed, laughing in embarrassment as he wiped at his eyes. “I… I know a bit about how all the equipment works. If you want to use it… I can show you.”

Hongjoong smiled, heart growing wildly.

“We could… make your brother’s dream… together, if you’d like,” he offered quietly. “I may not have known him… but I’d love to help you honor him. Maybe we’ll name an album after him.”

It was a desperate attempt at a joke, and Yunho laughed, more tears falling as he wiped at them. “I… I think that would mean a lot to him,” he confessed weakly. “And…” He glanced at the red light, more cars zooming by.

He didn’t step out.

“It means… a lot to me,” he whispered, voice thick as he glanced at Hongjoong, smiling in a way… that only someone who had been so alone… and wasn’t alone more, could ever hope to smile. “You’re… awfully nice for a complete stranger,” he chuckled.

Hongjoong felt like he might have fainted from relief as he shrugged. “Want to grab a coffee?” he offered, gesturing over his shoulder, away from the street. “We could… just talk a bit?” he offered. “I’ll tell you more about my ideas… and you can tell me all about your brother, because he sounds amazing.”

Yunho’s eyes sparked, a familiar excitement in them that Hongjoong had only ever seen when talking about music.

Is that… what he’d been hiding away? A brother that rivaled his love for music? A brother that created his love for music? How long had he let his brother’s death fester?

How much of their music had been dedicated to him without them even knowing? How much had Yunho turned that death over and over in his head… How long had it tortured him, making him feel like he couldn’t speak…

How many times had he maybe tried to speak… but no one listened?

The warehouse was an escape. You didn’t talk about things that hurt.

Those rules that were supposed to protect their happiness… how long had they been suffocating everything they wanted to say?

How were they any different from the parents they escaped from? Ignoring the emotions of each other, convinced that smiling meant they had been happy….

“I’ll listen,” Hongjoong said, throat tightening as Yunho looked at him curiously. “Whatever you want to say about your brother… I’ll listen, I promise.”

Yunho blinked and Hongjoong smiled.

“You look like you have a lot you want to say about him.”

Yunho stared at him, stunned, but Hongjoong watched a weight leave his shoulders as fresh tears appeared in his eyes as he nodded, grinning. “I do,” he rasped, nodding quickly. “I… I never wanted to talk to anyone I knew… They all knew him, so I- I didn’t-“

Hongjoong nodded, laying a hand on Yunho’s elbow, squeezing. “You can tell me all about him,” he promised quietly. “And we’ll… we’ll make his dream our own, okay?”

Yunho smiled.

The sight began to blur and fade.

“That… sounds like something worth living for…”

Hongjoong blinked and the intersection was gone, startling him.

He stood outside a warehouse. Not their warehouse. This one was open, without much siding, with vines and foliage, and it had more windows broken in, half the warehouse collapsed in on itself.

Outside the warehouse… Mingi stood.

Hongjoong’s eyes widened, seeing him in his school uniform, headphones in, walking with an angry stride towards one of the broken panels, intending on entering.

“Mingi!”

Hongjoong’s scream went unnoticed as Mingi entered, his music too loud, as always.

With Yunho, it had happened so fast. Hongjoong didn’t hesitate to sprint after him, nearly tripping on scrap lines out in the grass that was overgrown, shoving his way into the warehouse-

“Mingi, stop!”

Hongjoong froze.

Mingi stood in the middle of a circle of guys, all of them looking like vultures about to devour their prey.

They all stared at Hongjoong. Mingi’s eyes widened, and Hongjoong assumed that he recognized him, for whatever reason.

On Mingi’s cheek, there was a bloodied smear.

Hongjoong’s heart stalled in his chest as he realized this was where Mingi had gone after his fight with Jongho. The fight that happened before both of them walked away, never looking back. Hongjoong hadn’t gone after him. He’d been too stunned to move.

Hongjoong glanced at the three other boys, swallowing. “Leave,” he snapped angrily, reaching into his empty pocket. “Or I’m calling the police.”

His voice, thankfully, didn’t waver. He’d gotten into his fair share of fights, and he knew how to hide fear from them.

The three men glanced at each other, clearly weighing their options, Mingi’s jaw tight and angry.

“Leave!” Hongjoong shouted, voice echoing.

“This shit blows,” one of them muttered, gesturing for the others to follow. “Let’s go, guys. Little Mingi’s not worth it, is he?”

Mingi whipped around to him, but they were already running off, laughing and brushing passed Hongjoong, who stood in the warehouse with Mingi, alone now. Hongjoong wet his lips, but Mingi glared at him murderously.

“What the fuck do you want?” he demanded, yanking one headphone out of his ear. “Come to drag me back by my ear and make me apologize?” he mocked.

Hongjoong was breathing heavily, staring at the wound on his cheek, knowing that he’d gotten so many over his time with them. Hongjoong had thought he was just angry.

But he wasn’t angry.

He was just someone with nothing but his fists and his anger.

“No, that’s not what I’m doing,” he whispered hoarsely, stepping inside, still shaking from his encounter with Yunho. “I want to talk, Mingi.”

“I’ve got nothing to say to you,” He scoffed, turning away and lifting his headphone again. “Jongho got what he fucking deserved for being so damn sensitive-“

“That’s not what you think, and you know it!”

It’s not about… him.

Mingi froze, turning slowly to glare at Hongjoong. “You don’t know a damn thing about what I feel,” he muttered. “You think you can throw some people into a dance crew and it’s a family-“

“Yes, I think that’s what we had,” Hongjoong argued, fists clenched, shaking.

He was terrified. Because he didn’t know how this ended. He didn’t know what happened if Mingi walked away.

“Well, you were wrong,” Mingi scoffed. “Jongho’s just a little bitch, and if he doesn’t want me around-“

“You know that basketball was everything to him,” Hongjoong broke in, stepping closer to him pleadingly. “It’s still all he has. You mocked him for being upset about his leg. He couldn’t even dance with us-“

“Anyone who gets that pressed over anything is stupid,” Mingi said darkly, glaring. “All I said was that he was a pussy for crying over something like not being able to play basketball.”

“We all have our things we live for,” Hongjoong snapped. “That was Jongho’s, and you mocked him-“

“Yeah, I fucking mocked him,” he scoffed. “That’s a stupid thing to live for-“

“Then what are you living for?”

Mingi stopped, anger growing darker. “Nothing.”

“You’re still alive,” Hongjoong said, swallowing, feeling like someone else was finding words for him to say. “All those fights… and not once have you actually let anyone kill you. You’re still here, Mingi- You were still with us. You have to have something to live for.”

