Archive of Our Own ^beta

Arm's length, shoulders wide

Looking for a fight

Peace sign, getting by

People, we'll be alright

Hongjoong shifts his weight from one foot to the other as he blinks up at the camera fixed to the front door of Lee Minhyuk’s apartment. He feels silly and small standing out here in the hallway clutching a bag of alcohol he frantically purchased from a convenience store and the nicest shirt he could dig out of his closet. They’re on the same team for this round of Kingdom, but somehow Hongjoong wasn’t expecting a personal invitation to spend time together. 

Lee Minhyuk is handsome and charming and so self-assured that Hongjoong burns with jealousy watching him. At the same, he wants to devour every scrap of advice that Minhyuk might be willing to offer him. There doesn’t seem to be anything that he can’t do and when Minhyuk pulled Hongjoong aside after filming at the JYP building and asked if he’d like to come over tonight to have dinner, Hongjoong’s heart climbed right up his throat. 

Now, he forces himself to reach out and ring the buzzer. 

The door opens thirty seconds later to reveal Minhyuk free of makeup, with his blonde hair falling into his eyes. He smiles, big and bright, and beckons Hongjoong inside. 

“Welcome, Hongjoong-ah. Glad your company let you get away for a bit.” 

“I can be very persuasive,” Hongjoon says as he toes off his shoes in the entryway and awkwardly hands Minhyuk the bag. “It’s just soju. Sorry, I wasn’t sure what else you might like.” 

Minhyuk graciously accepts the bag with another warm, disarming smile. “Soju is great, thank you.” 

He guides Hongjoong down the small hallway and into the main area of his apartment. It’s simpler than Hongjoong anticipated, but still well-kept and nicely decorated with plants, trendy art on the walls, and a big flat screen TV taking up a good portion of one living room wall. A few surreptitious glances around reveal two other rooms—a bedroom and what looks like a home studio—along with a kitchen and a small laundry room beyond it. It’s all so clean that it’s nearly spotless, sporting none of the clutter that tends to accumulate in the Ateez dorm, in spite of Seonghwa’s best efforts to keep everything organized. 

Minhyuk sets the bag on his coffee table and pulls out his phone. “I was thinking we could order dinner. How do you feel about pizza?” 

“I love pizza,” Hongjoong says. 

He secretly hopes that Minhyuk isn’t going to choose a lot of vegetable toppings because he’d be too intimidated to refuse them, and he’d rather not suffer through that on top of his already buzzing nerves. 

But Minhyuk hands him the phone so that he can select what he wants. He keeps it simple and quickly passes the phone back. 

“There,” Minhyuk declares with a tap to the screen. “Should be here in half an hour or so.” 

He gestures for Hongjoong to take a seat on the black sofa and Hongjoong obeys, perched close to the edge and wishing that his stomach would take a hint and settle down. He’s not usually this nervous around sunbaes, but Minhyuk is so cool and Hongjoong is desperate to be liked, to be acknowledged, to be respected. 

Minhyuk sinks down across from him, nudging him gently. “You can relax, Hongjoong-ah. I don’t bite.” 

Logically Hongjoong knows that. Minhyuk has been nothing but kind during the whole arduous process of taping this show, stepping up to lead when he needs to but also ceding ground to make sure the younger members of their team had a chance to voice their ideas, Hongjoong included. It’s something Hongjoong has been grateful for. In an industry often full of egos, it can be hard to find even footing with other people, especially seniors. 

Still, the adrenaline keeps coursing through him, refusing to stop. He’s never made industry friends outside of KQ, really. He never thought this show would lead him to Minhyuk’s living room. 

“I’m trying,” he manages to say and it comes out too prickly but Minhyuk just laughs, eyes scrunching up. 

“Okay, okay, I’ll let you try,” he says. 

“Did you invite the others over?” Hongjoong can’t help asking. “From Stray Kids?” 

“Ah, Lee Know’s been here before and I have a standing invitation to them, but no. Not specifically. Just you.” 

“Why?” Hongjoong asks, immediately wary. He’s from the maknae group, from a tiny company—what could he possibly offer that someone from JYP couldn’t? 

Minhyuk hesitates and Hongjoong’s heart starts climbing again, clawing at the lining of his esophagus. “Because I wanted to talk to you about something,” Minhyuk says and he sounds tender but serious. 

“Just me?” Hongjoong whispers. 

“Just you,” Minhyuk murmurs back. 

His heart’s in the back of his mouth now, beating against his tongue. “What is it?” 

“Ah,” Minhyuk says, shifting on the sofa—hands picking at the hem of his sweatshirt. He seems almost … nervous? Which is impossible, why would he be the nervous one here?

“I’m going to ask you something really personal,” Minhyuk says. “And I don’t want you to get scared, okay? I just … don’t know how else to do this without being direct.” 

It’s too late. Hongjoong is already terrified. There is one glaring, obvious thing Minhyuk could be about to ask him and that can’t happen. No one is supposed to find out, he’s been so careful. Hasn’t he? 

He plants his socked feet on Minhyuk’s plush rug, prepared to make a run for it. An absurd response, yes, but he’s not sure what other choice he has. They’ll need to withdraw from the show, most likely. Maybe find a way to pay Cube off if Minhyuk’s silence is something that can be bought.

Or you could just deny it. Except he’s never been that good of a liar. He wears too much on his face. 

“Hongjoong-ah,” Minhyuk continues, leaning forward. His expression is solemn—gaze searching, like he’s trying to peel Hongjoong apart one painful layer at a time. “Are you transgender?” 

All of the air goes out of the room. Suddenly, he’s suspended in a vacuum, drifting somewhere above his body still frozen on the end of Minhyuk’s sofa. Questions race through his mind at frantic speed: how did Minhyuk know? What gave Hongjoong away? Does he not pass as well as he thought he did? Did he accidentally say something to a manager that Minhyuk overheard? Have other people been able to tell and just decided not to say anything? Oh god, do other people on the show know? 

A hand lands on his knee, jolting him back into his own skin and now all he can hear is the frenetic beat of his own heart echoing in his ears. Minhyuk has closed the last of the distance between them and his other hand presses to Hongjoong’s chest. 

“Breathe, Hongjoong-ah,” he says with incredible gentleness for the bomb he just dropped into the middle of this living room. “Just breathe, it’s okay.” 

Hongjoong finally manages to suck in a heaving gulp of air and the next comes a little easier after that. His eyes prickle, but he’s determined not to cry and add to the humiliation he’s already experiencing—shame and fear heating his cheeks and tensing his spine until it feels like it’s made of metal instead of bone. 

