Chapter Text
When even Soonie and Doongie have decided to avoid him and Dori is following him about, belly low to the ground, Minho knows his mood and scent must be foul. Only the youngest of his feline brothers has deigned to acknowledge him today. With regretful gratitude, Minho squats down and holds out his hand so Dori will approach and let himself be pet. It’s a faint solace that at least one of his cats wants him around. It’s not like anyone else in the apartment building does.
It’s for the best that he’s required to wear scent blockers at work. While he can keep his face placid, something expressionless that most recognize as normal for Minho, his scent would certainly cause both concern and complaints. He’s been told what he smells like when he’s unhappy. At present, he feels unconsolable.
He’d wanted to confess to Jeongin, once all this was done, and his duty to Chan was complete. When he was no longer under any obligation and Jeongin was free to make his own choices. He’d thought they’d be able to sit down and have a conversation about it. Minho could explain how he felt, as vulnerable that might make him, and have the opportunity to convince Jeongin of why he should be willing to give them a chance. That Jeongin could recognise that while Minho isn’t perfect, not the best alpha, that he would always try to be what Jeongin needed him to be. That he cared enough to work to make Jeongin happy and comfortable. That he’d strive to ensure that Jeongin never once questioned if his partner admired or adored him. Jeongin would know it daily, as clearly as he knew water was wet; a fact that was acknowledged innately and need never be questioned.
He would try to be a good partner. He always had in the past, even if he’d never measured up in the way that was expected. Minho had thought he and Jeongin worked well together. They seemed to be in sync, in tune with what each other needed. Jeongin understood him, knew his sense of humour, was never offended by the quirky or strange things he might say, and while Jeongin didn’t always know how Minho’s thoughts went from one thing to another, he always tried to follow along.
Minho had never had a shot.
Dori doesn’t complain when Minho picks him up and carries him over to the couch so he can sit down. The cat rests his paws on Minho’s shoulders, leans in and rubs the side of his head against Minho’s neck and the dulcet tones of his purr would usually improve Minho’s mood, having it turn on a dime. Not this time though. Minho’s not yet ready to be consoled.
It’s not that he doesn’t want to feel better, or put this behind him. It’s more that he’s not sure how. It took a pregnancy and daily contact with Jeongin for Minho to realise he’s in love with him, and perhaps has been for far longer than that. Having realised how deeply he cares for Jeongin, when he looks back, he’s unable to determine when and why his feelings changed.
Minho knows he’s always had a soft spot for Jeongin. He thought he was just trying to be a good hyung taking care of a dongsaeng. Making sure he’d eaten well, that he was getting enough rest, being good to himself, and giving him sound advice.
Given that he can’t figure out what caused his feelings to shift, he’s not sure how to turn them off. How is he meant to move forward when he can’t even explain how he got to where he is now?
His fingers move over Dori’s fur as the cat’s purr continues to rumble against the side of his neck. It’s Friday night. He’s home from work. He’s not going anywhere. Minho isn’t even convinced he’ll find the energy to make dinner. There’s got to be leftovers in his fridge, maybe. If he feels hungry he can eat those. For now, sitting on the couch, petting Dori, and trying not to care about anything seems like a solid plan for the start of his weekend.
It’s been a long, exhausting week.
Having left Jeongin’s apartment, the words ‘I don’t want to play house anymore’ resounded in his thoughts. His mind became an echo chamber where that was all he could think or hear. He’d likely be seeing it too, if he’d been looking at Jeongin when the comment was made. Is it better or worse that he hadn’t seen Jeongin’s expression? That Minho hadn’t captured the disappointment and dismay in Jeongin’s features so he was spared the ability to focus on that image forever.
As much as he might have wanted to trick himself into believing that Jeongin was tired, just waking up and hormonal. It was possible Jeongin would change his mind and apologize for his hasty words, Minho wasn’t willing to rely on that. Jeongin was steady in his emotions, and pregnancy had only made those emotions more deeply felt, rather than causing any mood swings. Regardless, Minho didn’t want to dismiss Jeongin’s words as something said thoughtlessly. He would treat those words as genuine and sincere unless Jeongin informed him otherwise.
Instead, he had to set aside his own pain and do what was right to take care of Jeongin and the pup.Which meant he needed to make arrangements to ensure that Jeongin was taken too and from school, that he had the support he needed, even if Minho wasn’t the one to provide it.
Not wanting to explain what was going on, or having to face questions he wasn’t prepared to answer because he still didn’t know how it had happened, only that he’d fallen out of Jeongin’s favour, he chose to text their mutual friends.
Blaming work, Minho was able to have the arrangements he’d made in January to cover his preparations for the winter showcase reinstated as everyone chipped in to cover for him and support Jeongin.
With that accomplished, he resigned himself to keeping his distance and letting Jeongin redefine their relationship. It wasn’t what he wanted, but it was what was best for the pup, and that mattered more.
Even Jonggyu and Vata returning from Japan with a case of pudding for him hadn’t improved his mood. His first thought had been the delight upon Jeongin’s face when he’d offered to share with him, after he’d appropriately teased Jeongin about his newfound bounty. Swiftly followed by the recollection that presently, Jeongin wanted nothing to do with him. It had darkened his mood accordingly, though he’d put on a brave face to thank his hyungs for thinking of him.
His plans for the night are to stay in with his cats, and hope that eventually Soonie and Doongie would choose to join him while sitting on the couch. Maybe he’ll find something to watch and keep his mind off things.
When his phone lights up with an incoming call, and he recognises that Jisung’s calling, he knows he can’t keep avoiding his friend. He’s been dodging calls all week, sending texts instead, but Jisung is tenacious enough that if he doesn’t answer on the weekend, he’ll have Jisung knocking on his door within the hour. The only thing worse than talking to his friends on the phone at this point would be to see them in person.
“Jagi.”
“Minho hyung! Jeongin told me he was headed to Busan for the weekend and it’s been months since I’ve seen you!” Jisung whines at him, his words quickly flowing in a rush. “So I’m coming over with sushi and soju and we’re watching anime.”
“What if I had plans?” Minho asks, already knowing that Jisung won’t take no for an answer. It hurts to think that anyone else knew of Jeongin’s plans before he did, and to hear of them second hand is worse.
“Jeongin said his trip was decided last minute, so you wouldn’t have had the time to make any plans but sit around with your cats.” Jisung sounds incredibly sure of himself.