“I live for my next fight, how about that?” he demanded, tilting his head. “Which is about to be your scrawny ass, if you don’t shut-“

“Money doesn’t buy friends, Mingi.”

Mingi choked, so taken aback, he actually took a step away, staring at Hongjoong like he had just drawn a weapon.

Hongjoong wet his lips quietly. “I… I know that you have nothing,” Hongjoong said gently. “You’ve never had anything.” He spread his hands pleadingly. “But Mingi… did any of us give a damn?” he demanded. “Did a single person in that warehouse… ever so much as ask? Did a single person ever care how much money you had?”

Mingi looked like Hongjoong had a knife to his throat.

“You didn’t buy any of the people in that warehouse,” he whispered. “You didn’t buy your new dream- You wanted to rap, Mingi. It didn’t cost you a cent. We didn’t cost you a thing. Anyone who needs money to befriend someone… is fucking dumb.”  

“We… aren’t friends,” Mingi hissed, defensive and drawing in on himself.

“Then why am I here?” Hongjoong demanded, wincing.

The first time… no one had come after him. Hongjoong hadn’t been able to bring himself to chase after him.

“Why else would I be here, Mingi?” he demanded, expectant as Mingi stared at him.

“I don’t fucking know!” he snapped angrily, glaring. “Because you’re fucking desperate-“

“I am,” Hongjoong admitted, stepping forward until they were only a few feet apart. “I am desperate, Mingi. I’m desperate for you to understand that-“

He stared at Mingi.

Mingi, who always had something to fight over and always had his headphones as a barrier between him and the world. Mingi… who would take his headphones out when he entered the warehouse, grinning when they all started teasing him for taking so long…

“Were you happy?” Hongjoong demanded, wetting his lips.

“What?” Mingi scoffed, shaking his head.

“At the warehouse… were you happy?” Hongjoong whispered, eyes begging as he stepped forward. “Because… we were happy with you, Mingi. You were… our friend. Did… Did that happiness cost you a thing, Mingi?” he whispered hoarsely.

Mingi’s fist curled around the headphone in his hand, teeth grinding together, but there was hesitation in his eyes, fear at being discovered-

“Fights happen,” Hongjoong said, taking a final few steps. He reached a hand out. “But it doesn’t cost money… to fix them, Mingi. Having friends… doesn’t take money, Mingi. Us loving you… will never cost you a cent.”

Mingi looked like he didn’t believe it.

But when Hongjoong touched his arm, he didn’t reject it. And when Hongjoong stepped closer…finally ending with a quiet embrace around Mingi’s larger frame… he didn’t push him off.

“Come back,” Hongjoong whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. “We’re still waiting for you, Mingi.”

The body he hugged was shaking slightly, as if something was about to break. He was stiff as stone, the unfamiliar sensation of hugging him running between them. Until Mingi’s head dropped, resting on top of Hongjoong’s.

He’d never been big on skinship. He’d pat and hug, but…never anything like this. Never anything that meant anything.

But Mingi’s tears dripped down Hongjoong’s cheek when his breath stuttered.

“No one…”

Hongjoong felt the world beginning to blur.

“No one’s… ever come after me, before.”  

Hongjoong bit back a sob, clenching his eyes shut as Mingi’s body faded from his arms.

When he opened his eyes… he was standing in front of Jongho who was struggling to pick up a crutch without falling onto the asphalt.

It wasn’t the same scene he’d seen before. This Jongho was dressed differently, and it was midday, not evening.

Hongjoong blinked, hurrying over and grabbing the metal stick, holding it out to him. Jongho looked annoyed at needing the assistance, but he huffed, taking it. “Thanks,” he muttered, stuffing it beneath his arm angrily.

“Are you… okay?” Hongjoong asked, in lieu of knowing what else to say. He was still dizzy from Mingi’s words, Yunho’s words, echoing in his head.

He hadn’t thought he’d see any of them ever again.

Jongho laughed bitterly, glancing over his shoulder bitterly. “Sure,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “I’m just standing at the end of my fucking life.”

Hongjoong wet his lips, glancing around the empty asphalt court. “You play… basketball?” he questioned.

“ Played ,” Jongho stressed, glaring at the net. “Past tense.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Hongjoong cleared his throat, feeling like with each scene change, there was a new burst of adrenaline. “You sound… like that’s the end of the world…”

“It might as fucking well be,” Jongho muttered, lips twisting in bitterness. “That’s was all I fucking had. And a stupid, torn what-the-fuck-ever, or some twisted bullshit in my leg just took all of it-“

He stopped, his voice weakening like he might start crying in anger, eyes flickering with frustration.

“Um… well, have you thought about trying to find another… hobby?”

“It wasn’t a fucking hobby,” Jongho snapped angrily. “It was all I fucking had. I can’t stand school, and I’m not about to waste my time waiting when I just fucking know this stupid leg isn’t going to heal-“

“Can you sing?”

Hongjoong didn’t know what the fuck he was doing. He felt like he was running through a racetrack at millions of miles an hour, barely able to process what he was seeing, relying on instinct to tell him to turn and dodge.

He couldn’t actually process anything. He just worked frantically and hoped he didn’t see another person walk in front of a bus.

It wasn’t about him. It wasn’t about fixing his loneliness… It was about realizing that everyone else was just as helpless as he was. Just as angry at the world.

He needed to fix… what the world took from them.

“Excuse me?” Jongho scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief.

Hongjoong nodded quickly. “I mean… you just sound like someone with a good set of lungs. I think you can probably at least carry a tune.”

The Jongho he knew could belt notes that made the mirrors shake. Hongjoong knew this. He knew that Jongho loved singing. But… with every note he’d sung, he’d stare at his boot with anger in his heart.

“What does it matter?” Jongho challenged, hobbling to remain steady.

“I’m putting together a band,” he said quickly. “Or, a group, I guess. We’ve got rappers and dancers… and a few good vocalists, but… I’m looking for someone who can wow people.”

Jongho frowned at him for a moment. “I can sing,” he said slowly. “But what do you care?”

“Well, if you can’t play basketball, and you’re sure you’re never going to… maybe we can make you… a new dream?” he offered hesitantly.

Jongho glared.

“Imagine playing basketball and the thrill you get from that,” Hongjoong said quickly, spreading his hands, begging him to follow along. “Imagine if you could get that thrill somewhere else. Something else to live for… not just a new hobby, but a new purpose.”

Jongho’s lips pressed together tightly. “Nothing can give that same feeling,” he muttered.

“What if, eventually, you had people screaming your name once we go public?” Hongjoong offered, grinning. “We’re in the practice stages now, but… if you can promise me you’ll commit… I’m going to ensure that everyone in our group is on a stage with people screaming for them. For the music we made.”