“Oh, Hongjoongie,” Minhyuk says. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to scare you.” 

“How … how did you know?” Hongjoong manages to croak out. His gut reaction has made denial impossible. Maybe if Minhyuk at least tells him how he fucked up, he can avoid it the future. And then grovel until Minhyuk promises not to tell anyone else. 

“I just had a hunch,” Minhyuk says. He blows out a shaky breath of his own—jaw tightening like he’s bracing for a blow. “Because I’m trans too.” 

Hongjoong’s world careens onto another axis and his mouth drops open. “You?” 

That … he’s seen Minhyuk shirtless. Watched him perform for years, watched him compete in sports competitions and make inhuman feats seem easy. He’s often held up as a masculine ideal by members of the industry and the Korean public—one that Hongjoong has occasionally aspired to, even though he’ll never be able to achieve Minhyuk’s physique.

“Are you messing with me?” He croaks in disbelief and something painful and complicated flits across Minhyuk’s face—a blend of anger and sadness and sympathy. 

“No,” Minhyuk says and lifts his baggy shirt, baring his chest. This close and without any makeup, Hongjoong can see the faded scars under his pectorals—the same ones that Hongjoong bears on his own skin. 

The air goes out of the room again. Without thinking, Hongjoong reaches out to trace shaking fingers along one of the raised lines and Minhyuk lets him, holding still beneath the touch. 

“I…” the words collapse on Hongjoong’s tongue, unable to bear the weight of the emotion crashing through his chest. 

He’s always been alone outside of anonymous online forums where he finally found terms for what he was experiencing. Labels like transgender and gender dysphoria that saved him from drowning in middle school when it felt impossible to stay inside of his own skin, when he wanted to break his own body to pieces just to free himself from the prison of it. 

But he had to explain it to his brother and then his parents in fraught rounds of conversation until they finally agreed to support him, to call him son instead of daughter—Hongjoong instead of the name that he was born with. Then to KQ, hoping that it wouldn’t kill his career before it even had a chance to begin. Then to his members, one after the other, laying himself on an altar for their judgment and pathetically grateful every time one of them accepted him instead. No one in his actual life has understood: the weight of this secret that he bears, the battles ahead of him and behind him just to be able to live a life that he wants, all the ways that he will never fit in with them, will never fit in anywhere, no matter how well he might pass. 

Needles in his skin over and over again. Managers he’s never quite sure he can trust, no matter how many NDAs they sign. Childhood pictures locked away and purged from the internet. School records buried. An ID card that betrays him with one glance at the number. A dead name he’s terrified someone will still utter. A ghost that rattles in his closet—both a part of him and severed from who he has become, and he still doesn’t know how to fit all these pieces of himself together or if he ever will. 

A girlhood instead of a boyhood and the trauma of that. Stories that he doesn’t know how to tell because they’re so different from the ones his members share about their school days, about the onerous process of growing up. 

But Lee Minhyuk cups his face and tips their foreheads together and says in a voice wet with emotion, “I’m here,” and suddenly Hongjoong isn’t alone anymore. 

He opens his mouth again and this time all that careens out is a rasping sob. Minhyuk pulls him into a proper embrace, rocking him back and forth on the sofa, and later he will be embarrassed about the fact that he’s completely ruining Minhyuk’s shirt with snot and tears. Right now, he’s swept up in this outpouring, in the solid weight of Minhyuk’s arms around him and Minhyuk’s chin on the top of his head, in the soothing circles Minhyuk is rubbing into his back, in the fact that Minhyuk seems to be crying, too—his own chest hitching against Hongjoong’s. 

Hongjoong has no idea how long they stay like that: weeping all over each other. The chime of the door startles them both and Minhyuk reluctantly pulls back with a sniff. His cheeks are wet and his eyes are red-rimmed and puffy. He wipes his face on the sleeve of his shirt with a grimace and croaks, “food’s here.” 

“Right,” Hongjoong hiccups, trying to clean himself up. It feels like a fruitless endeavor and he’s probably ruined his own shirt, as well as Minhyuk’s. 

Minhyuk pets the back of his head. The gesture spreads warmth through Hongjoong’s chest like a rising sun. “Be right back.” 

He unfolds himself from the couch and pads to the door. Hongjoong listens to the faint creak of it opening and the low timbre of Minhyuk’s voice, exchanging pleasantries with the delivery man. The door closes again after a few seconds and Minhyuk returns, bearing several boxes that he sets next to the soju on the coffee table. 

He turns to crouch in front of the sofa, concern on his face. “Are you okay?” 

Hongjoong nods, embarrassment finally creeping back in. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize,” Minhyuk says seriously. “I cried too. It’s good, yeah?” 

Hongjoong feels a bit hollow, but in a way that’s comforting instead of devastating. Like an old wound suddenly drained somewhere in his chest and it’s easier to breathe, like he’s been carved open and made new. A beginning instead of an ending. 

He nods again. “Yeah. It’s good.” 

“For me too,” Minhyuk agrees and laughs. “I haven’t cried that hard in ages. Don’t tell anyone.” 

Hongjoong hides his mouth behind his hand as he laughs too. “I won’t, hyung. If you don’t tell anyone about how hard I cried either.” 

Minhyuk draws an X over his heart. “Our secret.” 

Well … on top of the other glaring one that they share. Now that he’s through the initial emotional storm and has reached calmer waters, Hongjoong finds himself staring at Minhyuk in awe as Minhyuk retrieves plates from the kitchen and begins serving up the pizza. It’s still hard to believe this is real: that not only is there another person in the industry who understands exactly what he’s going through, what he’s already been through, but that person is Lee Minhyuk. And they might have drifted along—aware of each other’s existence but not of their connection—for the rest of their careers if they hadn’t both ended up on Kingdom, and then within the same unit. 

What are the odds? 

He’s never been a big believer in fate—rolls his eyes whenever Seonghwa or San talk about red strings—but maybe the universe decided to give him something nice to make up for all the shit it’s put him through. 

“I have so many questions,” he blurts. “Can I ask you questions?” 

“You can ask me anything you want,” Minhyuk promises and deposits a plate in his lap. “As long as you also eat.” 

He suddenly reminds Hongjoong of Seonghwa: determined to take care of everyone around him. “Yes, hyung,” he promises and dutifully takes a bite of the pizza. He’s sure that it’s good, but he can barely taste it—too wrapped up in trying to sort out the myriad of questions in his head. 

“Who knows?” he starts with. 

