Chapter Text
September 2023
What should it be called when something stays the same yet utterly different after one graduation, acid reflux-inducing emotional tension caused by drunk shenanigans, and a vast space of silence that none would like to address?
Jongin wished he had a concrete term for that when Chanyeol engulfed him in their first hug after four years. Not even his damp, rain-soaked, loose grey flannel shirt stopped Chanyeol from pressing his body tighter and tighter, that Jongin briefly feared for his ribs’ safety. If he had the word, at least he could materialize his feelings, and his brain would see them as normal instead of a threat. That was what his therapist said.
Upon nuzzling the crook of Chanyeol’s neck, he still faintly smelled citrusy but also earthy and spicy. He still used that Armani perfume Jongin used to smell when Chanyeol was close to him or borrowing his clothes. He indulged in that scent, allowing himself to breathe all of it as much as possible. He could buy that perfume himself, but it was Chanyeol’s signature scent. It hit differently when he took it directly from Chanyeol.
Chanyeol finally pulled back, his hands lingering on Jongin’s shoulders for just a second too long. Jongin exhaled shakily. They chuckled, waiting for appropriate words to come up to their brain.
“Can’t believe you’re here”, Chanyeol rubbed the back of his neck. “You look….good”.
He knew Chanyeol wouldn’t choose the word happy, because Chanyeol would never lie. Chanyeol could rephrase his thoughts into something that on the surface, would look similar, but would be entirely different if the context was included. That was why when Jongin saw (in private mode) on Chanyeol’s LinkedIn eight months ago that he just landed a new role as an assistant brand manager in an e-commerce company, it felt unsurprising. Most likely the Chanyeol thing to do.
“I try to”, Jongin smiled. This time, Chanyeol didn’t flick his forehead or hit his arm. Perhaps the happiness overwhelmed him. He just laughed, and pushed the door wider to let Jongin in.
Jongin's eyes flicked around the apartment. This was just like the tour video Chanyeol sent to him last month. Just by seeing the floor-to-ceiling window in the living room (facing the east!) in the first five seconds, Jongin was sold. He didn’t care, even if he later found mold in his room. The promise of warm, familiar sunlight had overrun everything. Thankfully, it didn’t. Their rooms were clean and had a pretty decent size, so were the living room and the kitchen. Not exactly as sophisticated as the house Jongin lived in with his mother, but at least it gave him the personal space he needed. Something that was missing from his house.
Realizing Jongin’s stare, Chanyeol looked back. Several opened boxes, big scissors, and a vacuum cleaner with untied cable were splayed in the living room. That was tolerable. But the barren white wall made Jongin itch to fill it with quirky artwork.
“Well, still a bit messy here. But I’ve cleared out your room”, Chanyeol said. “What time will the movers be here?”.
“Three. They are dropping another person’s belongings first”.
“You want to grab lunch or something while we wait?”.
Jongin nodded on autopilot. “That’d be good”.
His gaze landed on the sofa, where a familiar grey hoodie was draped over the armrest. It had been years, but he’d known that hoodie anywhere—it was the one Chanyeol always wore during the cold nights with cheap vodka he sneaked into his water bottle and splattered textbooks on the library’s study room. His throat tightened.
The rain had turned into a light drizzle that left the streets damp and glistening under the autumn sunlight. Under the humongous umbrella with Chanyeol’s work company logo on it, they both walked into a small restaurant tucked between two office buildings, the faint smell of grilled meat and steaming rice wafting into the air as the door swung shut behind them. It wasn’t particularly flashy—simple wooden tables and plastic chairs, a giant menu board with the price on the wall—but if it could survive between two prominent office buildings, it should have its own charm.
“I ate here when I first surveyed the apartment”, Chanyeol said, pulling out a chair for himself. “They do a killer doenjang-jjigae. Reminded me of that one place we used to go to after finals. Remember?”.
Jongin hesitated, his fingers tracing the edge of the table. “The one near Hoegi station?”.
Chanyeol’s smile softened. “Yeah. You used to order that giant seafood pancake and barely finish half”.
“It was a good deal”, Jongin muttered, looking away, though a small smile formed on his face.