Even if he was skeptical… Hongjoong could see Jongho leaning into the appeal. “How do I know you won’t flop?” he challenged.

“That’s why we need some bomb vocals,” Hongjoong assured him, gesturing him up and down. “Don’t need your legs to sing like a professional.”

Jongho, despite himself, seemed to smile. “I’ll blow your people away,” he promised. “But… it’s hard to just throw a dream away like that.”

“That’s fine,” Hongjoong said, smiling broadly, making Jongho blink at him. “I’m not looking for you changing overnight, but…”

He swallowed, the image of Jongho throwing a punch at Mingi flashing in his head. Basketball had still been his everything. Singing was just a distraction back then. And that made things rocky.

“I can’t have people holding my team back,” he said firmly, making Jongho nod. “So, even if basketball is still in your head… I need you to be committed. I need singing to be your new life. Not basketball.”

Jongho frowned, conflicted for a moment, the midday light casting his face in shadows.

“If you can promise me that… I can promise you the best time of your life.”

Like signing a deal, Jongho’s lips twitched, growing into a smile. “I don’t know who the fuck you are… but you’re offering some pretty damn good stuff. You recruit people for entertainment companies or something?”

Hongjoong felt his chest unlock, holding his hand out in offering. “Nope. I’m just looking for some people to build a dream with.”

Jongho glanced at it, but he grinned, challenging as much as it was excited. “It’s not my dream yet… but you make it pretty easy to believe I can make it mine. You seem like the kind of guy who stops at nothing to get what he wants.”

“I am,” Hongjoong promised, Jongho grabbing his hand and shaking it, everything beginning to fade. “But I swear, I’ll stop at nothing to give you your dream, too. Everyone needs something to live for… and I swear, I’ll make this yours.”

Hongjoong blinked, a sense of peace in his mind, despite the anxiety crawling up his chest at the nonstop running, running, running-

Someone ran into him.

Hongjoong’s ass hit the pavement hard. “Shit!”

“Got you!”

“Get off!”

Hongjoong opened his eyes quickly.

San struggled against a police officer who had him, a woman- his mother- standing at a distance, wringing her hands nervously. “Don’t hurt him!” She called weakly as San struggled.

“Get off!” He snapped, trying to tear away from the officer who held him firmly. “Fucking-“

“San!”

All three of them froze, turning to Hongjoong who was getting to his feet, mind racing.

There was a police officer and a woman who was trying to move with him to a new job. What the hell was he supposed to do against this?

He couldn’t just hug this out…

“Don’t- Don’t take him!” Hongjoong cried helplessly, ignoring the officer and speaking directly to his mother. “You- You can’t take him! He’s our friend!”

San stared at Hongjoong, stunned, as the woman’s eyes widened, glancing between the two of them. “You… You know our Sannie?” she asked weakly, sounding close to fainting.

Hongjoong nodded quickly, mind racing. “He- He’s our friend. You can’t take him! Please, ma’am, he’s our friend-“ He probably sounded pathetic.

She turned to San slowly, weak hands clutched to her chest. “You… You never told us you… ever made friends…” She seemed stunned, and San looked at her, torn between anger and realization that she was listening.

“I… I met them… when I ran away,” he said quietly, falling still in the officer’s grasp.

“We’ve been… searching for Sannie for months,” she whispered hoarsely, looking to Hongjoong and clutching her chest. “He… We’re moving to the South. His father’s work-“

“Please,” Hongjoong begged, ignoring the officer’s annoyed look as he clasped his hands, not having to work hard to have tears falling over his cheeks. “Please, San is… We need him,” he croaked, looking at San before glancing away. “He’s one of us. He’s part of- of our family-“

San… who was always a pain in the ass, always causing trouble, always corralling the youngers to act against Hongjoong’s imposed title of leader…

But you’d never find someone more attentive and kind, always having a hug to give or a snack to share when he didn’t think you’d eaten… The first to volunteer to go on walks together, the one who never cared if someone was in a bad mood… he’d always be there to cheer them up.

Hongjoong was almost sure he’d made a mistake, given that this woman was San’s family.

What he didn’t expect… was for her to tear up, glancing at San before turning to Hongjoong. “San… was telling us… that he didn’t have a home. Not even with us, his family…”

“I… I have a home, Mom.”

They all turned to San who was staring at Hongjoong like he was a superhero out of a comic book.

“I… I found a home with them,” He confessed quietly, staring at her pleading, his own eyes shimmering. “I’m… I’m happy with them, Mom.”

She cried harder, in disbelief, pressing a hand to her mouth, eyes clenched shut in pain. “What- What am I supposed to do?” she whispered, wiping at her tears weakly. “We- We’re moving. We’ve already pushed it back so long-“

“Tell Dad not to take the job,” San begged, taking the words from Hongjoong, eyes pleading as he realized that the was bending. She was listening.

She wanted him to be happy.

“The only reason we move is because he keeps trying to get bigger paying projects- we don’t need more, Mom.”

Hongjoong’s heart wrenched when San’s own tears started falling as he tugged at the officer’s hold, like he wanted to get closer to his mother.

“I don’t want more,” he hissed weakly, blinking more tears down his cheeks. “I- I’m finally happy, Mom,” he whispered. “I’m happy with them. They- They mean everything to me-“

“He’s everything to us,” Hongjoong broke in, eyes begging. “Ma’am, please… Don’t take him. We… We’re happy with him. And… and all we want is for San to be happy, too.”

His mother was sobbing at this point, trying to stifle it behind her hands that covered his face, trying to compose herself.

San stared, holding his breath and eyes raw with pleas and desperation, straining against the officer.

Hongjoong felt like he was going to vomit.

“We’ll… we’ll take care of him,” he promised quietly, hoping he didn’t cross a line. “San… always wanted a place to belong.”

They all looked at him, making his skin heat.

“We… We will do whatever it takes… to make sure he feels like he belongs. That he has a home. That his friends will never leave him… With us… he will always have a home. Even if… Even if you take him somewhere else.”

San’s eyes widened, lips parting as more tears fell, a quiet sob caught in his throat as his mother blinked past tears, nodding weakly to what Hongjoong had said.

“I-“ Her croaky voice broke, making her cry quiet, waving a hand at the officer. “Let- Let him go,” she managed weakly, still sounding faint. “I… Let him go. We’ve found him, we don’t need you anymore, Officer. Just… please go.”

The officer looked like he was going to protest, like there was more he needed to do, but he slowly released San who jerked away, standing away, glaring at him, as if daring him to try and touch him.

