Chapter Text

Chapter One

There are few things worse than listening to an entire room singing praises to your ex all night, but oddly enough, this is not the first time it’s happened to Hoseok. It comes with the territory when one’s ex is a reigning champion in the world of figure skating. It comes with the territory even more when one works on a magazine dedicated to the world of aforementioned figure skating. 

So that’s the bad news. The good news is it’s a frequent enough occurrence that Hoseok is well-equipped to deal with it through the grace of a pinched smile, and angling multiple televisions so that they’re always behind him, Jeongguk’s glittering costumes and impeccable triple axel tucked conveniently out of sight. 

But the people. So far, Hoseok hasn’t been successful in finding ways to get them to pipe down, but he’s nothing if not determined. 

“And of course, this means we can expect him to be doing the full competition circuit now - his win today totally cemented that for him.”

An intern whose name Hoseok just can’t ever seem to remember, is talking animatedly, gesturing to the TV over Hoseok’s shoulder with a wide smile. 

“Yeonhwa-ssi told me she might send me out on his route to watch a few of his completions and do a spread on him,” Namjoon sighs, looking a little romanced by the idea. 

There are two things Kim Namjoon loves, and that’s travel and figure skating. Makes sense that he would be the leading journalist for Ice Magazine , globetrotting and gathering the latest scoops from whatever it is the rink has to offer. Sometimes, Hoseok toys with the idea of what Namjoon’s reaction might be if he told him that he and Jeongguk used to date. They are friends, after all, Namjoon and Hoseok. There’s plenty Hoseok does tell him that breaks out of the normal realm of standard coworker conversations, but the Jeongguk thing… Hoseok keeps that to himself, no matter how briefly amusing it might be to catch Namjoon’s reaction.  

The fleeting entertainment wouldn’t make up for the subsequent lifetime of questions Hoseok would no doubt have to answer. 

Was he always that good at skating? Can you get me a first row seat at his next competition? Do you still talk? 

Yes, no, and no. 

Jeongguk was college-era Hoseok history. He was young and wild and free Hoseok, he was 20s and naive Hoseok.

He was pre-injury Hoseok. 

Hoseok is thirty now, life slapped him in the face with a wake-up call a long time ago, and he heeded it. That period of time was good, it was fine. It… meant something, but it’s over now. It’s mildly interesting lore that Hoseok will maybe bring up at a dinner party in twenty years when Jeongguk’s career is well over, and he’s been replaced by some other pretty little thing who looks just as good in a compression turtleneck and black warm up leggings. 

For now, in this room, tucked inside an office building in downtown Seoul, surrounded by the editorial team of Ice Magazine, that portion of Hoseok’s life doesn’t exist outside of his memory. 

It’s not for anyone here to know. 

It’s better that way. 

Hoseok gets home at 6:32 sharp, as he has every other Friday night this year. Perhaps this half-decade, frankly. Unless something absurd is happening, his route and the traffic pattern are nearly always the same, depositing him on his doorstep, house key in hand, with almost frightening predictability day in and day out. 

In the summer it’s fine. He can toss open a window, pour a glass of wine and enjoy it on the back porch. In the fall and winter however, when the sun has already sunk and been replaced with inky night and the white blur of a sagging moon, it all leaves something to be desired. 

His house feels a little cold. The halls feel a little empty. And Hoseok just finds himself standing there in the entry every evening waiting. 

Like someone is going to come out and greet him, like dinner will be cooking on the stove, like music will be drifting from a speaker set, the lively, melodic tune of a home well lived in. 

But there’s never anyone, of course. Hoseok doesn’t live with anyone, or anything, for that matter.  He’s toyed with getting a dog, but he doesn’t like the idea of hair on his cream couch, or gathering in the corners of his waxed floors. Hoseok likes it tidy and organized. It’s one of those annoyingly omega traits that he’s learned to stop denying and just accept. 

He’s a nester in the sense that he’s appallingly finicky and neurotic about the state of his home and everything in it. Which kind of takes animals of every kind off the table. 