They passed their orders to the waitress who seemed tired but tried to do her best. The food arrived quickly—two bubbling bowls of stew and a spread of small side dishes. Chanyeol immediately picked at the kimchi, while Jongin began ladling rice into his stew, his thoughts momentarily drifting.
“So…how are you?”, Chanyeol asked. “Felt like…we agreed to this apartment thing too fast”.
Jongin blew the steam off from the stack of rice, broth, and tofu in his spoon and ate it, giving himself more time to think. He hadn’t told the news about his Mom to anyone else because he was too shocked to process it into words. But when Chanyeol was looking for a roommate in their almost-dead group chat (their latest conversation was a month ago, when Junmyeon shared news about their university alumni who was caught in a big-scale fraud, and Jongdae replied that’s so crazy wtf ), Jongin saw that as an opportunity from the heaven. He replied exactly seven minutes after that and proceeded to text Chanyeol in private, which had more cobwebs than their group chat because the last time they talked was apparently six months ago when Chanyeol gave him the link to a job opportunity Jongin might like.
Knowing that Chanyeol knew him too well, all down to how Jongin’s synapses fired when he thought of a decision, he suspected that Chanyeol was suspicious of his response. Because Jongin didn’t even question why Chanyeol wanted to look for a roommate.
Chanyeol
Don’t you live with your mom?
Jongin
I’m 25. I can do whatever I want.
“I don’t know”, Jongin shrugged. “Will you believe me if I tell you?”.
Chanyeol furrowed his eyebrows and leaned his torso closer. Still the same classic move when he was intrigued. “What? Is it bad?”.
If someone had to know about this information, it might as well be the person he would share the kitchen with for the next months or even years, right?
“Between my Mom and Jungah, who do you think would be married first?”.
Chanyeol was completely stupefied in his silence. He stopped chewing and didn’t even blink as he cast his gaze on Jongin’s face, non-verbally asking if Jongin was joking, even if he knew it wasn’t Jongin’s thing to joke around on serious things.
“What?”, Chanyeol squeaked. “What do you mean your Mom….”.
“I wish I knew”. Jongin ate another spoonful of his stew. “She’s fine raising us alone for more than a decade. I thought that’d be just us three forever. But nope. A man came along and made her fall in love, I suppose. Whatever fairytale bullshit she’s saying”.
Chanyeol didn’t push further, but his eyes lingered a moment longer.
“I can’t stand being in that house anymore”, Jongin said, his voice quieter. He took another big bite and chewed in silence.
“That must be…sucks. So bad”, Chanyeol said. “And? What did she say?”.
Jongin shrugged. “Nothing much. And I don’t bother to convince her anyway”.
“Convince her to…”.
“To not get married again. I’m too old and worn-out for another fucking change. So sick of going to therapy again”. Jongin stared down at his bowl. “Not saying that woe is me or what. I’m just….”. Jongin gave up on explaining. He went back to eat his stew again.
Chanyeol knew better not to push. He only nodded and gave Jongin a sympathetic look, murmuring, “I know”, to reassure him. Though Chanyeol didn’t know. He came from a warm and loving family. Emotionally functioning parents and the sweetest older sister.
If Chanyeol was a stranger, hearing I know would prompt Jongin to splash the hot stew all over his eyeballs.
No. People didn’t know and people didn’t understand.
“And your offer really came at the right time”, a small smile tugged at his face but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Well…”, looking down, Chanyeol mindlessly stirred the stew and rice with his spoon. “You won’t ask me why I suddenly need a roommate too?”.
“Fuck, sorry. I was still a bit–”.
“I’m kidding, Jongin–”.
“–dazed and tried to–”.
Chanyeol cut him off with a laugh, waving a hand to stop Jongin’s rambling. “It’s fine, it’s fine. You’re going through a lot right now. I understand”.
Of course he did.
“Let’s just say, I overestimated myself”, Chanyeol said. He picked up the kimchi with his chopstick, put it on the spoon, and ate it all. “Or too gullible. Should have known that if something is too good to be true, it is too good to be true”.
“Is it about your band?”, Jongin asked.
Chanyeol hesitated, then nodded, his gaze fixed on his bowl. “It’s nothing now”, Chanyeol said, swirling his chopstick and making a whoosh sound. “Just like that”.
“What? Why? You guys have recorded an album, right?”.