Slowly, San turned his mother. “Mom,” he whispered quietly, wetting his lips. “I… I’m finally happy here,” he whispered hoarsely. “I…don’t want to leave them, Mom. They… They mean everything to me. I found a- a home with them.”

But his mother was shaking her head sharply, waving a hand weakly. “I’ll… speak with your father,” she whispered faintly, voice thick and weak. “I… will make sure you can stay with your friends. I… I promise, Sannie.” She stared at him with tears flooding her eyes. “I… will do everything I can to give this to you.”

San’s eyes widened to saucers, paling. “Are- Are you serious? You’ll convince him not to leave?”  

“It won’t- won’t be easy,” she hiccupped, wiping at her eyes. “But… I won’t let him… take my baby’s happiness. Not… Not this time.”

San hugged her.

And based on what Hongjoong knew… it was the first time he had ever done so, the woman looking ready to faint as he braced her hands on San’s arms, eyes closed tightly.

San was suddenly in front of Hongjoong throwing his arms around him.

It was also the first time… the two of them had ever embraced beyond a teasing hold when they did well on a performance.

Hongjoong didn’t hesitate to hug him back tightly, crushing him tightly, lightheaded on the fact that this woman had given this to San…

Would San have ever spoken to her on his own? Or would his hatred have stilled his mouth in anger until it was too late? Would she have ever listened if she hadn’t had proof in the form of Hongjoong’s appearance?

“Thank you,” San hissed, voice thick with tears.

Hongjoong buried his face in San’s neck, the familiar person in his arms allowing him a moment to relax. “We will always be your home,” he whispered desperately.

“I know,” San murmured, crying quietly. “You’re already… my home.”

San melted away.

And when Hongjoong opened his eyes, he was standing in front of Wooyoung.

Wooyoung, who was glaring at him, as if he was ready to roll Hongjoong over. “What do you want?” he muttered, a duffle bag over his shoulder and annoyance in his eyes.

The same duffle bag he had walked out with the last time Hongjoong saw him.

“Why are you leaving?” he demanded weakly, mouth dry with a lack of knowledge.

He didn’t know why Wooyoung had walked out. Well, he could guess, but he never said a word about it.

“Why do you think?” Wooyoung snapped, glaring. “This isn’t what I fucking signed up for, Hongjoong. At least at the underground, we actually danced instead of just fighting every day- half of us aren’t even still here!”

Hongjoong stared, his mind blanking as Wooyoung- usually bright, playful Wooyoung- glared at him accusingly.

“I came here to grow,” Wooyoung muttered, shouldering past him angrily. “The only thing here is people fighting every day. I’m not sticking around for an inevitable failure. I’ll take people who can’t criticize me over this mess-“

“We’re still growing.”

Wooyoung stopped, turning around, annoying. “What?” he snapped, adjusting his bag.

Hongjoong stared at him pleadingly, the distance between them seeming like a mile.

Wooyoung was so close… but so far away. And Hongjoong was dizzy from trying to reach so many people, to finally say all the things he hadn’t been smart enough to voice before.

“We… We’re still growing, Wooyoung,” he said breathlessly, wetting his lips. “In- In the same way we still need practice to dance… we’re still growing as people. We’re still learning how to find the beat to life. We’re still trying to find the melody we want to dance to-“

“Real poetic,” Wooyoung huffed, but he looked less annoyed.

Hongjoong latched onto it with both hands.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I- I’m sorry I let it get this far. I’m sorry I was too obsessed with the music to understand that… that the thing I was supposed to be looking out for… was you guys.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes. But he didn’t leave.

“We’re… young and dumb, Wooyoung,” Hongjoong said frantically, kicking at the dirt outside the warehouse. “We’re stupid and we get annoyed at stupid things… but… we’re not perfect. And… we don’t want to be, right?”

Wooyoung’s annoyance dropped into something flat, as if the statement had surprised him… but he was curious.

“If… If we were perfect at living… then why would we ever keep doing it?” he demanded weakly, hands shaking. “If we can’t sit here… and criticize our mistake in life, like we do in dance… If you don’t help people learn and grow from their mistakes, like when you lead us in dance… Then what’s the point of living at all? We-“

“You’ve made your point,” Wooyoung sighed, rolling his eyes to the sky and crossing his arms tightly. “I get it. Dancing and life juxtaposed- It’s real poetic, Hongjoong.”

He held his breath, watching Wooyoung shake his head and groan, kicking at the dirt.

“I don’t know what you want from me, though,” Wooyoung huffed, looking at him expectantly. “Half of us are gone, and the rest of us practically hate enough other-“

“We’ll be better,” Hongjoong promised, heart clenching. “We’ll… We’ll treat each other better. We’ll learn from our mistakes, and I’ll get the others back. I’ll… I’ll fix it all, I promise.”

He had to fix it. He needed to bring back that laughter. Not for his own comfort… but for their happiness.

Wooyoung lips quirked, but Hongjoong could see it in his eyes.

The mischief he felt whenever a challenge arose.

“It’s a lot of mistakes to fix, Hongjoong.”

“We were able to successfully teach each other to dance Lucifer by Shinee,” Hongjoong said breathlessly, feeling it at the tip of his fingertips. “I think we can teach each other… how to stop being pieces of shit. We’ll grow, Wooyoung, I promise… I just need you to understand we aren’t perfect.”

Wooyoung stared at him flatly.

But then he smiled, bright and vibrant- challenging. “If you think I whoop your asses during practice, you have no idea the hell I’m about to unleash on you.”

Hongjoong felt a weight lift from his shoulder as he sprinted forward, hugging Wooyoung tightly, shocking him. “Unleash hell,” he laughed weakly. “We’ll need it.”

Wooyoung snorted, patting his back. “Now I know we’re fucked. You’re willingly hugging someone.”

By the time Hongjoong had laughed and opened his eyes… Wooyoung was gone.

And Yeosang stood before him, looking like someone who had just got caught with their hand stuck in a cookie jaw, guilty and fearful and caught red handed.  

Hongjoong’s head was beginning to spin, but the moment he saw what was in Yeosang’s hands, he frowned, shaking off the sensation of Wooyoung’s hug as he stared at the other before him.

There was a large stack of textbooks and papers in his arms. They were standing outside a school building, in a dirt patch of a courtyard where Yeosang had been walking through.

“H-Hongjoong,” he stammered, eyes widening fearfully, like he’d been caught. “What- How- How did you get in here?” he demanded, glancing around frantically. “You- You can’t- This isn’t-“

Hongjoong stared at him. At his flighty movements… the gaunt circles under his eyes… the empty locker… the sudden disappearance after that…

Hongjoong’s eyes widened in realization, a knife driving into his heart as horror etched into his face.