But god, this silence is getting old. He needs a fucking Roomba or something. 

Hoseok tugs his office loafers off, places them on the shelf, and swaps them for his squishy house slippers. He hangs his jacket on its designated hook, tucking his work bag beside it, and ambles into the kitchen to fumble through the freezer and take his pick from the assortment of meals stocked there. The subscription service he orders from markets them as organic, sustainable, high protein, gourmet cuisine, but at the end of the day, they are still disposable trays meant to be blitzed in the microwave and peeled open. 

And Hoseok is still thirty. 

And he’s leaning on his kitchen counter eating them alone. 

The funny thing is that Hoseok distinctly remembers laying tossing and turning on his 600 thread count cotton sheets before sleep claimed him, thinking oh my god I can’t keep doing this. 

Maybe I’ll take a gap year. 

Maybe I’ll move in with a friend. 

Something has to give before I lose my mind. 

And the next thing he knows is waking to the sound of a baby crying. 

Which is weird, because he doesn’t have a baby. 

In fact, he’s pretty sure that no one on the street has a baby. The Chois two doors down have twins, but they must be six or seven now. The sound that Hoseok is hearing is the shrill, piercing cry of an infant , and it feels bizarrely like a sucker punch to the gut, lighting up his nerves and shooting him out of bed almost before he knows what he’s doing.

He’s upright, blinking at his bedroom door in utter confusion.

I’m standing. I’m looking for…a baby ?

Bewildered, unsure if he’s trapped in some sort of half-waking dream, Hoseok ventures into the hallway, ears on high alert as he follows that wailing sound. It leads him the way a puppy is led on a leash, to his back door. He pauses for a moment, ear pressed to the wood. That’s definitely a baby. And it’s definitely coming from outside.

And why the hell would there be a baby outside ? Is this some sort of ploy? A hidden speaker playing a sound sure to lure any omega worth their parental instincts into some sort of unknowing trap? Maybe Hoseok is about to get jumped. He’s just about to turn away from the door and formulate a better plan when that tiny, hollering pair of lungs winds up and lets out another piercing shriek, and–nope, Hoseok can’t resist, he’s opening the damn door.

He twists the knob and swings the door wide, and finds himself face to face with–

A fucking baby.

Well, not face to face. More like shin-to-face. The baby is swaddled in a woven basket, the kind you’d take for a picnic or to the local market, and the poor thing is drooly and red in the face from shrieking. Taped to its bundled chest is a large piece of paper folded into quarters, and on it are two names. An address, of sorts.

Jung Hoseok & Jeon Jeongguk . 

“What the fuck,” Hoseok whispers into the thin cold of the morning air. His utterance leaves him in a puff of fog, the heat of his breath turning to steam in an instant. “ What the fuck?” he repeats. His hands are shaky at his sides, his knees wobbling, but he crouches nonetheless - ignoring the stab of pain that shoots up his hip, as he usually does - and plucks up the note with trembling fingers. It falls open easily, like it’s been sitting there for god knows how long just waiting to be seen, and Hoseok scans it at a pace that could be called frantic. 

Hoseok-ah and Jeongguk-ah

I hope you can understand. You have always been two people I trust. I know you’ll do the right thing. I’m sorry it’s happening this way. I’m not myself, and Jiyeon deserves better. I wanted to do better. I think this was my only option. Maybe you won’t forgive me for this, but love her anyway. 

Your old friend,

Kang Hayoung.

“Oh my god,” Hoseok breathes, so faint he’s sure he sees dots of black popping in his vision like dust marring an old photograph. He looks down. The baby - Jiyeon - has stopped crying, and instead she’s looking up at him with wide, watery eyes, almost expectant, as if to say well, are you going to pick me up, or shall I shout again ?

He clambers to his feet, reaching for the handle of her little basket and hauling her in out of the cold. He walks, almost blind by disorientation, back into his bedroom, the baby in hand, and reaches for his phone.