Minho sighs and looks forlornly at Dori. He’s not getting out of this. “Fine. Those were my plans.”
“Great. See you in half an hour.”
Later, when Minho opens the door, he finds Hyunjin crowded behind Jisung with a bashful smile as Jisung pushes his way through the door and shoved a takeout bag from their favourite Japanese restaurant into his hands.
Minho glares at Hyunjin over Jisung’s head as he crouches down to remove his shoes. “What are you doing here?”
“You know Jisung is a passenger princess,” Hyunjin replies, opening the closet to find house slippers for himself and Jisung, “and I wanted to know what you did to break Innie’s heart.”
As he slowly blinks, Jisung elbow’s Hyujin, who flinches and then rubs at his side, missing Minho’s scowl return before he heads off to the kitchen to sort out the food they’d brought to eat.
Broke Jeongin’s heart? As if. If anyone’s heart is broken, it’s his. The nerve of Hwang Hyunjin to come into his home and accuse him of such a thing. He would never hurt Iyen. Not his baby boy. He closes his eyes as his hands clench and he leans on the counter. Not his baby boy. But Jeongin isn’t his. His alpha howls in loss and pain, though the sound doesn’t overshadow the sound of disgruntled conversation from the other room.
“You said you were going to be nice,” Jisung hissed.
“I was,” Hyunjin protested, “I didn’t growl at him, or attack him. I was civil.”
“Civil? He doesn’t look like he’s been sleeping. He stinks of rotten leaves and stolid, stagnant waters. You think he wanted this?”
At this, Hyunjin growls. “And Innie smells like someone left their dough out to proof for three days and forgot about it! He’s miserable and sore and isn’t complaining, but we all know something’s not right.”
Minho can’t contain his whimper of distress, amplified by his alpha who is tucking his tail between his legs, hiding his snout beneath crossed paws.
“And you think it’s right to blame Minho hyung?” Jisung snarls back. “Sit your ass down and stay there. There is something wrong, but trying to figure out who to blame isn’t going to fix anything.”
“Fine.” Hyunjin huffs, and the sound of him slumping down into the couch is proof that he’s sulking.
The growing scent of raspberry cheesecake cuts through the decaying forest surrounding Minho as Jisung approaches to stand beside him in the kitchen.
“He’s right,” Minho admits softly, “I must have done something. Everything was fine until it wasn’t, and we both know Jeongin would never harm anyone, so it must be my fault.”
“Hyung,” Jisung sounds disquieted as he leans against Minho. “We both know that you’d never knowingly hurt him.”
No, he never would, but he must have, somehow, without even realising it, because Jeongin no longer wanted him around. Had told him he was tired of pretending to be domestic, and had no willingness to continue to be so. It was a fair request, and Minho could understand. He’d likely been too overbearing, too present. Constantly asking if he’d eaten, if he had rested well, if there was anything he needed. Too willing to leave sweaters, hoodies and shirts around already pre-scented for Jeongin’s comfort. Too quick to lean in and cover Jeongin in his balmy mountain pine and wildflower smell. Especially when he knows how adverse Jeongin is to physical touch most of the time.
He’d been taking advantage of his position as Jeongin’s chosen companion, and Jeongin had finally had enough.
“Doesn’t change that I did, Jisung-ah.”
“I haven’t figured it out yet, but the fact that you’re both upset means something.” Jisung picks up some of the dishes that Minho had pulled out of the bag while he’d been standing in the kitchen. “Grab some plates and chopsticks and let’s go eat. We’ll figure this out, hyung.”
Reluctant as he is to face Hyunjin again, he’s even more reticent about having Jisung drag him out of the kitchen. Obediently, he finds three plates and stacks three sets of chopsticks on them and carries them out to the other room where Jisung and Hyunjin have sat down on the floor by the table with their backs propped up against the couch, leaving him to sit on the other side of the floor with his back to the television. Typical. They’ve likely done it on purpose so he won’t put on some anime and they can insist on talking while they eat.
Hyunjin is still sulking, a frown upon his far too pretty features, and the air about him reeks. “Would you quit that?” Minho pokes his chopsticks towards him. “I’d like to enjoy my meal without the scent of rancid oil and rotting flowers.”
Jisung sways next to Hyunjin, rubbing their shoulders together. “Can you accept that if they’re both miserable that Minho likely didn’t break Jeongin’s heart and something else must be going on?”
Hyunjin rolls his eyes and huffs. “Alright. Fine. Let’s eat.”
Minho squints at them as he removes the lids from the take out containers. “You’re sleeping together again, aren’t you?”
Hyunjin glares at him while Jisung turns red and starts to stammer.
Minho raises his hand. “Don’t bother. I already know I’m right. Did you at least talk to each other this time?”
“We always talk!” Jisung is swift to assert.
Minho scoffs and begins piling food on all their plates. At the very least, he’d planned on talking to Jeongin, even if he’d never really had that chance. Jisung swore he would talk to Hyunjin, but hadn’t, and Minho is convinced the quick and flippant response from Jisung now was tantamount to a confession that they still hadn’t seriously discussed what it was they were doing together. In the past he’d left them alone to figure out their own shit, but he was tired of seeing Jisung be hurt, of watching Hyunjin pine and scowl in turns. “But have you talked about your relationship, or are you just fucking around again because you’re too scared to admit you might actually like each other?”
Hyunjin’s eyes flash and he growls in response, “Just because you’re unhappy and things aren’t working out for you does not give you the right to take your frustration out on Jisung.”
Minho glares at him. “You were ready to tear my throat out because you thought I’d hurt Jeongin. Might want to remember that other alphas might get angry at you for the way you treat their omega friends as well.”
“Hyung!” Jisung protests, “we talked, I promise. Like really talked.”
Minho slowly blinks and looks at Jisung, who is able to steadily meet his gaze. Minho nods and begins sorting out their plates again, offering the first one to Jisung. Perhaps it’s just spiteful to snub Hyunjin and serve Jisung first, but he’s not feeling charitable right now. His next word is laced with sarcasm. “Right.”
Jisung’s expression pinches, as if he’s pained.
“Hyung, I’ll let that one slide because you’re in pain, but we don’t deserve your ire.” Pulling him closer, Hyunjin reaches for Jisung’s hand and laces their fingers together. “No more screwing around. No more friends with benefits. We’re dating. Trying to take things slow. We weren’t planning on mentioning anything until we’d figured out if this is what we both really wanted. We didn’t want any well meaning advice or meddling.”