Yeosang’s eyes widened, seeming to realize that Hongjoong understood what was happening.

Hongjoong hadn’t even known… that two of his friends… had felt so alone… He’d lost two of them… because they thought they were alone. And he hadn’t even known Yeosang had been… gone. He’d never bothered to find out-

“Yeosang,” he whispered, his eyes raw and itchy from crying so much, but his heart hurt so badly, there was nothing else he could possibly do but cry.

Because Yeosang was here… so alone that he was preemptively cleaning out a locker…

And as soon as he’d began to cry, Yeosang’s face almost crumbled like weak plaster, the books falling from his arms to tumble to ground as he curled around his middle, a weak sob ripping from his throat like a knife to Hongjoong’s chest-

Hongjoong stepped forward as Yeosang cried, the sort of sobs that only came people who felt truly… truly… alone. People who thought they had nothing left.

Hongjoong hugged him. Tighter than he’d hugged anyone in his life, he hugged Yeosang, over the arms that protected himself, but Yeosang let him.

“I- I’m- I’m s-sorry ,” he sobbed, leaning on Hongjoong with a body that practically convulsed with sobs. “I- I don’t know- I don’t know what else to d-do - I was so- so fucking tired of it all- Family, t-the warehouse- the f-fighting-“

“No,” Hongjoong whispered around the stone lodged in his throat, holding him tighter, tucking him against Hongjoong’s body as firmly as he could, his eyes closed tightly, wishing he could never let go. “No, I’m sorry,” he whispered weakly, throat torn to shreds with fear and anguish. “I’m sorry we weren’t there for you… I’m sorry I never noticed…I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

“’S n-not your f-fault,” he cried, finally dropping his arms from his stomach, wrapping them around Hongjoong and embracing him back painfully tight, holding onto Hongjoong like he was his last lifeline.

Hongjoong bit back a sob as Yeosang trembled in his arms, almost crying too hard to keep himself up, but there was… relief in Yeosang’s breaths.

Sometimes… all it took was a single moment… to remind someone they weren’t alone. To change a future.

“We’re here for you,” Hongjoong whispered hoarsely, tangling fingers in Yeosang’s hair tightly, eyes clenched shut. “Always, Yeosang- We will always be here for you. We will always be your family, your friends… I know we fought too much, and I’m sorry… I’m sorry I couldn’t fix that.”

Yeosang cried harder, his foot hitting a textbook, but Hongjoong stroked his hair, willing him to let out the emotions that had been buried in his chest so deeply… he’d let them fester into the worst.

“We will always give you the freedom we can,” he swore hoarsely, voice shaking. “And we will always be there… if your freedom tells you run. We’ll be there to catch you when you fall. You aren’t a caged bird, Yeosang.”

He stiffened, choking on a sob.

“You are free,” he whispered hoarsely. “Maybe you can’t escape… but you will always have us. We will always be your freedom, Yeosang. You will always be free when you are with us.”

Yeosang’s legs gave out as he sobbed harder, clinging to Hongjoong like everything would fall apart if he let go. Hongjoong moved with him, both of them sinking to the ground, until they knelt in the dirt, clinging to each other as Yeosang sobbed, apologies and thank you’s and every other kind of word tumbling over his lips-

Hongjoong caught them all, hushing him and whispering to him all the things he had been too ignorant to say before, eyes shut tight and heart shriveling over and over and over.

They loved him. They were there for him. His struggles… were real and valid, and they would face them together. They couldn’t make his life perfect, but they could face it together.

He was not alone.

None of them… were ever alone.

“Th-Thank you,” Yeosang cried weakly, the scene beginning to blur. “ Thank you, Hongjoong-“

It tumbled off his lips a hundred times before it faded to nothing as the scene was ripped from him, leaving Hongjoong aching and empty, but full to bursting at the thought of what he’d stopped-

He was still crying.

He was still on his knees. It hurt too much to stand, sobs still caught in his throat as he curled over his legs, finally letting go of a pained wail that probably sounded like a wounded animal-

He didn’t care.

All of them… had faced so much. And he’d never known, never bothered to ask… He just stood by and let them suffer, convinced by a smiling face and joking laughter… Convinced that distractions were enough to erase all the pain from outside.

So much suffering, under his nose… But he was… he was fixing it, right? He was making it better, he was being better-

He was fixing what the world broke in them… right?

“Hongjoong?”

He gasped, eyes flying open at the gentle voice next to him, sitting up fast enough to have a hand catching him in the chest, pushing him back down quickly with a surprised noise.

“Hey,” Seonghwa’s quiet voice murmured gently, holding him and brushing his cheeks that were soaked with tears. “What were you dreaming about?” he questioned softly, brow furrowed in slight concern at the tears clinging to his eyes. “Was it some sort of nightmare?”

Hongjoong stared at him, suddenly having all life sucked from him.

Seonghwa was right there.

Hongjoong glanced around quickly, but the warehouse was empty, with only the two of them laying on the couch, Hongjoong stuffed between the cushions and Seonghwa, who clung to him to avoid falling off the edge.

Hongjoong… couldn’t name anything specific about the day. It wasn’t the last time he’d seen Seonghwa, it wasn’t the first time he’d said he loved him… It seemed like some regular day.

“The- The others?” he questioned, glancing around as Seonghwa sat up carefully, helping him to.

“They all went out,” Seonghwa reminded him gently, frowning in concern. “They won’t be back till much later. Are you okay?” he asked, taking in Hongjoong’s shaken demeanor.

Hongjoong was mute, trying to figure out what to do.

The scene he’d seen… Seonghwa had been told to love himself before loving someone else. What did Hongjoong have to do with that?

“Seonghwa,” he breathed, trying to concentrate when Seonghwa was right there, after so long… After hurting so much…

He shook his head. It wasn’t about what had hurt Hongjoong. It was about what broke Seonghwa.

Seonghwa merely lifted an eyebrow- one of those stupidly, annoyingly sharp eyebrows, and Hongjoong wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

What was he supposed to fix?

“Do you… love yourself?”

The hoarse whisper was met with a surprised blink and slightly wide eyes, as if he’d taken Seonghwa in a complete blind side.

“I… What kind of question is that?” he chuckled, laying a hand on Hongjoong’s thigh like he always did. Touching was never fearful for Seonghwa.

“I just… I want to know,” he managed weakly, taking deep breaths to center himself, to focus on him. “I- I just wanted to make sure you… were okay…”

Was that it? Was he supposed to teach Seonghwa to love himself?