There’s a contact in there, long-buried, blocked, and crossed out of Hoseok’s memory, but never deleted. He could never bear to delete him.

Hoseok clicks it, lifting the phone to his ear, and letting the call to Jeon Jeongguk ring through for the first time in years.

It takes Jeongguk seven calls and thirty-four minutes before he picks up. Hoseok doesn’t know why he’s surprised; he never was one to count on in an emergency, his phone is always on silent and he doesn’t glance at it more than four times a day, but maybe Hoseok had hoped six years would whip some common sense into him.

Wrong again, Hoseok.

When he finally answers, Hoseok is cross-legged on the bed, having lifted Jiyeon from her wicker confinements and propped her awkwardly in his lap. He isn’t sure if he’s ever held a baby before, and the first few minutes of having her in his arms were disproportionately terrifying,  convinced that every move could risk breaking her. But, well, she moves a lot on her own, and in watching that, Hoseok is beginning to deduce that she’s fairly…hearty. 

“Hoseok-hyung.”

Jeongguk’s voice, a little breathless, and a lot confused, interrupts the drone of the dial tone in Hoseok’s ear, startling him so much you’d think he hadn’t actively spent the last half hour frantically trying to reach Jeongguk.

“Is everything…okay?”

“No,” Hoseok blurts out before he can get ahold of his tongue. He thought about it, and he prepared absolutely nothing to say. Because how does one explain this ? Not over the phone, that’s for damn sure. But still, Hoseok is realizing now, with a certain level of humiliation, that these are the first words he’s spoken to Jeongguk in over a half decade, and he didn’t expect it to come about like this. He didn’t expect it to come about at all .

“I need you to come over.”

Silence. Hoseok can almost hear Jeongguk processing what he’s just heard, scrunching his nose in consideration the way he always does. Or, did. 

“Hyung, I–do you know who you called?”

“Yes, I know who I fucking—“ Hoseok drops his voice mid-sentence, flicking a guilty look down at the baby. He’s pretty sure she doesn’t speak a lick of Korean at her age, but he’s also pretty sure you’re not supposed to swear in front of kids no matter what. Children are like sponges, and all that. Hoseok clears his throat and begins again. “I know who I freaking called. I can’t explain it over the phone, but I need you to come over as quickly as you can. It’s—it’s an emergency.”

Silence. A long, stretched out bout of it that makes Hoseok want to shout for god’s sake, I’m carrying a baby here, and I don’t know what to do with her! A little help, please!

Jeongguk sighs, finally. “Hyung. Are you drunk?”

Hoseok’s hand tightens around the phone so fast and so aggressively that he’s sure he runs the risk of cracking it beneath his fingertips. “ At 8 in the morning?” he hisses through gritted teeth, “Jeongguk. Get to my house. Now .”

“I can’t just—I’m at the rink!”

“Quite frankly, I don’t care if you’re backstage waiting to receive the Nobel Peace Prize, I need you here. Now .”

He pauses, suddenly out of breath as if the enormity of the situation is striking him across the face, blunt and shocking, for the first time since he laid eyes on the baby. Hoseok leans back, letting his eyes fall shut. 

“Please,” he adds, softer this time. Part of him hopes that the irresistible sound of an omega in distress will tug on Jeongguk’s alpha heartstrings enough to get him to listen, and part of him is actually just this desperate. “You know I wouldn’t call you for nothing.”

Not now. Not after all this time. 

“Please, just come over. You’re going to want to - need to - see this.”

Again, Jeongguk’s silence. This time, however, it’s shorter. Hoseok hears the familiar clack of skates scraping off ice and onto the rubber floors, and the rigid tension in his shoulders melts a little. 

“Okay,” Jeongguk huffs, sounding more bewildered than annoyed. “Okay, I’ll be over soon. Text me your address.”

He hangs up. Hoseok exhales a sigh of relief. 

The baby sneezes.  

“A baby.”

“Yes.”

“In a basket. On your porch.”

“Yes.”

“From Hayoung?”