Minhyuk settles across from him again, tucking his legs onto the sofa. “My members,” he says. “Two managers who have been with the company long enough. A handful of company executives. That’s it.” 

“Me too,” Hongjoong says. “Though only one manager knows. And our CEO. Oh, and some people on our producing team.”

Mainly Eden, who had to take him in when he was sixteen and just starting to present the way he wanted—at least outside of the rigid confines of school. Who merely nodded when he asked to be called Hongjoong instead of the name still on his ID and handed him a list of musical terms to memorize overnight. 

“How did your members take it?” he asks next. 

Old sadness breaks over Minhyuk’s face. “Not well, at first.” He sighs. “Don’t get me wrong, they’re my biggest supporters now and I don’t hold anything against them. It was 2011. None of them had ever heard the word transgender before. They didn’t understand and that made them cautious, less willing to accept me.” 

Hongjoong’s heart aches. He can’t imagine what it would have been like if any of his members hadn’t accepted him. If Seonghwa hadn’t earnestly thanked him for his trust. If Wooyoung hadn’t promised to kill anyone who might hurt him. If San hadn’t wrapped him up in a bear hug in spite of his protests. 

“That must have been hard.” 

“It was,” Minhyuk says simply. “But at the time it just felt like another hard thing, you know? And they did come around eventually. At the start it was mostly because they needed me in order to debut, but when they started to take the time to listen, to learn, their perspectives changed. They apologized and it got easier.” His mouth twists in a rueful smile. “Now, sometimes they even forget I’m not cis. I’m pretty sure I shocked Changsub the other day when I reminded him that no, I don’t have a dick.” 

Hongjoong chokes on a bite of pizza, trying to swallow around a fit of laughter. That answers another question he had: one he’ll circle back to later, if they have enough time. 

Minhyuk’s expression shifts to serious again. “But your members, are they good to you?” 

“Yeah,” Hongjoong says. “They’ve always been so good to me. I’m grateful.” 

“Good,” Minhyuk says with obvious relief. “That makes me happy. Makes me think that some things are changing, in spite of how hard it still is.” 

It’s true, hearing the contrast between his experience and Minhyuk’s—ten years apart—gives him a spark of hope for the future. 

“When did you know?” Hongjoong asks next, taking another bite of pizza when Minhyuk nudges him. 

“High school. At least, that’s when I finally figured out that it had a label. That it was a real thing and other people out there were like me.” Minhyuk blinks up at the ceiling, gaze cloudy with memory. “I think that would have been 2006? 2007? The internet was just becoming a thing and I was spending hours in PC cafes doing Naver searches. I’d gotten so depressed, like I just couldn’t live in my body anymore, and I was desperate to know if there was some kind of cure for what I was feeling. I think I finally stumbled across an LGBT forum and someone there was talking about transitioning and that’s when I heard ‘transgender’ for the first time. And I realized: oh, that’s what I am.” 

“Oh wow, it was the same for me,” Hongjoong says, leaning forward in excitement. “It was more middle school, so 2013 or 2014.” 

“God, you’re so young,” Minhyuk laments. “Or maybe I’m just old.” 

“You are pretty ancient,” Hongjoong teases and gets a gentle kick in the shin for his effort. “But, yeah I was desperate to figure out what I was experiencing so I went looking on Naver, too, and landed on a forum. And then went down a whole research rabbit hole and figured out I was trans.” 

“I guess some things don’t change,” Minhyuk says. “Thank god for the internet.” 

“Yeah,” Hongjoong agrees, then laughs. “I actually started practicing some English just so I could read articles that hadn’t been translated into Korean for more info.” 

“I ran them through translators,” Minhyuk says with a laugh on his own. “Managed to usually get the gist, at least.” 

“What about your family?” Hongjoong asks. “How did they take it? When did you tell them?” 

“Not long after I figured out what was happening,” Minhyuk says. “They were already worried about it because it was my last year of school and I’d gotten so depressed that my grades were suffering. I went from being top of my class to failing exams. So they were prodding at me alot, trying to figure out what was wrong. But I told my hyung first.” 

“Me too!” Hongjoong says, amazed at the continued parallels. 

Minhyuk grins at him in acknowledgement. “He was always one of my biggest supporters so I figured I might have an easier time with him than with my parents. I was right. It took him a little time to understand but he was immediately in my corner. My parents were much harder, but with my brother backing me up, they came around after a while.” 

“Yeah,” Hongjoong says. He remembers sitting on his brother’s bed on a Saturday afternoon—the summer sun casting long shadows across the floor—and trying to explain what being trans meant while his hyung stared at him with an earnest, worried expression. 

Tried to make him understand that this wasn’t a phase, this wasn’t just being a tomboy. He wasn’t a girl, no matter what body he’d been born in. His words tripped over themselves constantly on their way out of his mouth and his hands shook in his lap, but he spilled it all onto the bedspread between them. 

And he remembers the bone-crushing relief he felt when his brother leaned over to take his hand and said, “okay. I’m with you. What should I call you, then?” 

Hongjoong hadn’t really thought that far, hadn’t picked out a name yet. He’d stared at his hyung, frozen, and gotten a smile in return. After thinking for a long moment, his hyung said, “what about Hongjoong? It matches well with mine. And it has a good meaning.” 

And he’s been Hongjoong ever since. 

“He took me to get my hair cut,” Hongjoong says. “My mother was furious.” He sighs. “I know it was hard for them to give up their daughter.” 

“My parents too,” Minhyuk says with sad understanding. “They had plans for who they thought I would be, what I would become, and it took them time to adjust to a future they never could have imagined. But I’m grateful they accepted me in the end. I know others aren’t as lucky.” 

“Yeah,” Hongjoong agrees quietly. He’s read plenty of stories about trans kids disowned by their families and thus shut out from important care like top surgery or hormone therapy. Once his parents got on board, they were strong advocates, willing to pay for any treatment that he needed, to buy him the clothes that he wanted, to call him by his new name and refer to him as their son. 

“We want you to be happy,” his mother told him. “That’s what we want most.” 

They went on to support him becoming a trainee and making music, even though that’s not what they originally imagined for him, either. He tries his best to be a good son in return—worthy of everything they’ve given him. 

Minhyuk puts another slice of pizza on his plate (definitely a mother hen) and also gets up to open the soju. 

“I started getting connected to the underground rap scene,” he continues as he deftly removes the caps from the soju bottles. “Under the name Huta, and that was my first time publicly presenting as male. It was mostly online to start, but I did go to a few shows. I’d cut my hair and was wearing my brother’s clothes and binding my chest and I got a couple funny looks but no one questioned me. And it felt so good that I knew I was on the right track.” 