But Seonghwa chuckled, lifting the hand to brush hair behind Hongjoong’s ear. “I’d say I love myself, yeah,” he said lightly, voice softening as he stared at Hongjoong warmly. “You know… It’s actually funny,” He murmured. “My first relationship ended because she said I needed to learn to love myself. I didn’t understand what she meant, then… But I eventually did.”

“How?” Hongjoong questioned, frowning…

What was he supposed to be doing here?

“How did you learn to love yourself?”

Seonghwa laughed, leaning back on the couch and lacing his fingers with Hongjoong’s smaller ones. “You’re suddenly very curious,” he murmured warmly, but it didn’t stop him from answering. “You’re not usually one to ask about the past.”

It wasn’t an accusation.

Hongjoong took it as one, another needle in his heart. It wasn’t that he didn’t care… it was just how the warehouse worked. You didn’t talk about anything that could hurt.

But Seonghwa shrugged, moving on. “I didn’t realize… that loving myself wasn’t just about confidence.” He stared off absently. “It took me a long time… but I realized that loving myself also meant… doing things for myself.”

Hongjoong stared, trying to concentrate around the hand circling his, rubbing comforting circles in his wrist, warm and soft and familiar enough to have Hongjoong want to say fuck it and just fall into Seonghwa like he had done so easily before.

But it wasn’t about him.

“I made a list,” he laughed, looking at Hongjoong like he wanted him to agree that that was silly. “Things like…learning languages, getting a puppy, traveling… all about things that would help me love myself.” He chuckled. “And one of them…was to fall in love. I figured that once I could manage that… it would mean I really did love myself.”

Seonghwa loved Hongjoong.

He squeezed Hongjoong’s hand. “I did all of them, to some extent. And looking back… I realized that I used to live my life trying to appeal myself to others so that they would love me.”

He sat up, drawing his legs up and leaning closer to Hongjoong with a warm smile.

“Loving myself… meant being myself, and letting someone choose me for who I was. Not for who I made myself into for them.”

Hongjoong’s eyes widened. “You- You didn’t do that for me, did you?” he asked, stomach dropping. “Appealing-“

Seonghwa laughed, and Hongjoong yelped when he was suddenly being embraced, warm and comforting…

Enough so that Hongjoong immediately teared up, the sensation of a hug… He’d fussed, before. He’d rejected them and shoved him away, flustered… But now he clung to him, burying his face in Seonghwa’s shoulder with shuddering breaths.

“Hugging me back?” Seonghwa chuckled, rubbing his back gently. “But… no, I never did that for you. You were the first person who picked me for who I was… And I love you with everything that I am, Hongjoong. Because you loved me who everything that I really was.”

I loved you with everything I had, Hongjoong… Did you ever do the same?

Hongjoong was crying.

Seonghwa noticed, stiffening before pulling away, holding Hongjoong close, even as he stared in concern. “What?” he questioned, reaching and brushing beneath his eyes with the utmost care, gentle hands…

Loving hands.

Seonghwa… had spent his days loving Hongjoong openly, passionately, honestly… and Hongjoong had repaid him with reluctance and half-loves. Actions with no words, words with no meaning…. Silence with no response.

No fucking wonder Seonghwa would doubt him.

Seonghwa had spent so much of his life building the version of himself that he wanted… and he waited so long for love, after learning to love himself. And Hongjoong… had given him an abridged version, after Seonghwa had searched for so long for someone to love him like he loved himself.

Hongjoong had practically scorned the work that Seonghwa did, practically calling it not enough or too much… with how much he pushed him away, no matter how much his heart adored the touches.

Hongjoong had never spoken about his lack of responses… he’d simply thought Seonghwa would be satisfied with his pathetic actions and understand the love behind them.

What a horrible, selfish way to love someone.

“I- I love you.”

Seonghwa frowned deeper, holding Hongjoong’s cheeks gently, tilting his head up to look him in the eyes. “What’s with that coming up suddenly?” he asked, looking like he might laugh if not for his real concern. “I love you, too, but-“

“I love you so fucking much,” Hongjoong cried, eyes clenched shut, sending more tears over Seonghwa’s gentle fingers, Hongjoong’s hand coming up and grasping his wrist, leaning into the touch.

He’d been so afraid of touch.

For what? Was it so terrifying to accept what Seonghwa was giving him? What Seonghwa had crafted as his own brand of love… Hongjoong had rejected that and expected Seonghwa to understand it as love?

Stupid, stupid, stupid-

“I never say it,” he cried weakly, unable to see Seonghwa through his tears, “I- I never said it back but once, and I- I never said what I really thought, I just expected you to understand-“

“Hongjoong…” Seonghwa whispered, sounding wounded.

“You’re beautiful,” Hongjoong hissed, trying to squint through the flood of tears, but it just made more fall as he thought back to every moment he’d stared at Seonghwa doing nothing and had his breath stolen. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Seonghwa, and just being near you takes me breath away every fucking day-“

Seonghwa’s brushed tears away, but more just replaced them-

“Never,” He hissed quietly, squeezing Seonghwa’s wrist tightly. “Never let me go a day without tell you,” he begged weakly. “Never go a day where you doubt it, Seonghwa, because I couldn’t say it, but it’s true,” he hissed. “I love you so much, it’s terrifying. And you are so beautiful, I can’t stand it. And my world was so fucking dark before you came into it, and loving you was the best thing I ever did-“

“Hongjoong-“

“But never saying it was my worst mistake,” he cried, the sight of Seonghwa walking away… tearing into his heart. “Never let me not say it,” he begged, head falling forward into Seonghwa’s chest. “And even if I’m an idiot and get scared, please, I need you to know that I love you so fucking much, Seonghwa,” he breathed weakly, fisting his shirt weakly. “I love you with everything I am… and I love you for everything that you are.”

He’d been selfish. Too obsessed with his own comfort… to realize that Seonghwa had practically been loving for nothing in return.

Seonghwa’s chest stuttered.

“You are the light of my fucking life,” Hongjoong breathed, suddenly feeling exhausted as Seonghwa held him closer. “And I never… never, never, never… want you to ever doubt that. And even if it kills me… I’m going to remind you every fucking day, Seong-“

A tear dripping onto Hongjoong’s temple made him freeze, head lifting quickly to see Seonghwa staring at him, warmth in his eyes that slowly dripped tears.

And it was the sort of gaze… that showed that Seonghwa had had his doubts. He had looked at Hongjoong and wondered what was love and what was indifference. He had given love, been rejected- however jokingly- and wondered if it was returned…

It was the face of having those doubts assuaged.

And Hongjoong cursed himself for ever being selfish enough to make Seonghwa simply “understand” that he was in love. Rather than taking two fucking seconds to reassure him.

Hongjoong rose up, cupping his face gently, feeling like he was being torn in two and stitched back together.