“ Yes, Jeongguk, the letter is in your hands! You know everything I know!” 

Hoseok shifts Jiyeon from his right elbow to his left, pacing circles around the room while Jeongguk stands stock still in the center of it, at a very obvious loss for words. He showed up five minutes ago, clad in a black turtleneck and sweatpants, still sweaty from practice. The whole living room stinks like him, his ridiculously potent alpha smell that used to be everything to Hoseok, and is now just a nauseating reminder of a life he let go of. 

Milk chocolate and ginger. Sweet, creamy, a hint of bitter spice. 

It makes Hoseok’s stomach do somersaults, and his gums ache to bite something. 

He hates it. 

“I know, I know,” Jeongguk waves his hands in distress. “I just don’t—I can’t—why would she do that?”

“Well,” Hoseok begins, swallowing over the lump in the back of his throat. “We did always have the joke.”

The Joke. They went to college with Hayoung, she was this bright friendly face, empathetic, smart, a little troubled in the way that the kindest and most creative people tend to be. She only ever knew Hoseok and Jeongguk as a couple, and they would laugh often about her ongoing bit where she’d tell them if she ever had a baby and something happened to her, she’d make sure it ended up with the two of them. 

She didn’t have any family to speak of - or, at least not one she ever wanted to speak of, so Hoseok knew in a small way there was some truth to the joke, and he appreciated it. The fact that she trusted them enough to even consider them for something as important as inheriting a child. 

But that was then. And this is now . He never, ever thought it would all come down to this. 

As if pulling the words right out of Hoseok’s head, Jeongguk speaks. “Joking about being godparents in college, and leaving a baby on your porch, is a hell of a leap.”

Jiyeon emits a loud babbling sound, as if to say, I know, right?

Jeongguk exhales long and low. “I haven’t even spoken to her in years.”

“Neither have I,” Hoseok replies, sullen. 

“After she started dating that guy—“

“The coke dealer?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. Hence why I stopped talking to her.”

A lull. Hoseok can feel Jeongguk thinking the same things he is, working through the great potential scheme of it all. Is Hayoung in some awful trouble? Sick? Strapped for cash? On the run? From the law, or something worse, darker and more elusive? 

Drugs were her vice, they always were.  Small stuff at first, weed, acid at parties to loosen up, but she ramped up during her last year at university, and it put a wedge between them. Hoseok and Jeongguk were training and skating constantly, traveling for competitions and sleeping odd hours of the day to catch up on rest, while Hayoung was skipping assignments and snorting lines off of increasingly questionable countertops. 

They never fought. There was never any grand friendship breakup, it all just…fizzled out. She went one way, they went the other.  

But apparently she came back. And with a goddamn baby. 

“Jesus,” Jeongguk exhales after a long, miserable pause, and turns away, his hand pressed to his forehead.  “I’m calling my lawyer.”

Of course Jeongguk has a lawyer on call. He’s famous. That’s the sort of thing famous people have at their fingertips, Hoseok knows this rationally, it’s just…he’s sort of adjusting, in his head, to the fact that Jeongguk is someone people know.

He has a lawyer. And an assistant. And a manager who calls him while they’re sitting on the couch in stiff silence trying not to stare at one another to remind him that he has a movie premiere to attend this evening, and Jeongguk politely informs him they might have to rain check on that.

Which Hoseok appreciates, begrudgingly. At least he’s not running at the first problem, at least he’s somewhat committed to camping in the same spot with Hoseok until they can figure this out.

After what feels like an eternity, Jeongguk clears his throat. “Do you want me to hold her?”

Hoseok looks over, startled at the sound of a voice amidst the droning silence. He glances at Jiyeon. She fell asleep again a while ago, he sort of found a rhythm with her between the rocking and the bouncing that apparently she liked well enough to crash out from it. She’s still bundled in her same blanket, and with every minute that passes new questions are sprouting in Hoseok’s mind and growing thick like weeds. She’ll need a diaper change soon, won’t she? And to eat. Babies eat a lot, Hoseok doesn’t have any formula for her. He has milk, but–babies don’t just drink milk do they? Can they, in an emergency? 