“When did you get surgery?” Hongjoong asks, accepting a soju glass. 

“Right after high school, in early 2009. I started hormone therapy around then, too.” 

“Were you a trainee then?” 

“No actually,” Minhyuk laughs. “I decided to try college because I knew that’s what my parents wanted me to do. And I thought it could be like a fresh start? Since high school had been hell. I was naive, though.” 

Hongjoong turns to the side to drain his soju glass and then holds it out for Minhyuk to refill. “How so?” 

“It was a fucking battle,” Minhyuk says. “I wanted to be treated as male in class, but my ID card still had my dead name and I wasn’t able to legally change my gender since I hadn’t gotten full reassignment surgery. So the university didn’t want to grant my request, even though I wasn’t even living in the dorms. Literally all I was asking for was to be introduced as Minhyuk and present as male when in class and to my peers.” His hand curls into a fist against his thigh and he knocks back his glass of soju with an angry jerk of his head. “But that was too much for them apparently. I had to make myself the most annoying person possible. Just showed up in the administrative offices and called and emailed almost every day until they caved.” 

Hongjoong’s chest aches again. He’s unsure of his place here, but Minhyuk seems to be a naturally affectionate person so he reaches out and puts his hand over Minhyuk’s fist in a gesture of comfort. Minhyuk offers him a gratified smile. 

“My mental health still wasn’t the best either,” he continues. “Things were getting better but my dysphoria and depression were still bad. I dropped out after one semester. I felt like a total failure.” 

“You weren’t, hyung,” Hongjoong insists. He can’t imagine how hard that must have been. He only had to deal with KQ and that was terrifying enough—a large university and its layers of cold, unsympathetic bureaucracy must have been so much worse. “You weren’t.” 

“That’s what my family told me,” Minhyuk says. “Eat more. You’ve only finished one slice.” 

“I want to talk more than I want to eat,” Hongjoong grumbles but does take another bite. The pizza has gone mostly cold. 

“Eating is important,” Minhyuk says softly. 

“Keep telling me the story,” Hongjoong bargains. “And I’ll finish at least one more slice.” 

“Brat.” But Minhyuk downs another glass of soju and keeps talking as requested. “I had wanted to study musical theater in college so I decided to just skip the college part and see if I could connect with any local companies. I did land a few roles in some plays and really enjoyed it. I was almost twenty by this time so it would have been 2010. I had thought about becoming an idol but decided it would be too difficult as a transman. I was better off just sticking to the Seoul theater scene. And then I got street cast.” He giggles. “For a boy group. Honestly the most validating moment of my life up until that point.” 

Hongjoong easily recalls the elation he experienced when people started treating him like a boy without any second-guessing or uncertainty. It was like helium in his veins. Like he was finally visible in the world, like he had finally begun to carve out a place in it. He nods, trading a look with Minhyuk that is pure, glorious understanding. 

“So I trained with that company for a while but the group fell through,” Minhyuk continues, leaning precariously off the couch to snag another bottle of soju. “Aigoo—almost … got it.” He settles the bottle in his lap. “I decided to try my luck auditioning for JYP and if I didn’t get in, I’d consider that a sign and go back to acting. I made it to the second round but wasn’t called back. So I took that as my closed door. Until I was street cast again nearly a month later by Cube.” 

Hongjoong laughs. “Were you surprised?” 

“Very,” Minhyuk says wryly. “I took that as the stronger sign and became a trainee.” 

“Did you tell them right away?” 

“No. After what happened with university, I wasn’t about to trust an entertainment company. They cast me for a boy group so I figured I was still passing with them. I joined and made myself invaluable first.” He actually flushes a little “Not to sound too arrogant but I was their best rapper at the time, I could also sing, and I was their best dancer. I had always been into sports and took gymnastics for years so I could do things like tumbling, too. I knew they wanted to put me in the debut lineup and when they confirmed that, then I told them I was trans.” 

“How did they take it?” 

“Not well,” Minhyuk says with bitter amusement. “They accused me of lying to them. Called me too much of a liability because they would have to keep this secret for me. But my plan worked, if they kicked me out, they wouldn’t be able to debut the group and they were already behind schedule. So they agreed to let me stay. Then came convincing the others and our actual debut in 2012.” 

“I told my company right away,” Hongjoong admits. “I was going to be the only trainee they had and I was kind of terrified they’d be more angry if they found out I lied to them. Plus I was in early transition days so I was scared of not passing. And I wasn’t even sure if a group would be able to form or anything because there was no official program or plans at that point.” 

“How they’d take it?” Minhyuk echoes Hongjoong’s earlier question. 

“Better than I expected,” Hongjoong says. “They weren’t really happy but they didn’t immediately kick me out, either. I actually think Eden, one of our producers, vouched for me and told the company that I had talent so that helped their decision to keep me on. I was the only trainee for six months before Yunho and Mingi joined.” 

“Must have been lonely.” 

“It was at times. But I also learned a lot.” Hongjoong feels his mouth twist. “Besides, I was used to being lonely.” 

Minhyuk pats the side of his head in sympathy. Then says, “finish the slice, like you promised.” 

“Yes, hyung,” Hongjoong huffs and shoves half of it in his mouth at once. He still has no idea what it really tastes like, especially after the soju. 

“You were brave, Hongjoong-ah,” Minhyuk says as he eats. “To tell them.” 

“I didn’t feel brave,” Hongjoong mutters around his mouthful of bread. “Mostly I did a lot of groveling.” 

“It was brave,” Minhyuk insists. “Living like we do? All of it is brave, I think. We have to be so much stronger than anyone else.” 

“I’m so scared all the time,” Hongjoong confesses. “All the time, hyung, does that ever go away?” 

“No,” Minhyuk whispers. “I’m still so scared. Even after ten years. But I … seeing you? Maybe I’m not as afraid as I used to be, knowing there’s someone else like me. Maybe I’ve just needed the chance to look back and realize everything I’ve already survived.” 

“What’s the hardest part?” Hongjoong asks. 

For him, it’s not only the constant worry about discovery but the knowledge that if he goes down, he’ll potentially take seven other people with him. Seven other people with dreams as big and hungry as his. What if he ruins it for all of them? That would be so much worse than ruining it for just himself. Sometimes, he wonders if it was too selfish of him to even try to make it as an idol.

