"Chan."
"What's wrong? I've been calling your name for a while."
"Ah, sorry. What were you saying?"
Chan opened his eyes wider, as if that would somehow help him focus.
But his mind had been stolen away, incapable of holding onto a single thought for more than a few fleeting moments.
Working endlessly to bury the bitterness inside him had led nowhere.
And the insomnia had only worsened since Minho left.
Minho kept pushing him away. His friends and parents had also made their disapproval crystal clear.
"Yeah, I was talking about the new album. What do you think—"
Right. He was supposed to be listening. He needed to focus.
"Don't worry. Your performance was great."
That voice. That scent.
His senses never failed him when it came to Minho.
Felix's arm was around him, a reassuring squeeze.
"I hope so, hyung."
Hyunjin joined them, draping an arm over their eldest's shoulders.
The corners of Minho's lips curled—barely a smile, just a ghost of one.
But it was enough to throw Chan's whole system into disarray.
His heart, once sluggish and heavy, jolted into action, beating wildly.
And suddenly, everything else in his life seemed trivial, meaningless.
The man who would sacrifice everything for his work and dreams—the one who always believed he would live his life alone and had never minded the thought—
was now ready to leave it all behind for this person.
For his person.
. . .
Minho never left his parents' house.
It was comforting, slipping back into the role of the only child.
Lying down with his head in his mother's lap as she knitted a tiny sweater or a hat for one of his cats.
"Is it raining?" Minho asked, brows furrowing with concern.
"Yes, it has been for a while now."
He lifted his head, rubbing his eyes, before pulling the curtain aside to look outside.
Just as he expected—
Chan was still there, standing in the rain, a bouquet of pink flowers in his hand.
He had been doing this for days. Every night at exactly 8 PM.
"He'll get sick," his mother muttered, though she didn't seem particularly concerned, her knitting needles clacking against each other.
She looked up at him, as if she already knew what was going on in his head.
"It's your decision."
Minho sighed, and it didn't take him long to make up his mind.
He ran outside.
"Are you an idiot? You're going to get sick—go home!" Minho shouted, voice sharp with frustration.
Chan could only grin, hearing the scolding of his beloved.
"Like I said, I'm an idiot. And I won't move from here until you listen to me."
He said it so simply, so naturally—like he knew Minho would never truly leave him out here.
Minho didn't disappoint him. But he wouldn't give in that easily, either.
"I'll listen to you tomorrow, if you leave now and keep yourself from getting sick."
Chan smiled again.
"You still care."
"It's hard not to," Minho muttered, rolling his eyes.
"I don't want a dead man in my parents' garden."
Chan brushed his wet bangs back from his forehead, chuckling.
"Thank you."
And this time, Minho smiled for real.
. . .
"It's seven. Aren't you early today?"
Minho pulled his mask down, ruffling his hair after removing his cap.
"Well..." The older man scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.
"I was waiting for you."
Minho nodded toward the house, signaling him to follow.
He let Chan settle at the low table in the living room while he disappeared briefly, returning in more comfortable clothes.
He set a cup of tea in front of him.
"I'm listening."
Chan rolled the cup between his palms, trying to gather his words.
He started a few times, faltering, before finally meeting Minho's eyes and holding his gaze.
"I get it now...
I'm an idiot, but I've learned my lesson.
I might be late, but I swear, I won't fail you again."
He reached across the table, his fingers wrapping around Minho's hand.
He had missed this—the feeling of his soft, warm hands in his own.
"Come back to me, baby. You're everything I've ever wanted."
His other hand slipped into his pocket, pulling out a key Minho recognized immediately.
He set it on the table, looking at him expectantly.
Minho didn't look convinced, and Chan didn't want to pressure him.
"Take all the time you need," Chan said softly.
"I'll wait for you. Even if it takes the rest of my life."
"You're so dramatic," Minho muttered.
Which was what he always said when he got flustered.
. . .
Minho was generous. He only made Chan suffer for a few more days.
But he wasn't patient, either.
He missed Chan. He missed their home.
It was ridiculous to think of Chan's apartment as his own, but that was always how it felt.
Chan had never treated it like it was just his. He let Minho do as he pleased.
Finishing his work early, Minho decided to check on the place.
It had to be a mess by now. Chan never cleaned.
He hesitated before inserting the key.
It would be embarrassing if Chan were home.
Shaking his head, he reasoned that Chan wouldn't be back this early in the evening.
He never got home before midnight.
"Minho."
A familiar voice called his name, and Minho smiled sheepishly.
"Welcome back."
"This is so embarrassing," Minho muttered, stepping inside and sitting next to him at the table.
The place wasn't in chaos like he had expected.
"Good. You didn't wreck the house."
"Would I dare?"
Minho smiled, then his eyes landed on the carefully prepared dinner on the table.
"How did you know?"
"I knew you wouldn't want to skip our tradition—"
"The day we first met."
Minho cut him off, then reached out, brushing his fingertips over Chan's tired face, tracing the dark circles under his eyes.
"You look terrible."
Chan leaned into his touch, chuckling.
"But you're here now. You'll take care of me."
He kissed Minho's palm, his gaze deep and unwavering.
"I love you, Minho.
I love you endlessly, without doubt or regret.
There was nothing before you, and there will be nothing after you, my love."
"You talk too much." Minho shoved a piece of cucumber into his mouth.
Chan whined in protest, but really—
he had never been more content in his entire life.
He loved Minho.
And he wasn't letting go.
. . .
Baby, I swear I'm gonna make it up,
Never gonna let you down, down.
And nothing's gonna stop us if you
Roll with me, come with me,
Trust me, just take a jump with me.
I, I promise that I'll learn my lesson,
I got nothing but good intentions.
Come with me, roll with me,
Trust me, baby, you're the one for me.