When Jisung tilts his head to rest his cheek upon Hyunjin’s shoulder, the neckline of his shirt slips down revealing the mottled bruising on his neck. Just one more thing that Minho won’t be talking about today. “But, you think it’s fine to come here and meddle in my life? In Jeongin’s?”
“Hyung, maybe Chan and Changbin buy it, but I already know that there’s nothing at work keeping you busy like this. April’s a quiet time for you, and you didn’t tell me about any new contracts, and you would have, because you always do!” Jisung fills his mouth with food, cheeks puffed out, to prevent himself from speaking further.
Minho can’t argue that logic, so he doesn’t bother. He eats instead, not wanting to admit to anything.
Hyunjin sets down his chopsticks. “Hyung, neither of you are happy and we know something must have happened, because you’ve been living in each other’s pockets for months and you were happy doing so. I was wrong to place the blame at your feet. Will you talk to us?”
Of all his friends he’d go to for relationship advice, these two are the last he’d choose, but they are here, and they care. Moreover, Minho is tired of struggling to make sense of it on his own, and he’s never been one to reach out and ask for help. His friends know that, which is why Jisung made his way over, wiggling his way into the apartment with the offer of sushi, and plunking himself down on the couch, with Hyunjin as his back up.
Minho shrugs. “I thought everything was fine. Then last weekend, I came over, made breakfast, we ate. Then while I was finishing up the dishes, Jeongin said he couldn’t do this anymore and told me he didn’t want me around. I couldn’t argue with him. I wasn’t going to upset him further, so I left. Haven’t seen each other or spoken since.”
As Minho watches, Jisung chews energetically, obviously eager to say something, but not with his mouth full. Hyunjin pats his shoulder. “That doesn’t make any sense. I thought you’d had a fight at least.”
Jisung nods in agreement, still chewing before he swallows, followed by a cough to clear his throat. “It doesn’t sound like anything unusual happened.”
Setting down his chopsticks, Minho sighs as his appetite flees. “I didn’t think so either.”
“Hyung, maybe you need to tell us exactly what was said,” Hyunjin suggests, “Then we might be able to help you figure it all out.”
“I had to work late the night before, so the next morning, I came over, and made breakfast in time for Jeongin to eat when he usually wakes up. Just something simple, scrambled eggs with diced tomato and buttered toast. We ate, talked about plans for the day. He had some grading to do, so I was going to do the grocery shopping for the week myself. He seemed a little tired, not quite his usual self, but I know the pup’s getting heavy, and his back and feet are sore most of the time. He was still waking up at the time, so I didn’t think much of it. He pushed the food around more than he ate it, but when I offered to make something else instead, he said it was fine. That he wasn’t really hungry.
“He said he was done eating, so I started cleaning up. He was still sitting at the table, looking out the window, thinking and lost in his thoughts. He said he didn’t think he could do this anymore. I wasn’t sure what he meant, but thought I could help him sort out a way, so I asked him about it. He said, ‘I don’t want to play house anymore.’”
Minho rakes his fingers through his hair and looks at the table. His shoulders slump forward. “I wasn’t going to argue with him, or ask any questions. He’s pregnant. He’s entitled to feel how he feels, and I didn’t want to upset him further, so I left.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Hyunjin says, his brow furrowed and his chopsticks pick through his food. “Jeongin seemed so happy to be near you. It doesn’t seem like anything changed between you, so why would he say something like that?”
“At Christmas, we all thought something must be going on between you. The thoughtful gifts, the way you hovered near each other.” Jisung places a piece of sushi on Minho’s plate, one of his favourites and gestures for him to eat. “But then nothing seemed to come of it. Neither of you said anything, and when Jeongin went to the spa with us, he was all blushes and shy about being teased. But again, it didn’t seem like anything was actually happening, though I couldn’t help feeling like he wanted something to happen.”
Minho obliges with lackluster enthusiasm and eats the piece of sushi. He doesn’t even taste it, barely feels the texture of the fish or rice.
Hyunjin regards Jisung with more fondness than Minho can recall ever seeing when Jisung has been aware of Hyunjin’s gaze. “It wasn’t easy to talk to you about how I felt. I didn’t know if you returned my feelings. I knew we enjoyed being together, physically at least, but the rest of it I didn’t know. I wanted more. I liked you, but I thought that what we had, the casual sex was all you wanted. I was scared that if I mentioned it, that you’d break things off and I’d lose that too. And I was angry that it was all I’d ever have of you.” Jisung leans into him as Hyunjin speaks, and nuzzles his throat with his nose, a raspberry lemon cheesecake scent swirls comfortingly around Hyunjin. “It hurt to think I’d never have all of you, and I couldn’t bear the thought.”
“Hyune-yah,” Jisung says, his voice cracks and he turns his face to hide in the crook of Hyunjin’s neck. His voice is muffled as he continues, “We were both fools, too frightened to ask for what we both wanted.”
They’ve forgotten he’s in the room, and it’s his apartment. Minho clears his throat, and swiftly, both Hyunjin and Jisung are looking at him, blushing bashfully. “I agree. You’re both fools. Glad you talked. Perhaps talk some more? But later, not here, in front of my sushi.”
Hyunjin rolls his eyes. “My point was, that we both made assumptions about how the other felt, and we ran hot and cold, and pushed each other away, when what we should have done was talk. It sounds to me like you haven’t actually talked to Jeongin about how you feel or what you want.”
“Assuming you want to be with Jeongin,” Jisung pipes up, his eyes shining with hope.
“Your theory is that he said what he said because it got too painful to be around me without actually being with me?” Minho doesn’t want to sound hopeful. He knows what he heard, and if he’s right, and Jeongin is tired of having him around, then he’s the fool to be considering otherwise.
“Is your pride worth never taking the chance to ask?” Hyunjin says pointedly.
Minho growls. A response born of fear and frustration. “Eat your sushi. I’m putting on some anime.”
While Minho finds the remote and situates himself in a better position to watch the television, he ignores the pleased expressions on his friends’ faces, and the coziness of their shared proximity. If he’d known they’d be so affectionate, he’d never have pushed Jisung to talk to Hyunjin.
“Jeonghunnie, what are you doing home so early?”