“It’s changed over the years,” Minhyuk says, tone turning contemplative. “When I was younger, it was being found out. My career ending—the others’ careers ending, too. I think … I’m less afraid of that now? I’ve made it to ten years as an idol. I’ve done so much more than I ever expected I would be able to do. If it ended now, it wouldn’t seem like such a loss. It wouldn’t break me. And besides, no one would ever guess I’m trans now, right? You couldn’t even believe it when I told you.” 

His voice picks up, anger threading through. “I think that’s the hardest part now. I’m not a cis man. I didn’t have a boyhood. Being trans is at the core of who I am. It is what’s shaped me into the person I am today. And I have to hide it. All these battles that I’ve won are private. Everything I struggle with, I can’t talk about. Sometimes, it feels like I’ve cut out an essential part of me and buried it and it’s suffocating.” He hiccups a laugh. 

“Everyone treats me like this ideal and they have no idea what it took to get here. Being good at sports, winning all those competitions? It wasn’t just because I was competitive. I was desperate to prove that I was man enough. If I could beat all these cis men at physical challenges, then that meant my body had to be as good as theirs, right? But I can’t tell that to anyone and now it feels like I’m living a false narrative.” He shakes his head. “Sometimes, I want to stand on stage and just scream and scream until they all hear me. That probably sounds insane, right? Especially since for so long, all I wanted to do was hide it.” 

“No,” Hongjoong murmurs. He has wanted to hide his transness, too. Bury it so deep that no one would even think to dig for it, couldn’t even see disturbed ground. He’s never thought about it as something to be embraced or celebrated, just a chain wrapped around his ankle making it harder to walk, to run towards his dreams. 

 At least not until here: sitting across from Lee Minhyuk and feeling his own battles and triumphs echo inside another person. They really are so strong, aren’t they? And no one even knows. They just keep fighting this private war. 

“You’re not insane, hyung. I think I get it.” He hesitates. “Or I will, someday?” 

Minhyuk’s smile is all tenderness. “You will someday,” he agrees. “Give it a few more years.” He stretches. “Okay, break. Let’s clean up. Then we can keep talking.” 

Hongjoong follows Minhyuk to the kitchen, picking up a towel to dry the plates that Minhyuk washes with quick efficiency. Outside, the summer sun touches the horizon line and the splay of golden light through the windows coats the apartment in a warm haze that settles in Hongjoong’s chest. Removed from the air conditioning in the living room, the muggy air blankets his skin—beads of sweat dripping down his temples. He regrets his choice of a button-up now, but for some reason it would feel weird to take it off and sit on a sunbae’s sofa in just a tank top. 

Minhyuk puts the pizza boxes in the fridge, muttering to himself as he shuffles other food containers out of the way to create space—the same game of Tetris Hongjoong and his members are always playing back at their dorm. Seonghwa is the resident champion, though he always sighs at them for the mostly empty boxes they leave on the shelves. 

Back in the living room, the soju bottles have left rings of condensation on the white surface of the coffee table. Some of it drips onto Hongjoong’s fingers as he pours them both new glasses. This quiet is comfortable, too—the sudden atmosphere of old friends instead of two people who only met a few months ago and had their first extended conversation literally yesterday. It’s strange. It’s wonderful. Hongjoong wants to soak in it: this level of equilibrium with someone else. 

Minhyuk dials up the air conditioner and resumes his position on the couch. Hongjoong dares to roll his sleeves up and undo the top three buttons of shirt. 

“You can take that off if you’re too hot,” Minhyuk says, gesturing with his glass. “I won’t judge you.” 

Hongjoong flushes but gratefully strips the shirt off the rest of the way, folding it carefully on the couch beside him. Minhyuk winks at him—good-natured teasing—and Hongjoong huffs to hide how flustered it makes him. Minhyuk seems to casually flirt with everyone around him and it’s amazing to witness. Hongjoong doesn’t think he’d know how to flirt even if someone gave him a handbook. 

“Um, can I ask something really personal, hyung?” Hongjoong blurts. “Like probably way too TMI?” 

Minhyuk arches an eyebrow. “TMI how?” 

Hongjoong takes a deep breath, determined to be dignified about this. “Can I ask you about sex?” 

“Ah,” Minhyuk says. He doesn’t sound upset, at least. “Yeah, I said you can ask me about anything and I meant it. So go ahead.” 

Hongjoong takes a fortifying gulp of soju. “Have you slept with people?” 

“Yes,” Minhyuk says easily. 

“Since transitioning?” 

“Yep.” He sets his glass back on the table. “Though not a lot of people, if that’s what you’re thinking. One or two when I was still a trainee and then only one since I’ve debuted.” He laughs, shaking his head. “Though I’ve slept with that one person quite a bit.” 

Well that sounds fascinating. “Are you in a relationship with … that one person?” 

Minhyuk hums, thoughtful. “I suppose? We’ve never really defined it. We’re … Something to each other. And that’s been enough.” 

Something to each other. 

Suddenly, Hongjoong thinks of Seonghwa. Gentle Seonghwa who held Hongjoong’s hands and cried when Hongjoong came out to him. Who never seems to tire of spending time with him. Who always wants more of his attention, more of his affection, more and more of him, but it never feels suffocating. Hongjoong is just terrified that if he opens himself up too much, Seonghwa might not like what he sees. The ghost, the scars, the turbulence that still comes with existing in a body that has never quite fit right, though he’s slowly shaping it into a form he can be satisfied with. 

Seonghwa is beautiful. Seonghwa lights up every stage he stands on, turns heads in every room he enters—Hongjoong can’t understand why Seonghwa continues choosing messy, prickly him. He keeps cutting Seonghwa, over and over whether he means to or not, and Seonghwa keeps coming back, taking up space in the corner of his little studio, pulling blankets over him when he falls asleep on the couch, shoving food in his direction when he forgets to eat. 

It’s like Seonghwa can’t feel the wounds. Or doesn’t care about bleeding. 

It’s more than Hongjoong thinks he deserves. 

“Do you love them?” Hongjoong asks around the stone in his throat. 

“Yes,” Minhyuk says and his face is soft, open. “Very much.” 

This might be pushing too far, asking too much, but Hongjoong’s had enough soju that he feels bold. “Are they … in your group?” 

Minhyuk blinks at him, assessing. “It’s Eunkwang,” he says simply and oh. 

Same age friends, the two eldest of their group. Hongjoong has only seen them interact a little on Kingdom, but they clearly have the ease of two people who have lived in each other’s pockets for over a decade. Who know every tiny, insignificant, momentous thing about each other, and can hold a conversation through nothing but a series of glances. 