He was so tired. He had faced so much in so little time. But he was so fueled with adrenaline and love and a desire to prove it, over and over and over-

A million times over… he wanted Seonghwa to get sick of hearing it. He wanted him to hear the words so often, they lost all meaning, but that feeling would never leave.

“I love you,” Hongjoong whispered, shifting closer until they were nose to nose. “I love every part of you, Seonghwa… You are beautiful, and you are mine… And I will never let you forget it. I swear to you-“

His speech was cut off by Seonghwa grabbing the back of his head and pressing their lips together desperately, as if he was aware of their limited moments.

Hongjoong clung to him, in ways that he hadn’t allowed himself to, before. He climbed into Seonghwa’s lap shamelessly, letting Seonghwa hold onto him, letting him pull him closer, letting him work Hongjoong’s mouth open and not bothering to hide how much he wanted to touch Seonghwa back.

His hand slipped beneath Seonghwa’s shirt while the other traversed across his chest and neck, threading through his hair, feeling the soft strands gently.

Seonghwa held his face, and Hongjoong didn’t shake him off. He clutched at his hip, and Hongjoong moaned at the pressure, pulling Seonghwa closer like he hadn’t before.

“I love you,” he breathed between each parting of their lips, even if he didn’t have the breath to spare, his head spinning with lightheadedness-

“Thank you,” Seonghwa whispered, dropping his head and kissing up the column of Hongjoong’s neck, making him keen gently, hands gripping Seonghwa’s arms as electricity shot up his spine. “I love you, Hongjoong, thank you-“

“Don’t-“ He pleaded, eyes shutting against the sensation of lips against his skin, soft and warm and loving…

Hongjoong couldn’t believe he’d ever rejected them.

“Don’t thank me for doing what I should have always done,” he breathed, breath catching when Seonghwa nosed behind his ear, catching the lobe between his teeth gently. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, throat bobbing as Seonghwa dragged his lips across it softly. “I’m sorry I ever made you doubt- I love you so much, it hurts, Seonghwa. I love you so much, it terrifies me-“

“I know,” he whispered, dragging lips back up to Hongjoong’s, kissing away the fear for a moment, holding him close with eyes that swam with warmth and adoration. “I know that it’s terrifying… but I love you, Hongjoong. Even if you never loved me back… I would still love you with everything I was.”

“I do,” Hongjoong breathed frantically, holding onto him, feeling the air beginning to shift. “I do love you back, Seonghwa- I will always love you, no matter where you go or what happens. No matter where we are-“

His own voice began echoing, and Hongjoong tried to hold on tighter.

“No matter what, Seonghwa, I will always love you,” he breathed, feeling the scene blur. “Never forget it, never-“

“I won’t,” Seonghwa’s voice whispered from afar. “I’ll never forget it, Hongjoong.”

He was afraid to open his eyes.

He was shaking, his heart vulnerable and sensitive and aching…

Why did it ache so bad-

“I… don’t believe it.”

Hongjoong lifted his head quickly, eyes wide. He stared into his own eyes beneath the brim of a hat and above a mask, but even with his obscured features… Hongjoong very clearly saw shock etched into the darkness of his own eyes that stared down at him.

The man in the fedora stared at Hongjoong.

“You… You fixed it.”

Hongjoong was still reeling, his heart pounding and his stomach churning and his mouth dry as sandpaper-

“Th-The hourglass,” he stammered, standing on his feet unsteadily, glancing around, unsteady, like he’d gotten off a spinning ride.

They were in the warehouse. Nothing broken. But just as empty as the first time they met here. Anxiety and fear gathered in Hongjoong’s stomach, but he forced it down, turning to himself.

“San,” he breathed weakly, “Yeosang, and Wooyoung… they’re in the hourglass,” he managed, watching his own eyes drop.

Fear, shock, horror… and distraught…

“They’re trapped, they said… They guide the people you give the hourglass to-“

“In… the hourglass,” he whispered back, voice numb and hollow, like he couldn’t comprehend it.

Hongjoong nodded quickly, swallowing the thickness in his throat. “They’re in there, they’re safe, but they’re trapped-“

“You… You’re positive?” he breathed, black leather gloves clenching tightly at his sides as an unspeakable kind of pain etched through his eyes.

The kind of pain that only came from having nothing… and then being taunted yet again with everything.  

Hongjoong nodded rapidly. “They… They want you know… that it’s okay to take a break,” he whispered. “You don’t have… to lose yourself to find them. They… don’t want that.”

He stared at Hongjoong in blank shock. As if someone had just been told their entire life was a lie.

“The… the hourglass… They’re in the hourglass-“

“I don’t know where the others are,” Hongjoong confessed weakly, heart wrenching as the man stared at the hourglass that was suddenly on the table between them. He dropped to his knees, staring at it like he would begin to weep. “They didn’t say anything about them…”

“I… I can find them, with their help,” the man whispered, holding the hourglass with a new gentleness, something in his eyes warring between hope and anger and determination… and something too soft to name.

Despite his terrifying posture and appearance… Hongjoong only felt pity for this broken version… so desperate, doing everything in his power…

Hongjoong tried to imagine seeing that scene of Yunho over and over… and having the strength to keep going back…

“The hourglass,” the man whispered brokenly. “All this time… All the times I used it…”

“They don’t blame you,” Hongjoong whispered, making the man look at him, distraught and in anguish. “They know you’re looking for them. But… they don’t want you to lose yourself. They want you to rest…to be safe.”

The man lowered his eyes to the hourglass. “They… always told me I obsessed too much,” he murmured, dark but gentle…

Hongjoong didn’t understand their relationships with each other. But he knew… this was a man who cared for these others beyond all else. Even his own sanity.

“I’m sorry… I can’t tell you anything more,” Hongjoong murmured gently. “If I could-“

“It’s enough,” the man whispered, holding to hourglass gently, staring at it with stardust in his eyes. “This… is the first hope I’ve found in years.” He lifted his eyes to Hongjoong, observant and stiff.  “My suspicions were right,” he murmured. “You are different from the others who tried.”

“I… I just listened to what San, Wooyoung, and Yeosang told me,” Hongjoong whispered, shrugging weakly. “It… It’s not about me. It’s not about what I can do to make my life easiest, to easy my pain, to fix my heart…. It’s about fixing what broke them. It’s about reminding them… that I’d let the world burn before letting something happen to them.”

The man stared at him curiously.

Hongjoong wet his lips. “Did you… also feel that for them?”

He lowered his eyes to the hourglass. “I have let worlds burn for them,” he whispered. “It was those decisions… that drove them away. They called me obsessed with protecting them, that I needed to look at the world as a whole… but they were my whole world. The only parts that were worth saving… and the only people who were ever stupid enough to pledge their loyalty to me.”