“Hyung.”

Hoseok blinks. Jeongguk is looking at him expectantly, one arm outstretched as if to say bring her here . “I’ll rock her. Go get dressed, eat something. You’ve had her all morning.”

Oh. Oh, yeah. Hoseok sort of forgot he’s still in his pajamas, hair mussed, face unwashed. Not exactly the dashing comeback one wants to make when meeting an ex for the first time in years, but he’ll let himself off the hook due to unprecedented circumstances. Hoseok stands, a little apprehensive. He’s terrified he’ll trip and fall over with her, but the walk to Jeongguk is no more than five feet, and he crouches again to transfer her smoothly into Jeongguk’s arms, and for a moment the whole thing feels devastatingly intimate.

Jeongguk smiles, in spite of everything, his fond gaze directed down at her. Hoseok supposes that’s the sort of magic babies have, you can’t help but love them and want to watch out for them. It’s like the instinct of all instincts. Shield the youth, protect the future. 

“Cute,” he says softly, thumbing over her cheek, which is pinker and rounder than an apple. “I’ve got her, hyung.”

Even after everything, when Jeongguk tells Hoseok he has her, Hoseok believes him without question. 

He slips back down the hall into his room, stopping for a moment and standing stock still, staring at the wall like it’s going to offer him answers. He doesn’t even remember what he came in here for. Clothing? Yes. Get dressed, Hoseok, you look like a slob . He shakes off his PJs and replaces them with jeans and a T-shirt, then ducks into the bathroom to brush his teeth, splash his face with enough cold water that he feels like a person again, then shakes out his hair into something socially acceptable to leave the house with. It’s not the hottest he’s ever looked, but it’s not rock bottom either. 

Rock bottom would be six years ago, curled in a hospital bed with his new hip sewn inside his body and a team of doctors informing him he’d never skate again.

As bad as this is, it isn’t that . And with that darkly inspiring thought, Hoseok returns to the living room. He catches Jeongguk’s words drifting down the hall before he rounds the corner and actually sees him, leaning back on the couch, Jiyeon cradled in one arm, and his phone in the other hand, speaking into it with a serious expression.

“Sure. Sure. Yeah, nothing else that I know of. Okay, yeah. Sounds good, thank you so much. Bye.”

Hoseok leans on the doorframe, watching from a distance. Jeongguk hangs up and tosses his phone down.

“That was my lawyer. She found a caseworker with the firm who can meet with us immediately and…” he trails off, gesturing vaguely with his newly freed hand. “Figure out what the hell is going on.”

Hoseok frowns. “Don’t swear in front of her.”

“Hyung. Come on. She’s asleep. And hell is barely a swear word.”

“It’s about the principle –” Hoseok begins, fully prepared to launch into a lecture that would put Jeongguk staunchly in his place, but he breaks off early, shaking his head. “Never mind. If the caseworker can meet with us now, let's get ready to go.”

They shake on their sweaters, slip on shoes, and make it as far as the front porch when Jeongguk skids to a stop in his tracks, swinging around to look at Hoseok. Jiyeon is tucked against his hoodie to fend off the cold, and he looks a little mystified.

“We can’t.”

Hoseok freezes mid-jamming his key into the door. “Can’t what?”

“ Drive .”

“Well, I can. I don’t know about you.”

“No, I mean–a car seat. Babies have to have a whole–you know? You can’t just hold them in a car. That’s not legal.”

“Oh.” Hoseok straightens up and turns around, meeting Jeongguk’s wide gaze with one of his own. “Oh shi–crap .”

“Oh, so I can’t say hell, but you can say crap?”

“Shut up, that’s not important right now. Can we walk?”

“Yeah, if you want to trek forty minutes on foot in the cold with a baby,” Jeongguk groans. “Something tells me that’s not gonna go well for any of us.”