Hongjoong can also trace the parallels between the two of them and him and Seonghwa: intensity versus goofy warmth, jagged edges dulled by compassionate support, introvert and extrovert, opposites learning how to fit together. 

“Who is yours?” Minhyuk asks, jolting him out of his thoughts. “Your someone?” 

“Ah,” Hongjoong deflects. “I don’t have anyone.” 

“But there is someone,” Minhyuk presses, far too observant. 

“Seonghwa,” Hongjoong whispers and it’s the first time he’s ever admitted it aloud. 

Minhyuk hums and leans forward, patting his knee. “What’s holding you back?” 

There are a lot of logical reasons he could give: he doesn’t want it to affect the group, he doesn’t know if their company will allow it, it’s always risky to date another man in their industry, even if they could keep it secret. 

None of them would feel true. 

“I’m scared,” he says, because that is the crux of it. “I’ve never … I’ve never let myself get that close to anyone. It never felt safe.” 

“Does it with him?” 

“It could.” 

He wants to believe that Seonghwa won’t judge him. Would want his body exactly how it is. 

“But it’s still hard,” Minhyuk acknowledges—voice laced with tender sympathy. 

“I’ve barely even thought about sex.” He has no idea if he would enjoy it, if he’d be able to handle someone touching him intimately. To handle peeling back all of his layers and armor and allowing someone to perceive him in nothing but his vulnerable, imperfect skin. 

“Have you, uh, have you enjoyed sex?” Hongjoong asks, a little amazed at his own bluntness. 

Minhyuk remains unfazed. “I have. The first couple times were … not great. I think I pushed myself before I was ready because I didn’t want to be scared of it? And nineteen-year-old me could have chosen better partners, who would have treated me a little more … delicately, I guess. Cared for me more. But with Eunkwang? It’s always been good.” 

He scoots closer, shifting to take Hongjoong’s hands in his own. “It’s different for everyone, though, Hongjoong-ah. There are still days where I don’t feel right or good in my body and I don’t want to be touched. I’ve had to learn how to communicate that. And a true partner will understand.” 

Hongjoong nods, lacing his fingers with Minhyuk’s and using them as an anchor. “I have no idea how I want to be touched.” 

Minhyuk squeezes his hands. “The right partner will help you figure it out, I promise. And if you want any advice, I’m here. It’s been a long process of trial and error for me. Lots of stuff I’ve had to figure out.” 

Hongjoong nods again. It’s too overwhelming to consider taking Minhyuk up on that offer right now, but he wants to leave it on the table for the future. He’s hoping they’ll get to have a lot more conversations like this one because now that he’s found Minhyuk, he’s not about to let go of him once the show ends. 

“Why did you decide not to get full reassignment surgery?” Hongjoong asks, another thing he’s been curious about. 

Minhyuk grimaces. “I did think about it. It would have made it a lot easier to legally change my gender, but the surgery is intense. Invasive. A lot of times it can come with complications and I was about to enter a career where my body needed to stay in peak condition. I was afraid of jeopardizing that if something went wrong. And I … I was starting to like my body? I didn’t feel like I needed to get more surgery to learn how to feel whole, you know?” 

Hongjoong nods. That’s a journey he’s been on, too. He likes himself more and more when he looks in the mirror these days, and that feels like a miracle. 

“I think I feel the same way. It’s why I haven’t gotten it yet. The company offered to pay for it, which is generous of them, but I … I think I’m good. Even if it’ll make things harder down the line.” 

Minhyuk lets go of one of his hands so that he can pet Hongjoong’s hair again. “That’s good, Hongjoong-ah. Stand your ground, yeah? It’s your body and no one should be allowed to tell you what to do with it. Not a company, not a court, no one.” 

It’s gratifying to hear Minhyuk say that. Sometimes, he feels like he’s fighting pointlessly, selfishly, but the conviction on Minhyuk’s face tells him otherwise. 

“You legally changed your gender, though?” 

Minhyuk nods and leans back on the sofa, tucking his legs against his body so he can wrap muscular arms around his knees. The posture makes him seem both young and old all at once—fierce but also so very tired. “In 2014. The year before, a judge allowed five defendants to legally change their gender without having full reassignment surgery. I saw an opportunity and used that as a precedent to win my case.” 

He sighs, the weariness growing. “It was still hard. It helped that I … that I’d had my uterus removed. It was a decision I made for myself, I knew I didn’t want children, but….” His fingers scrape against the fabric of his sweatpants and anger flashes across his face before the exhaustion returns. “It just hurts. What they make us go through just to live our own lives, what they can require us to do just to change a number on a piece of paper, just to be recognized. It hurts. It makes me furious. And yet, no choice but to play along.” 

Hongjoong simply curls his own hands into fists in his lap because there are no words for this. For the helpless anger he thinks they all carry inside of them. For the fear that runs right alongside it. For how tired they all are from this endless fight. 

He hasn’t gone to court yet, though he knows it’s in his future if he wants to enlist. It’s a tomorrow battle, one that he has to gear up for, because it is going to be humiliating and tedious: presenting himself in front of an unsympathetic judge to ask for the right to legally change his gender. 

“We can find out who the judge is and blackmail him,” Wooyoung said once, sounding completely serious, and that at least made Hongjoong laugh, made him remember that he’s not really in this alone. 

“Sorry,” Minhyuk says with another sigh. “I don’t mean to get bleak. There have been plenty of victories along the way, too. We can talk about kinder things.” 

“I’m guessing enlistment wasn’t kind?” Hongjoong asks and Minhyuk frowns, shaking his head. 

“Nope, that’s a conversation for another day, I think. Sorry, Hongjoong-ah.” 

“Don’t apologize, hyung,” Hongjoong insists. “I don’t really want to think about it yet, anyway.” 

“That’s right. You’re a baby, you’ve got time.” 

“Hyung, I’m twenty-three!” 

“A baby,” Minhyuk repeats, eyes sparkling. 

Hongjoong rolls his eyes, though doesn’t mind the teasing as much as he normally would. The sun has almost set—the hushed blue of twilight consuming the warmth of golden hour. Minhyuk gets up to turn on the lights in his living room and Hongjoong’s phone buzzes in his pocket. 

It’s Seonghwa, checking up on him. They have schedules in the morning because they’re in the middle of comeback preparations on top of filming for Kingdom, and Seonghwa has been quietly worrying about all of them running themselves too ragged, even though he’s barely sleeping himself. 

Hypocrite.