Hongjoong… couldn’t imagine.

But… hadn’t they all pledged themselves to their new dream?

“But it’s not… about me,” the man whispered, a new realization in his voice. “Perhaps… my actions in protecting them… are selfish. For my own comfort… Perhaps…”

He suddenly looked up at Hongjoong who held his breath as that same tired, war-torn expression worked back into his eyes. As if he were so tired… but that he knew his journey was almost over.

“Thank you,” he murmured, tucking the hourglass between his hands. “I am glad… you were able to fix it. It has… given me more hope than I ever dared to imagine.”

Hongjoong stepped forward quickly, eyes wide. “I really did it?” he asked frantically. “I- I saved them?”

He hadn’t started over again…

The man smiled beneath his mask, heavy but genuine. “Wake up and find out,” he whispered.

The light suddenly flared again, making Hongjoong flinch-

He was getting really fucking tired of getting blinded.

But… when he opened his eyes…

“Hyung!”

His eyes flew open, jumping into awareness from dead asleep as he sat up, rubbing at his eyes, startled by the yell-

He turned.

The equipment was covered in a tarp, now that it wasn’t in use, because Yunho was paranoid.

The table was covered in notes, neatly stacked and arranged by Seonghwa for easy finding.  

The mirrors were front and center from where Wooyoung had run them through the ringer during practice.

The couch cushions were set up against the wall where Yeosang had made a personal makeshift bed.

And near the door of the warehouse… there was all of them.

All of them.

“Hurry up!” San yelled, rolling his eyes with a laugh.

“Told you not to let the old man sleep,” Wooyoung muttered, grinning.

“But, of course, he needs it.” Mingi.

“I can’t wait until he wakes up enough to beat your asses.” Jongho.

“Can we go? I want ice cream…” Yeosang.

“Leave your ‘meditation’ for another time, hyung!” Yunho.

“Come on, love.”

Hongjoong jumped, Seonghwa suddenly appearing beside him, taking his hand and hauling him up with a warm smile.

“You promised them a walk and some ice cream if they finished in one take,” Seonghwa said, looping his arm through Hongjoong’s. “Are you going to back out?”

Hongjoong was frozen, staring at them.

They were smiling back at him, arms crossed and expectant and… and real. Here.

“It’s… not a dream, is it?” Hongjoong whispered, heart clenching tightly. He almost didn’t want to hope. Hope… was so dangerous.

Yeosang chuckled, rolling his eyes. “You treating us to ice cream is rare and all, but I wouldn’t call it a dream.”

“Maybe you’re still half asleep,” Yunho chuckled. “My brother used to sleep talk all the time.”

Holy shit.

“I’m getting pistachio.”

“No one gives a shit, San.”

“Fuck off!” San scoffed. “I’m about to just go home.”

“What home?” Jongho snorted. “This is home.”

Home.

“Hongjoong?”

He looked over, still dazed and found Seonghwa frowning in gentle concern.

“Are you feeling okay?” he questioned, reaching up and touching his forehead to check for a fever.

Hongjoong couldn’t breathe, but he stared at Seonghwa like he hung the fucking stars. He was here.

“I love you.”

Seonghwa laughed, some of the concern melting away as he hugged Hongjoong briefly. “I know,” he chuckled quietly. “You’ve told me three times today.” He squeezed Hongjoong’s hand. “So are you ready to get ice cream together or not?”

Hongjoong turned back to them.

They were all waiting, exasperated, but every single one of them smiling at him.

“Oh my God, are you really going to withhold it until we do the hug?” Mingi groaned, rolling his eyes so hard, it looked painful.

“Alright, guys, get up!” Yunho said, shoving everyone over towards him. Hongjoong stared at them, a little panicked, but Seonghwa was the first to wrap his arms around Hongjoong tightly.

“Love you,” he whispered in Hongjoong’s ears, making his heart clench.

“Aw, me too, hyung,” San cooed, hugging the outer shell of their hug.

“Not you,” Seonghwa said flatly.

“Yeah, he was talking to me,” Yeosang said matter of factly, also joining the embrace.

And one by one… they were all wrapped around each other, a group hug so large, they stumbled around as people shifted, making Hongjoong break into laughter when San stepped on Mingi’s foot too hard-

“Okay, enough!” Yeosang called, clapping his hands. “I’ve got shit to do this evening, and I want ice cream beforehand!”  

“Princess,” Wooyoung chuckled as he passed by, making Yeosang send him a withered glare.

“Peasant.”

“Ice cream!” Jongho demanded, glaring at Hongjoong, who felt like the sun was about to leap from his chest, glancing from his crutches to the folder in his hand. Jongho noticed his stare. “So I’m gonna practice while we eat. So sue me,” he challenged with a snort.

Hongjoong felt like he was floating off, but he was right where he ever wanted to be. The pieces of the mirror and home and past all pressed together… like they should be.  

“Okay,” he replied back, quieter than he meant to… but Seonghwa guided him forward when his legs continued to feel too numb to operate. “Yeah… let’s go get ice cream.”

“Yeah!” The chorus was taken up as they all sprinted from the warehouse.

Seonghwa and he followed, slower, but keeping up as Seonghwa kissed his temple. “I’m sure you’ll be able to lord this over their heads for a while. Think of it that way.”

Hongjoong stared at them, walking along together, laughing as they shoved everyone around…

“Guys.”

They all turned, frowning at his serious tone, playfulness dying…

“I love you guys,” he whispered, a watery smile on his lips, his blood warm and heart full.

“Gross!”

“Hyung, what the fuck!”

“I’m not kissing you!”

“That’s a little gay, hyung.”

“Take it back!”

Hongjoong laughed as they ignored him, but every single one of them was smiling.

“They love you, too,” Seonghwa chuckled into his ear.

The sun was setting, casting them in gold, like a prize to be embossed and remembered.

“I know,” Hongjoong whispered, tears in his eyes but hope in his heart. “They’re not alone anymore…” They weren’t alone.

He hadn’t even realized he said it aloud until Seonghwa kissed him again. “Neither are you,” he murmured warmly, gratefully… lovingly.  

He wasn’t… alone.

“I love you, Seonghwa… so much,” he breathed.

They were happy.

Seonghwa chuckled, the sound drowning out Wooyoung’s shrieking as Yeosang got him in a headlock, everyone cheering them on. “I know,” he murmured back.

Jongho smacked Mingi with his crutch, dodging his counterattack skillfully, triumphant, making them all shove each other around.

They weren’t alone…

They were happy.

There was laughter again.