Hoseok gives him a blank look that’s returned with an equal lack of ideas. The silence is so thick between the two of them that Hoseok half expects a storm of crickets to start chirping just to fill it. Finally, he pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and shakes his head. “Any chance the caseworker can just meet us here? I mean, normally I wouldn’t ask, but…extenuating circumstances.”

Jeongguk sighs and swaps Jiyeon to the other arm so he can reach for his phone. “I’ll call the number my lawyer gave me and ask.”

The caseworker, as it turns out, is a tiny, fearsome looking woman with a bob so sharp it could cut bread and a briefcase that looks more like a full sized suitcase next to her miniature stature. She agreed to meet them at Hoseok’s house, and is on their doorstep a hasty ten minutes later, which has to be one of the most impressive commute times through downtown Seoul that Hoseok has ever seen. She introduces herself as Park Yunhee and invites herself in before they can.

“I’ve reviewed the situation as best as I can with the little information we have,” she announces, taking a seat on the couch and pulling a thick folder of papers from her case in a prompt, business-like manner. Clearly, this is a woman with an extensive to-do list and little time to waste. “Kang Jiyeon, only child of Kang Hayoung, born just over six months ago now. We’ve already made attempts to contact the mother, but we’ve been unable to reach her. Colleagues of mine have performed a welfare check and found her last known residence vacated, and according to her landlord she was months behind on rental payments. We have no reason to believe little Jiyeon was kidnapped, taken, or removed from Kang’s custody in any way. It’s highly likely the note you received, Mr. Jung, is willfully from Kang, and she fully intends to leave the child in your care. This is, of course, corroborated by legal documentation.”

Hoseok and Jeongguk exchange a loaded glance. “Legal documentation?”

Park Yunhee gives them a puzzled look. “When listing emergency contacts and next of kin in upon Jiyeon’s birth, it was made abundantly clear by Ms. Kang that she wished for the two of you to step in if anything should happen to her.”

Silence. Hoseok feels his jaw drop open, struck by the realization dawning on him before Yunhee has the chance to say it out loud. She clears her throat and does it anyway.

“The two of you have full rights to temporary custody of the baby while her mother is unable to be located. Were you not aware?”

“ No,” Hoseok and Jeongguk exclaim in tandem.

Yes, as a joke, years ago, but now? Legally? With a real, living baby ?

And she didn’t tell them ?

“What-what about the other parent?” Jeongguk stammers. He’s holding Jiyeon still, rocking her at an almost frantic pace that betrays his own shock more than anything else. 

“There is no other parent on Jiyeon’s birth certificate,” Yunhee says firmly. “We could pursue tracking them down, but the fact that they aren’t listed in the first place could be due to the fact that Ms. Kang did not wish for them to be involved in the child’s life.

“I see,” Jeongguk replies faintly. 

“Pending home inspection, the two of you could have custody virtually instantly,” Yunhee adds, as if that’s where their plethora of questions lies. When neither of them answer, her brows crease, and she adds, “you’re under no legal obligation to accept, of course. There are other routes to pursue.”

Hoseok turns his gaze to Jiyeon, who is blinking up at Jeongguk, clueless to the discussion of her fate happening right around her. She looks round, and harmless, and trusting of them already. Two strangers who she encountered just this morning. 

“And,” Hoseok swallows with some difficulty, his throat acutely tight and dry, “what would the plan be if we said no?”

“She would receive a temporary custody placement,” Yunhee informs them, her tone a little gentler than before, “with the hopes of moving towards adoption. Usually babies are quick to have families lining up for them, but no two cases are alike. I couldn’t tell you how long that might take.”

Hoseok thinks he hears Jeongguk murmur a weak Jesus Christ, which about sums things up. He looks at Jiyeon, imagining her being passed into the hands of some faceless figures, whose treatment of her could range anywhere from kind to cruel, and all at once a fierce feeling of defense rises like a flame in Hoseok’s chest, shouting that that’s a gamble he isn’t willing to make.

But what’s the alternative? Keep her? Could they?