Hongjoong texts back that he’s okay and he’ll be home soon-ish. His throat aches from talking so much and his head still feels a little stuffy from the muggy air and all the crying he did earlier. When Minhyuk returns to the couch, he throws an arm over Hongjoong’s shoulders, drawing Hongjoong into his side. Hongjoong settles against him, letting himself be held in a way he rarely allows. He’s been the leader of his own group for so long, it’s a little strange to be a dongsaeng, to feel protected. 

“Minhyuk hyung,” he murmurs, “are you happy?” 

Minhyuk hums. “Most days I am. Sometimes, it’s a conscious decision to be happy, but I’ve gotten better at making it. What about you, Hongjoong-ah?” 

“I think I’m learning how to be,” Hongjoong replies. 

He’s already made it further than he ever expected to and he keeps running even when his lungs ache and his legs burn, sprinting towards a brighter future. One where stages get bigger, where his skin fits him right, where the ghost sighs and settles into grave dirt, where he looks in the mirror and loves the person looking back at him with fierce joy. 

Where he is proud of the self he created, the body he molded, the man he managed to become against all the odds. 

“Good,” Minhyuk says. “Don’t give up. That’s my best advice, being a couple years ahead of you on this journey. Just don’t give up, Hongjoong-ah.” 

Hongjoong shifts to press his mouth to the soft fabric of Minhyuk’s shirt, feeling the beat of Minhyuk’s heart against his cheek. “I won’t,” he whispers. “And you’ll be here?” 

He’s always been independent to a fault, but the comfort Minhyuk provides has stripped away all of his defenses. He wants someone he can go to for advice—an anchor on the other end of a phone, a safe haven to retreat to, a hyung who will show him how to fight the worst of his battles. 

“I’ll be here,” Minhyuk promises, pressing a kiss to the top of Hongjoong’s head. Hongjoong can’t help grimacing at the display of affection and Minhyuk laughs. “Now that we’ve found each other, you won’t get rid of me.” 

“Good,” Hongjoong says and finally pulls back from the embrace. “Thank you.” 

“It’s not a hardship,” Minhyuk says. “Ask me anything. Always. Yell and I’ll find a way to come running. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Hongjoong says and feels so safe, so loved in this moment, that he almost starts crying again. 

He valiantly swallows back the tears. He won’t embarrass himself any further tonight. Minhyuk pats his cheek with a tender, knowing smile, and insists that he take all of the pizza home with him, piling the boxes in his arms in the entryway while making him promise to text once he’s safely back at his dorm. 

“I’ll see you at the next taping,” he says, opening the door for Hongjoong. “Good luck on the song.” 

“You, too,” Hongjoong says. “And thank you for tonight, hyung. For everything.” 

“Aish, don’t thank me.” Minhyuk waves a dismissive hand. “It was for me too. You’re not the only one who’s excited to have someone to talk with.” 

Hongjoong tucks the pizza boxes under one arm so that he can lean in and give Minhyuk a last hug. “We’re gonna be okay, Hongjoong-ah,” Minhyuk says. “I believe that.” 

And Hongjoong believes it too. 

_ _ 

Seonghwa greets him in the living room as soon as he gets out of his shoes, rising from the middle of the couch. The rest of the dorm is quiet—everyone either gone or retreated to their rooms for the evening, even though it’s not that late. 

They’re all exhausted and this is the first night they’ve had off in at least a month. 

“You’re back,” Seonghwa says. 

He looks too beautiful in the diffused light, bare-faced and rumpled—red hair sticking up in tufts on the back of his head, giving him the air of a disgruntled bird. 

“I’m back,” Hongjoong murmurs. 

He’s never sure what to do in these quiet moments between them, when he starts to wonder what Seonghwa’s mouth would feel like against his own or if Seonghwa can also hear this vibrating chord connecting them, like they’re two notes struggling to figure out their harmony. He can’t voice such sappy thoughts out loud, he has a reputation to maintain and a group to preserve, but tonight he thinks of Eunkwang and Minhyuk and dares to entertain the idea that this could be easy. 

Being with Seonghwa could be easy. 

Seonghwa crosses the living room to take the boxes that he forgot he was holding, giving him an affectionate smile that dries up all his air. 

“What did Minhyuk sunbaenim want?” He asks as he goes to put the boxes in the fridge. “Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” Hongjoong asks quizzically. 

“You’ve been crying,” Seonghwa points out and shit, his eyes must still be puffy. 

Seonghwa knows him too well. 

“I’m fine,” he insists. “It wasn’t anything bad. He….” Hongjoong hesitates, uncertain of how much to tell Seonghwa. He did ask if Minhyuk was okay with Hongjoong telling his members and Minhyuk said yes, but…. 

It’s Seonghwa, he reminds himself. He can trust Seonghwa. 

“He’s like me, Seonghwa-yah,” he murmurs. 

Seonghwa’s eyes widen. “He is?” 

Hongjoong nods. “So they were good tears.” 

“Oh,” Seonghwa breathes, as always with far too much tenderness, “I’m so glad, Hongjoong-ah.” 

You’re too good to me, Hongjoong thinks helplessly. Too patient, too kind, too selfless. 

Hongjoong wants to love him. Hopes that someday, he’ll figure out how. 

Tonight, he lets himself be sentimental one more time, stepping forward to wrap Seonghwa up in an awkward but determined hug. Seonghwa makes a surprised sound, stiffening against him for half a second before sinking into the embrace. He’s annoyingly taller, so he folds himself around Hongjoong like a heavy, comforting blanket, tucking his chin on Hongjoong’s shoulder. 

“Thank you,” Hongjoong says, which is easier when he doesn’t have to look Seonghwa in the eye. “For always being here.” 

“Of course,” Seonghwa huffs. “There’s nowhere else I want to be.” 

He says it like it’s a fact. Like it’s easy. 

Hongjoong pulls him closer, fighting the stabbing ache in his chest—like his heart is splintering. 

Seonghwa hums, a soothing sound, and cups the back of Hongjoong’s head, fingers splayed in the bleached strands of his hair. 

He doesn’t let go, seemingly uncaring of the fact that they’re in the middle of the living room and Hongjoong seems to be trying to burrow straight into him, as though he might be able to sink beneath the barrier of Seonghwa’s skin and fuse them together. 

Someday I’ll tell him, Hongjoong thinks as his fingers dig creases into the fabric of Seonghwa’s old, baggy shirt. Someday.

He’s learning to be brave, after all. 

Braver and braver, until nothing will be able to stop him. 

_ _ 

The door to Minhyuk’s apartment beeps as someone enters the code. Minhyuk doesn’t bother moving from the couch, already aware of who it is. He listens to the thud of shoes hitting the tiled floor of the entryway and then a few seconds later, Eunkwang’s face obscures his vision of his ceiling, brow already furrowed in question. 