“Yeah, it was all empty promises. Turned out that Minhyuk’s uncle couldn’t even help us with the mixing, let alone promotion. And saying that he would pass our album to his colleagues in Golden Record? That was just bullshit. Thank God we made him delete any trace of our songs. And that was it”.
“But why did you break up the band? You still have the other two”.
Chanyeol let out a heavy sigh. “We’re just not feeling it anymore. It feels stale and useless”.
Jongin looked at him and pouted. Knowing how much Chanyeol spent his day rotating between playing instruments, composing songs, messing up with his synth, or reading many books to get inspiration to write song lyrics…he must have been crushed. Chanyeol would never dream of working in an e-commerce company. What made his big eyes sparkle in a thousand stars, and his ears perk up was always music. He wanted to be a musician.
“Sorry to hear that”, Jongin said.
“I mean, I’ll just move on”, Chanyeol shrugged. “But I just…don’t want to be lonely”.
It made sense. If there was something from Chanyeol that was the polar opposite from Jongin, it was the way he treated his wound. He immediately went out into the world and asked for help. While Jongin had to pass one long process first before arriving at that act: retracting himself from the world, into his familiar loneliness, pushing everyone away. Sometimes it took days. Sometimes it took months. And sometimes, he didn’t even ask for help.
Jongin sat back in his chair, watching Chanyeol push his stew around without eating much of it. “You know…”, Jongin started, carefully choosing his words. “You were just doing what you’ve always done. Trying your best”.
Chanyeol’s eyes flicked up to meet his, searching for something in Jongin’s face. Jongin wasn’t sure what—reassurance, maybe, or understanding—but he held Chanyeol’s gaze anyway, ignoring the annoying rise of heartbeat that made him anxious.
“Yeah”, Chanyeol said finally, his voice quiet. “Maybe”, He glanced down, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “It’s not the first time it’s bitten me in the ass, though”.
“No”, Jongin said softly, his voice almost teasing. “But it’s also why people trust you. The right people, I mean”.
Chanyeol exhaled sharply, almost like a laugh, and for a moment, the tension cracked. He picked up his spoon again, taking a proper bite of his stew.
“You always say stuff like that”, Chanyeol murmured, not quite looking at Jongin. “Like you’ve got me figured out or something”.
“After six years, don’t you think I should learn something?”, Jongin said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
Chanyeol nodded, but his expression had softened, the weight in his shoulders lifting just slightly. For a moment, they ate silently, the sound of clinking dishes and murmured conversations around them filling the air.
Jongin looked down at his nearly empty bowl, the warmth of the stew spreading through him. “For what it’s worth”, he said, breaking the silence, “I’m glad you didn’t let it stop you”.
Chanyeol tilted his head. “Stop me from what?”.
“From loving things you always love”.
Chanyeol blinked, his lips parting slightly, like he was going to say something, but he didn’t. Instead, he just nodded, his eyes crinkling at the edges in that familiar way that Jongin hadn’t realized he’d missed.
The rain had stopped by the time the moving truck rumbled up to the curb outside Chanyeol’s apartment building. No, their apartment now. Jongin stood by the window, watching two men in matching navy uniforms climb out, stretching their arms against the afternoon chill.
“They’re here”, Jongin announced. He glanced back at Chanyeol, who was already moving toward the door, keys jangling in his hand.
Downstairs, the movers had already started unloading. Jongin’s boxes were stacked haphazardly on the dolly—half of his life condensed into cardboards and duct tape. Chanyeol didn’t comment, just helped guide the movers through the narrow hallway and into the elevator.
The apartment turned into a maze of boxes and stray furniture within minutes. The movers worked efficiently, maneuvering Jongin’s bed frame and desk with practiced ease, while Jongin tried not to hover too much. Chanyeol, on the other hand, jumped in without hesitation, rolling up his sleeves and pushing a box labeled clothes toward the far corner of the room.
“You’re stronger than you look”, Jongin said, half-joking as Chanyeol hoisted a particularly heavy box onto the floor.
“Those hours in the gym should be worth it”, Chanyeol grinned.
The easy banter made Jongin’s chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with the physical effort of unpacking.
The hum of rain filled the silence between them until the movers finished hauling the last box inside. Jongin handed the crew a generous tip, sending them off before closing the door behind him. He stood in the middle of the room, surveying the chaos. Chanyeol leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a faint sheen of sweat on his brow.