Could he?

“If you need some time to discuss it between yourselves,” Yunhee begins, standing and beginning to gather her things, “I have a second meeting I need to get to before noon, so I’ll clear out of your hair, but I’ll be available all day for further questions or any decisions you may make. I can submit paperwork for you to take short-term emergency custody of her for today, and I’ll get you one of the kits from my car so you can have a few day’s worth of essentials.”

“Great,” Hoseok murmurs, ghostly in tone. He barely feels present as he watches her stand and stride to the front door, confident and unbothered because, while this is earth-shattering to Hoseok and Jeongguk, it’s a regular day at work for her. 

Jeongguk passes Hoseok Jiyeon so he can see Yunhee out. Hoseok accepts, because there isn’t much he wants to do - or is even sure he can do - besides sitting rooted in place on the couch. Jiyeon coos. He looks down at her. 

“Hope we get you a diaper,” he murmurs, apologetic. “It’s been all day, hasn’t it? Poor baby. And you must be hungry. Why aren’t you crying?”

Hoseok thinks of Hayoung struggling to make ends meet, and bearing the burden of whatever else she had going on, and he wonders uncomfortably if going under or unattended to has already become routine for Jiyeon in the short time she’s been alive. 

He lifts her up and presses her into his shoulder, petting over her soft, fuzzy hair. “We’ll get you something,” he murmurs his promise. “A little snack, soon.”

Jeongguk returns a moment later, a large, plasticky tote back in hand. “Diapers,” he murmurs, as if he was listening into Hoseok’s one-sided conversation from down the hall. “And formula. Do you think I should—?”

“Make her a bottle,” Hoseok finishes for him before he can complete the end of his sentence himself. “It’s been way too long, I don’t know how she hasn’t started crying yet.”

“Maybe she’s just a really good baby,” Jeongguk suggests, though he sounds a little melancholy about it as he shakes the round container of formula and a brand new bottle out of the bag and swings around the corner into the kitchen. Hoseok can hear him fiddling with the microwave a moment later, followed by the low hum and a countdown beep as the timer goes off, and then Jeongguk rematerializes in the doorway, bottle in hand. 

He smells like milk now, along with his usual chocolate and ginger, there’s a new creamy, soft layer muddled into his scent, and it’s doing terrible things to Hoseok. Jeongguk passes him the bottle, and Jiyeon kicks, her chubby little legs jackhammering against Hoseok’s stomach when she sees it.

“Here you ago,” he murmurs, angling the nipple toward her mouth and watching as the latches onto it with enthusiasm. “You were so patient, what a good girl.”

Silence rises again, broken only by the sound of Jiyeon chugging her bottle like she’s trying to race the speed of light to the finish line. Her round, curious fingers scrabble at Hoseok’s, exploring the bottle while he keeps it upright and comfortably situated for her. 

“It was supposed to be a joke,” Jeongguk says hollowly, after a long bout of nothing. He sinks down onto the ottoman footstool across from Hoseok, hanging his head in his hands and shaking it. “The godparent thing. It was supposed to be a stupid college joke.”

“Well, it wasn’t,” Hoseok replies, deadpan, because what else can he be at a time like this? “And now we have a kid.”

“We don’t have to.”

“Jeongguk,” Hoseok looks up sharply, tearing his eyes away from Jiyeon so he can fix Jeongguk with a serious stare. “Be realistic, she needs someone.”

“I am! We can’t have a baby, hyung, we don’t even know each other anymore.”

Hoseok tries not to wince. Talk about a slap in the fucking face, as if coming into custody of a child wasn’t shock enough for the day, why not dump salt into an open wound and rub it around by informing Hoseok that his formerly longest and best held friend, the man he thought he would marry and ride off into a fucking sunset with, no longer knows him. And worse, Hoseok doesn’t know him either.

Hoseok’s hands tightens on the bottle, and he blinks past that particular comment, determined not to fixate on it and let it eat into him. “We can’t just leave her,” he murmurs.