“How did it go?” he asks. 

“Well,” Minhyuk says. He’s still sorting through all of his emotions about the past few hours, and the several days of agonizing that occurred before he finally decided to open up to Hongjoong, to risk confirming his suspicions. “We cried a lot. Talked for hours. Ate pizza.” 

Eunkwang settles cross-legged on the floor, cramming himself between the sofa and the coffee table. “And how are you?” 

That’s a more difficult question. Minhyuk feels light and heavy, old and young, jubilant and exhausted. “Overwhelmed,” he decides. “In a good way. I never expected to meet someone like me in this industry. He didn’t either.” 

Eunkwang’s palm lands on his stomach, silent comfort. 

“He’s so strong, Eunkwangie,” Minhyuk murmurs. “I don’t think I was that confident at twenty-three.” 

“You were,” Eunkwang promises. “You were the strongest person I’d ever met.” 

Minhyuk turns his head to peer at Eunkwang in the dim lamplight, finding nothing but open sincerity on Eunkwang’s expressive face. “Really?” 

“Really,” Eunkwang says. “Minhyuk-ah … you put up with our shit when we didn’t understand you and were being idiots, you put up with the company’s shit when they kept trying to hold the fact that you were trans over your head. You won races in ISAC with a busted knee. You were so fierce, you ran so fast, I was in awe of you. Didn’t know how to keep up, half the time.” 

Minhyuk swallows, blinking back a fresh wave of tears as he squeezes Eunkwang’s hand. “I didn’t need you to. I needed you to slow me down.” 

Which Eunkwang has. Over and over again. Reminding Minhyuk that he could breathe, uncaring of the times when the thorns in Minhyuk cut him open, stepping up on Minhyuk’s behalf so that Minhyuk wouldn’t have to fight all of his battles alone, even if he was capable of it. 

He came with Minhyuk to the courthouse and rubbed his back when he threw up in the bathroom after being grilled by a judge. He cried right alongside Minhyuk when Minhyuk got his new ID card. He took Minhyuk aside and said, “you don’t have to do this,” when Cube asked him to crossdress for a stage. “Tell me no and I’ll stop it.”

It was then, looking at Eunkwang's serious face, witnessing his fury on Minhyuk’s behalf, that Minhyuk fully realized Eunkwang was in this war with him. 

And now Hongjoong. Bright, wonderful Hongjoong who sparks like electricity on stage and looked at Minhyuk with such wonder that every single painful fight was suddenly worth it, just to give Hongjoong this. Just to be able to take another person’s hands and assure them that they’re not alone. 

Neither of them are alone. And what a miracle that is. 

“Hopefully, I’ve been an anchor and not dead weight,” Eunkwang jokes. 

Minhyuk flicks him in the arm and sits up. “You’re only dead weight when we try to run obstacle courses.” 

“That’s mean but I accept it,” Eunkwang says, always so good-natured. 

Minhyuk settles his hands on Eunkwang’s shoulders. “I love you, you know. Sorry I don’t say it enough.” 

It was Eunkwang who confessed to him, several years ago. Who blindsided him by saying that he had feelings that weren’t platonic and that he wanted to try a relationship if Minhyuk was open to it, as long as they were careful of the group. 

(“I’m not a woman,” Minhyuk said, nervous and defensive since up until this conversation, he had assumed that Eunkwang was straight. 

“I know, Minhyuk-ah,” Eunkwang replied, somehow both exasperated and fond. “I have never once thought of you as a woman. Congratulations on giving me a sexuality crisis.”

Then they made out on Eunkwang’s couch for nearly an hour and the rest is history.) 

Now, Eunkwang blinks up at him, a teasing smile in the corner of his mouth. “Wow, you’re sentimental tonight.” 

“Don’t blame me,” Minhyuk grumbles. “I’ve just had the longest, most emotional conversation of my life. I can be a little sappy. I’m allowed.” 

“Okay,” Eunkwang agrees easily. “You’re allowed. I love you, too. And I’m glad you found someone that you can connect with.” 

“Me too,” Minhyuk says. “I just want to make sure that he’s alright. That it isn’t as hard for him as it was for me.” 

Eunkwang shifts to perch on the coffee table so they’re eye to eye. “Minhyuk-ah, I think things might always be a little hard but I also think in some ways, the world is getting better. Kinder.” 

“It is,” Minhyuk agrees. He sees it in all of the younger idols around him, so open and accepting in a way that he never expected or dreamed of from his peers. “I think it will be kinder for him. I’ll try to make sure it is.” 

Eunkwang grins and plants a kiss on his cheek. “Well, you usually succeed when you put your mind to something so I have faith in you.” 

“Thank you,” Minhyuk says and wonders if Eunkwang will ever understand how much that faith has meant over the years, how much it continues to mean. 

He’s strong, he knows that he is, but he doesn’t think that he would have made it ten years if reedy, twenty-one-year-old Eunkwang hadn’t sat down across from him and said “help me understand” with big, earnest eyes. 

He thinks of the soft affection on Hongjoong’s face when he mentioned Seonghwa and hopes that Hongjoong doesn’t deny himself that support, that chance to love someone. He’ll use his new hyung role to subtly (or not so subtly) nudge Hongjoong in the right direction if need be. 

“Are you staying over?” He asks Eunkwang. 

“Do you want me to?” Eunkwang asks in response. 

“Yeah,” Minhyuk decides. Sometimes, he needs to be alone to process big emotional things but not tonight. 

“Cool, just let me borrow pajamas.” 

“You have your own here,” Minhyuk points out. 

Eunkwang kisses him again, on the corner of the mouth. “But yours are more comfortable.” 

And then he’s off in the direction of Minhyuk’s bedroom, bright laughter trailing behind him. Minhyuk shakes his head, fondness pulling his chest taut. 

His phone dings on the table: a message from Hongjoong saying that he arrived safely and thanking him again.

Minhyuk sends back a string of hearts in return and blows out a long, slow breath into the quiet stillness of his apartment. 

He told Hongjoong that they would be okay and he’s always held onto that belief desperately, with both hands. No matter what life threw at him, he would be alright. He would persevere. 

But tonight, it’s easier to believe than it has been in a long time. 

Tonight, he stares at the letters of Hongjoong’s name and thinks we’ll be alright and knows it in his bones. 

They’re strong, they’re brave, and now they have each other. 

The future will keep getting brighter, until the warm glow of it envelopes them. 

Chases away all of the pain.