“Well”, Jongin said, “Guess it’s time to turn this mess into something livable”.
Chanyeol nodded, stepping into the room to join him, and together they began the slow, deliberate process of unpacking.
The number of things Jongin packed was borderline concerning, considering that his mother’s house was just an hour's drive away. The same question kept slamming the back of his head, don’t you think this is a bit too harsh? Which the same answer kept resurging, no. He assumed he wasn’t satisfied with the answer, but he needed time to grieve, and the first stage–denial–always felt the hardest. He knew it too well. Life was nothing but a series of griefs and a short gap of nothingness, and perhaps a small victory if he tried hard enough, for him.
He was glad Chanyeol didn’t really press him to talk about the actual thing. Amidst the brown cardboard and the sticky, tangled leftover duct tape, Chanyeol talked about everything else. Their jobs, mostly, because they were twenty-five. Their college friends, whether any of them got some information about them, valuable or not.
Jongin bent down to grab a box labeled personal , but as he lifted it, the bottom gave way. The sound of scattered contents echoed in the quiet apartment.
“Fuck”, Jongin muttered, dropping to his knees to gather the spilled items—journals, an old notebook, and a stack of photos bound by a loose rubber band.
Chanyeol darted towards him. “Let me help”, he said, crouching beside him. Before Jongin could grab it, Chanyeol picked up the top photo, his expression freezing.
That photo was taken by Jongdae from above. Jongin lay down on the floor of Junmyeon’s room, looking at the camera with his widened eyes and wide-open mouth, his splayed dark hair contrasting the beige rug. On top of him, Chanyeol was crushing his body while embracing him simultaneously, tilting his head to the side to show his smug grin to the camera. As if he just caught Jongin, the rare species, in the wild. Jongin’s hands were grabbing the back of Chanyeol’s hoodie so tight. His breath hitched in his throat.
He recognized that photo very well. How could he not? It was taken during the final exam week of their last college year. They were fighting tooth and nail to finish their last ever essay in college that night in Junmyeon’s house. When they did, they clinked their glass and drank Junmyeon’s red wine over and over again, cranking open another bottle, until they got drunk. All of them became more aggressive physically, hitting and slamming each other while hysterically laughing. They blamed it on the pent-up academic frustration. Being the person who loathes physical affection, Jongin was the main target for Chanyeol, who was quite the opposite.
And that was how that photo existed.
What churned Jongin’s stomach was, the photo was considered so innocent and tame compared to what happened between them exactly the day before, at the exact same place. To this day, it was only a secret between them. No one knew. Not even Jongdae and Junmyeon.
“I forgot I even had this”, Jongin said quickly, reaching out to take the photo, but Chanyeol didn’t hand it over. Instead, he stared at it, his expression unreadable.
“A lot has changed”, Chanyeol murmured. His thumb brushed over the glossy surface.
Jongin’s throat tightened. The words Chanyeol said carried a heftier implication that they both knew.
For a moment, the apartment was still empty except for the rain. Jongin watched as Chanyeol hesitated, his lips parting like he wanted to say something. But then he placed the photo carefully back on the stack, his smile slipping into something softer, quieter.
“Good memories”, Chanyeol said, his voice light.
“Yeah”, Jongin echoed, forcing himself to look away. He shoved the photos back into the box, his movements quicker than necessary. “Let’s get this sorted”.
By the time they were done with unpacking and arranging, the sun was already down. Jongin and Chanyeol stood by the doorframe, their clothes sticking to their back, and their hands felt grimy. Jongin’s room was finally liveable, with the warm, arched corner lamp, a jar of unlit vanilla cinnamon scented candle on the adjustable standing desk, a framed poster of David Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust near the window, and all of the essential stuff that had been tucked into the shelves and cupboard.
“Wow. Your room is so cozy”, Chanyeol commented, as his eyes scanned around.
“Yeah? I haven’t really seen your room, though”.
“Oh, it’s a bit messy”.
“I’d be surprised if you say it’s neat”.