His mother’s voice greets him as Jeongin stumbles through the door, struggling with the small case he’s brought with him for the weekend. His parents had told him he was always welcome. Perhaps he should have messaged them before he bought his train ticket, or even while he was on the train, but it had been an impulsive choice to leave Seoul, and he didn’t want to explain why he’d felt the need to leave the city for the weekend. Eight months into a pregnancy, the smallest things could have him in tears, and the distance which now exists between him and Minho was not something he wanted to dive into over the phone. Certainly not while surrounded by strangers on a train.
“Eomma, I’m sure Jeonghun’s still at cram school.” With a sharp tug, the small case clears the doorway, allowing Jeongin to close the door. He can hear the rush of footsteps, so he sets aside his case and pulls his feet out of his shoes and shoves them into house slippers before his mother arrives. It’s all very familiar, the way his mother rushes out of the kitchen to greet him, his short hair curling from the heat. His hand grasps the door frame as he turns the corner, so his feet won’t fly out from under him, and the dimples on his cheeks are the blueprint from which Jeongin acquired his own.
“Jeongin-ah.” His mother’s voice is warm and full of concern as he steps forward to embrace him. “You know we’re always glad to have you here. If you’d told me, I’d have put fresh sheets on your bed. You must be tired after the train ride.”
“I know where the spare sheets are,” Jeongin replies, feeling a sliver of guilt as he pulls his mother close and inhales his scent of chai latte.
Jeongin squawks when his mother pokes his side.
“As if I’m letting you make a bed?” His mother rolls his eyes as he steps away from the embrace. “In your condition?”
Jeongin sighs. “Eomma, you must know that being pregnant doesn’t make anyone infirm. You’ve had three children.”
“I have, and if someone offered to make my bed for me, I’d have been happy to sit down, put my feet up, and let them do so.”
Leaning forward, Jeongin takes his mother’s hands and brushes their cheeks against one another. “Alright. I’ll go have a seat and put my feet up. Thank you.”
“Good boy,” he states as he takes the case and waves Jeongin off to the other room.
When he walks past the kitchen, he can see his mother’s been working on preparing the banchan they’ll eat throughout the week, and it makes him feel even more remorse at having not told his parents that he was coming. He could have skipped the conversation by sending a simple text. Though that would have resulted in a phone call, and if he hadn’t answered, they’d have worried more.
For his own peace of mind, this was the only real option. He might regret it, but his parents would understand.
Like an obedient child, Jeongin makes his way into the other room and sits in his favourite spot, the leftmost side of the couch. He groans as he lifts his feet onto the cushions. It’s been days since anyone’s given his feet a good rub and his soles have become just as sore as his soul.
He’d promised himself he wouldn’t think of Minho the whole time he was in Busan, but no amount of determination and obstinance would prevail. Even if his parents wouldn’t be asking about his friends, and Minho specifically, Jeongin knows how much Minho has become part of his life.
Jeongin still hasn’t figured out if coming home on Friday to find that Minho’s scent was fading from his apartment had made him flee to Busan the next morning because he was upset the scent was still there, or if he was distressed that it was going away. At least in Busan he won’t be wandering around his own apartment, trying to find items where Minho’s scent lingered, and then be at war with himself as to whether to hold it close or thoroughly clean it.
Maybe if he acts pathetic enough, his Eomma will have mercy on him and rub his feet. As the only omega child, so far at least with Jeonghun still unpresented, Jeongin feels they have a special bond. While the pup won’t be their grandchild, he knows his Eomma will still do anything to help him. He knows how blessed he is to be part of his family.
Busan has always been a safe haven.
When Jeongin had come home crying after finding out he’d been the first pick for football at lunch because one popular kid had bet the other that they could win, even with the clumsiest kid in class on their team, his Appa had consoled him. She’d told him that he was still growing, that maybe once he was done getting big and tall, he’d find his co-ordination. She’d insisted that even if he didn’t age out of being awkward and lanky, that he would always have his kind heart, and that mattered more than the ability to kick a ball.
As he struggled to determine what he wanted to take at university, his Eomma had sat down with him and they’d had a long discussion. They talked about what subjects he enjoyed, and if that was something he’d want to continue to study. His Eomma had looked through all the career paths available for someone with a music degree, and when Jeongin wasn’t sure if he wanted to perform or teach, he’d guided Jeongin towards a summer job at a music camp so he could have some teaching experience. That opportunity allowed him to compare that adventure with the choral work and performances he participated in during school and he was able to find his path.
His parents have always guided him in ways that helped him become who he believes he’s meant to be. They’ve rarely told him to do anything, other than his regular chores and making sure he attended cram school. He was able to choose his own friends, his own activities outside of school. When he’d spent a winter wanting to ice skate, they’d bought him skates, and ensured they always had ice packs in the freezer for when he inevitably fell.
Jeongin has always felt loved. He’s never worried if his parents are proud of him. He knows because they’ve always proven it.
They won’t be proud of the way he’s run away from Seoul, from Minho, or the way he’s been awkwardly moving about his apartment building as he’s avoided his favourite hyung because it hurts too much to be near him.
But he also knows that they’ll sit down with him and talk to him about what happened, and help him find a way to grow past this and heal. His parents have always bandaged whatever wounds he’s brought to them, regardless of how he’d managed to hurt himself.
It’s only when he feels fingers brushing through his hair, that he realises he’d managed to fall asleep on the sofa. The warm scent of chai latte surrounds him, spiced honeyed milk soothes his frazzled thoughts and he smiles as he opens his eyes. Jeongin already knows his Eomma must be curious about why he’s here, and he’s grateful the question hasn’t yet been asked. “When will Appa be home?”
“Hmm. I messaged her while making your bed.” The fingers continue to brush Jeongin’s hair away from his forehead as his Eomma stands behind the couch he’s laying on. “She’s sorry she had to work this morning, but she’s rushing home as soon as the meeting’s over.”
Jeongin frowns, his forehead furrows under his mother’s fingertips. “It’s not an emergency.”
“I’m glad to hear that. But I’m guessing you don’t want to talk to me about what brought you here without warning and then go through it again once your Appa gets home.”
Jeongin looks down and sighs, “No, I’d really rather not.”
“Let’s go into the kitchen for a while then. You can have something to drink, and a couple cookies and I’ll finish making the banchan while we wait.”
It’s a struggle to rise from the couch. Jeongin has sunk into the cushions and rotating to put his feet back onto the floor and pivot himself around is made more difficult by the baby bump impeding his ability to strongarm his legs off the edge. He feels more disgruntled when he catches the way his Eomma’s lips twitch in amusement. Knowing his mother will let him struggle until he asks for help, he huffs and then holds out his hands. “Eomma, laugh if you have to, but help.”
With a laugh, he steps closer to take Jeongin’s hands and help his son rise to his feet. He moves to Jeongin’s side, putting a supportive hand upon the small of Jeongin’s back. “The last month will seem to drag, and you’ll start to wonder if you’ll ever be able to move again.”
“I already wonder how I’m able to move around.” Jeongin knows he’s pouting, his bottom lip prominently pushed forward.
The hand at the small of his back moves to his waist and pulls him closer. Jeongin inhales the comforting smell he’s always associated with love and security.
“You can lean on me while you’re here,” he is quick to say, “but we’ll have to send you home at the end of the weekend, and you’re back in Minho’s care then.”
Jeongin can’t help but flinch at the name and his Eomma is quick to stop and look at him. He closes his eyes, unable to bear the way his mother scans his features.
“Ah.” His mother’s voice is a gentle tenor timbre, carrying an apologetic tone. “We’ll talk more about that when Appa gets home.”
Jeongin nods and opens his eyes and lets himself be led to a chair in the kitchen. His mother places a tall glass of milk and a small plate with a few cookies in front of him.
While his Eomma works at the kitchen counter, the knife in his hand more sure and swift than Jeongin could ever be, Jeongin drinks his milk and nibbles at the cookies. His stomach is still unsettled, from travel or worry of the conversation to come, he’s not sure.
They talk of safer topics. Eomma brings up how Jeongsuk is performing in his new management role and how he and his spouse had been over to visit recently with their two children. It’s rare that Jeongin is able to see his older brother and his family. Jeongin asks how Jeonghun has been enjoying school, and if he’s discovered a subject he loves, and if there are any he hates. He doubts his youngest brother will hate math as much as he did, but also doesn't think he’ll love it as much as Jeongsuk did.
Their conversation mingles between stories of the antics of Jeongsuk’s children and Jeonghun’s love of building things and how this could lead to a career in architecture, engineering or construction in the future when Appa walks into the kitchen and steps up behind Eomma to kiss his cheek.
Setting aside the cookie Jeongin has been nibbling, he greets his father. “Hello Appa.”
Releasing her spouse, Appa walks over to the table and runs her fingers through Jeongin’s hair before leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Jeonginnie, it’s good to see you.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was coming.”
There’s a dismayed rumble from the back of his Appa’s throat before she speaks, “You know you’re always welcome here, even if you don’t tell us you’re coming. Even if you arrive at two in the morning, our door is always open to you.”
Jeongin blinks swiftly and swallows harshly. The healing scent of vetiver and ginger reaches out to encompass him. “I love you too, Appa.”
Appa smiles, sharing a glance with his Eomma. “Is there anything I can do to help finish up in the kitchen?”
Eomma looks up from the sink where he’s finishing washing the knives, cutting board, pots and pans used to make the banchan. “Just cleaning up. I’ll make us some tea, and then if Jeongin’s ready, he can talk to us about why he’s here.”
While Eomma sets the kettle to boil, Appa sits down beside Jeongin and takes his hand. Her fingers are as long as his own, her nails polished with a neutral taupe that adds to her professional attire. As she crosses her legs, the pleats of her long navy skirt shift, and her other hand moves to unbutton the matching jacket. “You know you can tell us anything, when you’re ready.”
Jeongin clings to his father’s hand. “I know. I just needed to get away for a while. I…”
“No need to rush. Let’s wait for the tea,” Appa suggests, patting Jeongin’s hand. “In the meantime, how was Hyunjin’s opening? Did everyone like your dress?”
Jeongin refuses to tell his parents that he‘d had a delusional thought for a brief moment that Minho was going to pounce, bite, or perhaps ravage him in that outfit. Instead, he blushes, and clears his throat. “Felix-hyung said I was beautiful and dared everyone to disagree with him.”
“And of course no one did,” Eomma quickly adds with certainty.
Jeongin laughs, “No, no one did.”
“You have good friends,” Appa states, sliding the plate of cookies back in front of Jeongin as Eomma places his tea at the table.
“I do. The best.” Jeongin smiles, but then his lower lip trembles and he looks down as his hands encircle the warmth of his teacup and his eyes watch the swirl of steam rising from the amber liquid.
What happens if he can never face Minho again? How will he remain friends with Jisung and Hyunjin? Will their group of friends have to plan around them, alternating which of them gets to attend their celebrations and outings? Or, will they all go different ways? There’d be pressure for Chan and Felix to pick him, if only because he’s carrying their pup, but that isn’t fair. Minho’s done nothing wrong. Neither has Jeongin. It’s not wrong to fall in love, even when it hurts. He just doesn’t know how to be around Minho without feeling the ache of longing for what he can’t have.
The warmth of fingers encircling his wrist pulls him from his spiralling thoughts. When he looks up, his Appa is looking back at him, eyes sombre in a face etched with cheekbones as sharp as his own. “Agibbang, will you tell us what happened? No matter what’s going on, you know we’ll always be there for you.”
Jeongin nods. “I know. I just don’t really know where to start or how to tell you. Part of me is scared that if I say anything it’ll be real, and true, and I want to keep avoiding that, but I really can’t.”
“Would it help if we asked you some questions?” Eomma suggests.
“Maybe. Probably.” One of Jeongin’s hands rises to clutch at his rosary, kneading the beads between his fingers.
“Let’s start with this then. Are you and the pup healthy?”
Jeongin blinks, and quickly reassures his parents, “Oh, yes.” He didn’t realise that might be a concern until he took in the way his parents relaxed and the hand holding his wrist loosened. “Sorry, we’re both fine. The pup is growing well, and I’m adjusting as I should be. Everything checked out when we saw the doctor last.”
“Good,” she reassures him. “How are things with Chan and Yongbok? You’d mentioned things were getting better.”
Jeongin nods again. He feels like the questions are moving around the axis of the issue, easing him into talking about what’s going on, but it’s calming and helpful, and he’ll let his parents guide him now as they have done so in the past. “Jisung, Felix and I went for a spa day a while back. It was fun, and Felix says that he and Chan are doing a lot of healing together. He’s happier now.”
“That’s good to hear.” Appa pats his hand. “And the situation at work? Did that bit of ugliness get resolved?”