Chuckling and pushing Jongin’s back, Chanyeol led him to his room, which was separated by a bathroom. He opened the door and turned on the light, letting Jongin see the ‘mess’. Actually, it wasn’t that bad. Sure, Chanyeol had so many knick-knacks—he collected a lot of sentimental things because he had an ocean-sized heart that he stuffed with so many memories and emotions. But it was organized. The picture strips collection with his friends (Jongin assumed; he had been out of the loop from Chanyeol’s dating history for almost three years), the albums of his favorite artists, strange movie poster remakes, books, perfumes…
“It’s good, though”, Jongin said. “It’s so…you”.
“Wait until you see this”.
Chanyeol opened the door that was supposed to be his walk-in closet. He had told Jongin that he wanted this room specifically because he wanted to build his own studio. And he really did. In this small room, he had plastered all-black acoustic foams on the walls. The guitars, both acoustic and electric, were hung next to the door. On the opposite side was a desk filled with a monitor, two speakers, a synthesizer, a control pad, headphones, and a small desk lamp. There was just enough space for one person to walk towards that desk as Chanyeol put his keyboard on the left side of the room.
“Yeah, I can definitely see you locking yourself in this room for twelve hours on weekends”, Jongin said, as he caressed the black and white electric guitar.
“More, actually”, Chanyeol said. “I wear my glasses more often than I think I should for my age”.
Jongin looked up at Chanyeol’s eyes, instinctively. The first time he met Chanyeol through Junmyeon and Jongdae, he was caught off guard by how special his eyes look. Not that they were just big, but even without words, they spoke to him in a bright and cheery voice that didn’t make Jongin squirm in annoyance.
A year after that, he had the chance to have Chanyeol’s eyes less than a finger away from him, where in disappointment, Jongin had to close his eyes forcefully.
It had been instinctive, the way his eyes fluttered shut, not because he wanted to but because it felt inevitable. What followed was fleeting—a soft, warm pressure that made his breath hitch and his heart stutter in a way he wasn’t prepared for.
Jongin showered first. The water ran smooth and warm against his skin, cleansing all of the dirt and sweat from today’s hard work. He hopped out of the shower, smelling fresh, hair still wet, body and clothes all clean. While Chanyeol showered, Jongin sat in the living room, setting up their Netflix account on their smart TV. Chanyeol suggested buying it together, along with the air fryer and coffee machine too. Apart from feeling like a real adult with real money, Jongin did all that without even meeting Chanyeol ever since they sealed the deal. He was just desperate to get out of his mother’s house.
Ten minutes or so later, Chanyeol stepped out of the bathroom and went straight to the fridge. He took out two cans of Heineken and two coasters, put them on the coffee table, and slumped next to Jongin on the couch. Jongin furrowed his eyebrows when he saw the coasters. He took one and examined it in front of his eyes.
“Is this from Sachiro?”, Jongin asked.
“Yeah. You still remember it”.
“You dragged us there five times a week. I could even tell you how much dust they have on their windows”.
When they were in their sixth semester, there was a one-month period during which Chanyeol became so addicted to going to this small coffee shop near his apartment, named Sachiro. It was the coffee, Chanyeol said, that was different; but back then, Jongin wasn’t an avid coffee drinker and everything just tasted the same. Bitter. He disliked it. He ordered chocolate or tea whenever Chanyeol dragged him, Junmyeon, and Jongdae there, while Chanyeol was proud with his no sugar latte.
“Thought it was cool, so I, uh, pocketed it”.
“You stole it”.
“Borrowed it indefinitely”. Chanyeol cracked open the can. The hissing sound from carbonation filled the air before Chanyeol took a few gulps.
Jongin snorted, shaking his head. He opened the can for himself. “Of course you did”. He ran a thumb over the condensation on his can. “You’ve been there recently?”
Chanyeol tilted his head, considering. “I did, once. A year ago. But they remodeled. New chairs, new tables. It didn’t feel the same”.
“Things change”. Jongin’s voice was quiet, almost drowned out by the remnants of whatever city’s hum that could reach the fifth floor; mostly just the faint sound of the car's engine.
“Yeah”. Chanyeol glanced at him. “But it’s still there, you know? Even if it’s different”.
Jongin didn’t answer right away. He tipped his can back, the cool bitterness of the beer grounding him.
Some things changed, yet it always evoked the same feelings.
Seems like it described Chanyeol the best.