“It did. It wasn’t great. I wish I’d even considered that it might be an issue sooner so I could have said something, rather than having an angry group of parents accost the principal and me.” Jeongin sighs. “I wanted to keep everything private. It really wasn’t anyone’s business but ours. The school was very understanding, and they sent out a note to the parents. I also agreed to speak with the older students when their health classes covered reproduction about my experience.” His fingers continue to play with the beads on his necklace. “I suppose everything can be a teaching moment if you put enough effort into it.”
Eomma laughs. “It would seem so. Tell me, where did you get the rosary? I wish we’d thought to send you one. I know how you never take off the ring, but of course it wouldn’t fit properly right now.”
Jeongin’s fingers still, and then he lets the rosary go as if it had burnt him, and the beads land heavily upon his chest and the cross sways between his slight breasts. “I…I didn’t think of it either.”
Appa frowns. “Whoever got it for you must know you well. That you’d want a rosary, and to pick a green in that exact shade. Was it Hyunjin?”
Jeongin shakes his head, and his voice is subdued. “Minho-hyung.”
Appa places her hand over Jeongin’s. “Is Minho the reason why you’re here?”
A single nod of his head, and Jeongin is looking into the amber liquid of his cup of tea again.
“Did he hurt you, Jeongin-ah?” Eomma’s voice is full of concern, and Jeongin can feel the rise of a growl in his Appa’s chest at the implication.
Jeongin looks up swiftly and shakes his head vehemently. “No, never. He would never hurt me.”
“But he is the reason you’re here?” There’s still a bite to Appa’s words, even if the growl has settled.
“He’s been so good to me.” Jeongin’s hand covers the baby bump, and he makes himself small, leaning over the table. His voice is soft, hopefully quiet enough to hide his sorrow. “To both of us. He drives me to and from work. He makes lunch for me to take into work every day. He feeds me dinner. Hyung rubs my feet at the end of the day. When I ask for anything I’m craving, he somehow finds a way to make it happen. He’s…he’s been so good to me.”
Eomma shifts closer, his chair scuffing against the floor, so he can wrap his arm around Jeongin’s shoulders. “It sounds like he really cares for you. Why would that bring you to Busan?”
Jeongin bites his lip and Appa gives his hand a gentle squeeze. His parents remain quiet as they wait for his reply. Since he doesn’t know how to explain it, or what might have happened, or how things changed, he just blurts out the truth he’s been holding back. “I love him.”
“I can see why you would. He’s taken good care of you. Minho’s always been your favourite.” Appa’s tone is soothing.
“But he doesn’t love me.” Jeongin blinks back his tears. He’s so tired of crying about this.
Eomma pulls him closer to his chest, wrapping his other arm around him as well to hold him tightly. “Is that what he told you?”
Jeongin sniffles, wiping his hand across his nose. “I told him I didn’t want to pretend anymore, and he agreed and left. Seems pretty clear to me. He was only looking after me because he’d made a promise to Chan.”
A frown mars Appa’s features and further furrows the lines on her forehead. “Is that all you told him? That you didn’t want to pretend anymore?”
Jeongin leans into his Eomma, pressing his forehead against his neck, calming himself with the milky spice that has always clung to his mother. “He’d shown up that morning, made me breakfast, and after we ate, he was doing the dishes. I just, it hurt, to think that he was only there because he’d made a promise. I couldn’t handle him being there, caring for me, but not really caring for me.” His hand clutches at the rosary again. “I told him I didn’t want to play house anymore, and he said he understood, and he left as quickly as he could.”
“Jeongin-ah,” Appa says with a gentle, yet dismayed tone. She reaches over to brush her fingers through his hair, allowing her to see his face, even as he continues to hide against his mother. “Did you not tell him that you cared for him? That you have feelings for him?”
Feeling seen has tears slipping down his cheeks and he clings to his mother, even as he leans into his father’s hand brushing through his hair. “I couldn’t. I…even if I did, it’s not like he’d ever love me.”
“Why wouldn’t he?” Eomma’s voice remains calm, but there’s a sharp turn to the spiciness of his scent.
“I don't bring anything to the relationship!” Jeongin can taste the way his stale mouldy bread overlays the chai latte of his Eomma and the medicinal herb of his Appa. “I don’t cook. I’m clumsy and break things all the time. Even when I get home, I have work to do, grading papers, and selecting music for the classes. I have to practise piano almost every day too. I don’t give enough of my time for a real relationship. I’m too tall, too stubborn and quick to state my opinions. I--”
Jeongin cuts himself off when he hears the rising volume of his father’s growl and looks up at Appa.
“I don’t know how you started to believe any of that. I’m certain we can blame any number of your past partners for making you feel that way, because that’s not how we raised you. We always wanted you to make your own choices, to be your own person. Jeongin-ah, we never wanted you defined by what society believes a sub-gender should be.” There’s still a hint of growl to Appa’s voice as she speaks, her features are sharp, but her eyes are sad as she looks at Jeongin. “Did Minho ever ask you to cook? Has he said he wants you to be anything other than who you are?”
Thinking back, Jeongin recalls Minho’s words after he’d fallen during their shopping trip. He recalls the frustration Minho expressed about Daehyun, and the way his ex had tried to force him into being his ideal of a perfect omega. Images of Minho’s dance flitter through his mind, and the conversation they’d had afterwards about what the performance meant and tried to express. Minho never demanded Jeongin change or stay silent. He’d always sought Jeongin’s opinion and thoughts, willing to discuss any differing views, but not requiring anyone’s mind be changed.
He shakes his head. “No. He never has.”
Eomma is rubbing Jeongin’s back soothingly, and Jeongin can hear the rumble of his mother’s voice with his ear pressed tightly to his chest. “What would you have thought if Minho had been the one to say those words to you. That he didn’t want to play house anymore?”
“I would have understood. It’s tiring to take care of me. It’s not easy, and he’s working so hard. It must be exhausting.”
“You would have accepted what he said, and let him go then?”
“Of course.” Jeongin lifts his head to look up at his mother. “I wouldn’t want to make him stay if he didn’t want to.”
“Even though you love him?”
“How I feel wouldn’t matter.” Jeongin frowns. “It would hurt, but I’d let him go.”
Appa brushes the last of the tears from Jeongin’s cheeks. “But you said those words, not because you wanted him to go, but because you couldn’t bear to have him stay if it didn’t mean something to him.”
Jeongin whimpers as his stomach drops in freefall. He bites at his lower lip and swallows harshly, trying to summon the strength to keep himself from being ill. “You think he may have walked away because he thought I didn’t want him there?”
Long fingers move the hair back from his forehead so Appa can press her lips to his skin. “Baby, if you don’t tell someone how you feel, you can’t expect them to know.”
“I’ve made a horrible mess of this.” Jeongin pouts, already dreading what he knows he needs to do. He can’t keep hiding from Minho. Even if Minho feels differently, he deserves to know the truth, and to be able to make a choice, rather than have it made for him. He’s been unfair.
“I wouldn’t take it that far, agibbang. But you do need to actually talk to Minho. You can be brave. You have so little to lose now, but so much you could gain instead.” Eomma laughs softly. “I’ve made so much more of a mess of things with your Appa. The important thing is to work through the mess, and clean it up together. You don’t want to hide from him forever, do you?”
Jeongin shakes his head, “No. I don’t think I’d be allowed to, even if I wanted to.”
The scrape of a chair accompanies Appa rising from the table. “I’m going to make lunch, and we’ll eat, and you’ll relax for the rest of the weekend, and we’ll send you back home tomorrow. Don’t worry about anything for now, alright?”
Jeongin nods and his lower lip slips from between his teeth so he can smile, “I’ll try not to.”
“Hyung. What’s up?” Changbin’s voice manages to convey both friendliness and suspicion in equal measure.
The answer to his Sunday afternoon call leaves Minho feeling awkward. “Wanted to make sure you’re still good to drive Jeongin around next week. You probably won’t have to worry about Wednesday morning.”
“I’m going to put you on speaker,” Changbin replies, “Seungmin’s here with me and he said he’d take care of Monday and Tuesday, since he has a break from his shooting schedule.”
“Hi Hyung.”
“Kim Seungmin,” Minho acknowledges the greeting in his typical droll tone, “what are you doing with Changbin?”
The pause it takes either of them to answer is suspect. “Changbin-hyung asked me to come into the studio to do some recording for his new demo.”
It doesn’t sound like they’re in the studio from the ambient noise coming through the call. The background chatter feels more like a cafe or a restaurant. “You’re in the studio now?”
A muffled cough, and a clearing of a throat. “We’re grabbing coffee.” Changbin sounds almost bashful. As if getting coffee is somehow not allowed, or that being asked what they’re doing together is crossing a line.
Minho’s eyes narrow, which they can’t see over the phone, but he’ll let this go. Even if he does feel like they’ve been spending time together, and that they’re being evasive about it, it doesn’t necessarily mean anything. They’re allowed to have a friendship. It’s not like it impacts him, and they’re both willing to help out Jeongin, and that’s what he cares about most.
If they’re just being secretive about getting together, so be it. Not like he’ll need to intervene, or get involved, or stage an intervention. Seo Changbin and Kim Seungmin are not on the same level of drama as Hwang Hyunjin and Han Jisung.
“And you’ll cover Thursday and Friday, Changbin?”
“Assuming you’ll still need me to.” There’s a pause, and then Changbin continues, “should work calm down for you, let me know. I had to move some plans around, but if I could shift them back, that’d make life easier.”
It’s unfortunate that they’re not meeting in person. The rise of smoke scent over that of cedar and leather would give Changbin away if he had other motives for suggesting Minho could resume his care of Jeongin. It’s too difficult to tell if Changbin really would be relieved if that happened, or if he knows or suspects something isn’t quite right between Minho and Jeongin and is gently prying.
Minho will not give him any hint of it. He had enough recrimination from Hyunjin already. “I doubt things are going to change between now and the end of the week, but I’ll let you know.”
“Alright. Thanks hyung.” There’s another pause on the other end and Minho considers ending the call, but Changbin continues, “Have you seen Jeongin lately?”
“No. I haven’t seen him in almost two weeks now.” Minho’s proud of how steady his voice sounds, and now grateful that they aren’t meeting in person.
“I don’t think he’s sleeping all that well,” Seungmin offers, his voice more distant than Changbin’s, “If you’re planning on handing off lunches to us like you did last week, you might want to leave us with some hoodies you’ve worn recently.”
Minho isn’t sure that would actually help. Regardless of Hyunjin and Jisung’s insistence that Jeongin cares for him and that what happened wasn’t really what Jeongin wanted, he’s reluctant to impose himself back into Jeongin’s life in any way. The lunches he can excuse because the pup needs the food, and he’s still obligated to follow through with his promise to Chan. “I’ll see if I have any lying around.”
“Time for us to head back to the studio. Talk later, hyung,” Changbin states, and the call is quickly disconnected. Likely the doing of Kim Seungmin reaching over to end the call, just to spite Minho from doing so himself.
Though he doesn’t want to talk to anyone else, he knows he needs to reach out to Chan and Felix to see if either or both of them are available on Wednesday for Jeongin’s next ultrasound appointment. He could have asked any of their other friends, but Felix has been doing well with Jeongin lately. Minho only agreed to take on his role in Jeongin’s life because Chan and Felix needed to keep their distance. Maybe it’s right that at this point, they reclaim the supportive role in Jeongin’s pregnancy. Besides, Chan and Felix would be excited to see the ultrasound, more so than anyone else.
Bringing up the appointment details in his email, he forwards it over to Chan, copies Felix, and adds a brief message,
I’m hoping one or both of you would be able to accompany Jeongin for this appointment.
Let me know soon, so I can make other arrangements if you can’t.
Thanks,
Minho
He’s stress cleaning, or at least that’s what he tries to convince himself as he moves things around his apartment. If he indiscriminately sniffs things as he’s moving them around, chasing after any hints of bread or a bakery, that’s between him and his judgemental cats. Doongie’s been following him around, sitting in the room he’s tidying and looking up from the paw he lifts to clean it to gaze at him reprehensibly every so often.
Just as he’s beginning to believe that calling may have been better than waiting for a response to an email, his phone chimes and when he pulls it out of his pocket, he sees the notification of Chan’s reply. He sets down the last thing he’d picked up to reorganize and reads the email.
We’d love to. We should have asked about joining you for the last appointment ourselves.
Hope everything’s okay. Let us know if we can help in any way.
Chan (and Felix, of course)
Able to relax, Minho sits back down on his couch. Maybe he should go for a hike tomorrow. That might help clear his head. He knows he needs to talk to Jeongin. They need to discuss what happened, and how they’re going to manage going forward, but he can’t do that until after the pup arrives. Minho won’t do anything further to distress Jeongin.
When he’d promised Hyunjin and Jisung that he’d talk to Jeongin, he never said when.
Jeongin holds the lapels of his jacket together as he slides into the passenger seat and closes the door behind him more forcefully than intended. The warmth in the car surrounds him, even as rivulets of rain trickle down the back of his neck and underneath his sweater, causing him to squirm as he attempts to put on his seatbelt.
“Give me that,” Seungmin insists as he reaches over to take the buckle from Jeongin and gets him securely belted in, “why don’t you have an umbrella?”
“I didn’t know it was going to rain rain. The app said ‘light showers’.”
“And now I have light puddles in my car.”
“Hyung, I’m sorry.”
Seungmin looks over at him, and his features soften before he looks out the windshield and pulls away from the curb of the apartment building. “I suppose it will dry out eventually. So will you, but my car won’t get sick, and you might. Don’t forget you won’t really be able to take anything right now if you get a cold, so better not to.”
“Trust me, I’m not at all interested in getting sick.” Jeongin takes a deep breath and exhales, his face turned to look out the side window which fogs up and obscures his vision. With a sigh, he raises his arm to wipe the window with his wet jacket sleeve, which doesn’t really help for clarity, but leaves the window looking less opaque.
“Your lunch is on the back seat. Don’t forget to take it with you when we get to the school.”
“That was kind of you, hyung.” Jeongin looks over and smiles. He’d planned on just using the school cafeteria, which has good quality food, but he knows whatever Seungmin brought for him will be better.
“Don’t thank me, not that you did.”
“I should thank you.” Jeongin smiles further, dimples on display as his eyes narrow and he squints at Seungmin cutely. “Thank you, hyung.”
“No, really, you shouldn’t thank me,” Seungmin says dryly, “I didn’t have anything to do with your lunch. Minho hyung dropped off food for you last night with instructions to make sure that I give it to you. I tried to tell him the school has a whole cafeteria with a serviceable kitchen that you’ve even praised in the past, but he didn’t care.”
“Oh.” The smile slides from Jeongin’s features and he slumps back into his seat, his hands covering his baby bump. He hadn’t even considered that as an option for why Seungmin would have lunch for him.
Due to the heavy traffic on the street, Seungmin doesn’t notice Jeongin’s response and continues, “I don’t know why he didn’t just give you the food, or put it in your fridge. I’m half an hour out of his way, and if he’s so busy working, it’s not like he’s got the time to spare. He probably figures you’d just be too tired in the morning to remember, and if you don’t get to eat his food for lunch, he’d rather have me to blame for not giving it to you than blame you for forgetting.”
Right. No one else knows what’s happened. He hasn’t wanted to mention it to anyone, and it’s not like he’s felt brave enough to take his parents’ advice and put it into action. He’s in a purgatory state where their relationship is still undefined, neither friendship nor more, and somehow, that still feels more comfortable than having an answer. “Right. I probably would. Forget that is.”
There must be something to his tone of voice, because Seungmin spares him a glance, even with the wipers doing double time to keep the windows clear of the rainwater kicked up by the car in front of them.
“The other bag in the back seat has Minho hyung’s sweatshirt in it.”
Jeongin’s omega wants to dive into the back of the car, pull the shirt out of the bag and press it close to his face. It’s been too long since he’s been surrounded by mountain air and wild flowers.
“He said you probably wouldn’t want it,” Seungmin continues, “I thought I’d have to fight him for it, but he handed it over the moment I suggested you should be able to choose for yourself.”
He whimpers, causing Seungmin to give him a sharp glance. “Innie, did the two of you fight?”
“No.”
“But something did happen?”
Jeongin wants to open the passenger side door and escape the car. He feels horrible about how Minho continues to do whatever he can to fulfil his promise to Chan, even from a distance. Their friends are being dragged into the middle, without even knowing what’s happened, just as he feared they would be.
Seungmin deserves better than to be abandoned while driving him to work, and he’d have to leave the food and Minho’s sweatshirt in the car. Not worth it. He couldn’t run far enough now anyway, not with the rain or in his condition. Besides, all his friends know where he’d hide.
“It’s all my fault.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“I know I need to fix it. And what I need to do.” Jeongin starts chewing at the side of his finger.
“Then what’s the problem?” Seungmin looks over at him while stopped at a red light and his face scrunches in distaste before he captures Jeongin’s wrist and moves his finger away from his mouth.
“I hate talking about how I feel.” Jeongin pouts, placing his hand back on his baby bump. His voice is softer when he continues, and his omega wants to tuck tail and hide. “I’m scared.”
“Whatever it is you did, I’m sure Minho hyung will forgive you,” Seungmin is quick to reassure him.
“I’m not worried about being forgiven.” Even with the rain, Jeongin rolls down the window slightly to let some fresh air in while wishing he’d worn a scent blocker. No one should have to be around stinky, rotting bread.
“Then what are you worried about?”
Jeongin tucks himself about the baby bump, cradling the pup for what comfort doing so brings him. “That Minho hyung won’t love me.”
“Of course he lov—” Seungmin’s voice trails off and his fingers tap against the steering wheel. “You know I’ve been holding off on talking to my parents about my relationship with Changbin hyung.”
Jeongin tilts his head and looks over at Seungmin. “I do.”
“It’s hard to have these sorts of conversations with people when you want them to still care for you afterwards,” Seungmin explains, his fingers still tapping against the steering wheel.
“I know hyung cares for me.” Jeongin isn’t sure where Seungmin is going with this.
“He does, but you don’t know if he loves you, which is different.” Seungmin is always factual, and has little issue with tossing the truth out there, naked to fry under the heat of the sun. “We both have something we’re scared to do, even though we know we need to do it.”
“We do,” Jeongin reluctantly agrees.
“Let’s make an agreement. I’ll talk to my parents and you’ll talk to Minho hyung. No matter what happens, we’ll have each other afterwards.”
“What if Changbin hyung’s not ready?”
Seungmin rolls his eyes, “He’s ready. He’s been waiting on me.”
Jeongin slides his finger out of his mouth, scowls at it as he wipes the spit off on his jacket. He’s not even sure when he put his finger back in his mouth. He takes a deep breath and nods. “Alright, I’ll talk to Minho hyung.”