“And we can’t just take her either. I have to be at the rink all the time, I leave in a month for the competition circuit, I have to practice.”

“I have to practice.” 

Yeah, that’s a line Hoseok has heard a few times from Jeongguk. Jeongguk had to practice in the weeks following Hoseok’s accident. He had to leave then, too. He had a whole wide world of places to be, tournaments to skate, and Hoseok had a hospital bed and a long, aching road of physical therapy ahead of him, and no one, no one to hold his hand. 

“Of course you do,” Hoseok replies, a little snide, and he drops his gaze back to Jiyeon, pointedly avoiding Jeongguk’s eyes. “You always do, don’t you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what you think it does, probably.”

“Hyung—“

“It’s nothing, Jeongguk. I get it, work comes first. Everything is work, work, work with you, isn’t it? No time for anything else.”

Hoseok can see Jeongguk stirring out of the corner of his eye, his body language going from cautiously terse, to flat out bothered. “You can’t seriously be mad that didn’t plan for this? That I , a completely single man, didn’t pencil in having a baby into my yearly schedule?”

“Oh, and I did?”

“No! And you don’t have to do this, that’s exactly what I’m saying!” When Jeongguk’s voice rises, peaking along with his frustration, Jiyeon pops off of her bottle, and her lower lip wobbles. 

“No,” Hoseok murmurs, beginning to rock her in consoling motions. “Don’t cry, you’re alright, don’t cry, little one.”

Too late. Jiyeon lets out a sob of a sound that lands like a punch to Hoseok’s gut, and out of the corner of his vision, he sees Jeongguk wilting back into his seat as if he’d been burned. Serves him right, raising his voice and making her cry. His scent is all off, and now that Hoseok thinks of it, so is hers. It’s faint, the way pups usually are, but that soft, honeyed baby smell of hers now has the slightest bitter stain of a smell leaking into it, betraying her discomfort. 

Hoseok switches her to the other arm, continuing with his gentle bouncing motions and nudging the bottle at her tiny mouth until she blubbers her way into taking it again. When she settles, quiet save for these quiet hiccuping sounds from the back of her throat, Hoseok lifts his chin and gives Jeongguk a withering look.

“I don’t think you should raise your voice in front of her. She’s just a baby, you know. She’s scared already.”

“Sorry,” Jeongguk whispers, and to his credit he does truly look it. He’s shrunk a little where he sits, all the fight having drained from his body the second Jiyeon began wailing. “I didn’t mean to.”

Silence again. Hoseok can practically feel Jeongguk grasping for something, anything to say, but he already has an idea of how this day is going to end. He looks back down at Jiyeon, pointedly screening Jeongguk out of his line of sight.

“If you’re going to leave, then just leave,” he says, working to keep his voice even. He doesn’t want Jeongguk to know how much he’s wrestling with this dilemma, the can I, or can I not ? of it all. Partially because he doesn’t want Jeongguk to think he needs help, and partially because, when all is said and done, it isn’t fair to try and rope him into this if he really, really doesn’t want to. Hoseok is full of doubts, and he’s thought a fair few times this year about trying for a pup on his own. He’s wanted kids, he always has, and with no prospects for a mate in sight, he thought maybe he’d just do the damn thing by himself. 

Of course, he didn’t plan to do it now , nor did he see it coming about in this way, but at least it’s been a thought on his mind. 

Jeongguk, though? He’s younger, he’s got a whole world ahead of him, a career, and everything to lose if he makes the wrong decision. Maybe it’s better for everyone if Hoseok factors him out completely and thinks about this from the lens of doing it all himself.

“I’m going to go.”

Hoseok can hear Jeongguk standing, and in spite of his resolution, his heart plummets anyway.

Alone, a scared voice in the back of his head whispers. You’re really, actually considering doing this alone ?

“For the night,” Jeongguk continues, his voice surprisingly gentle, almost apologetic, and when he passes by Hoseok on the way to the door he lays a fleeting hand on his shoulder that settles Hoseok’s frayed nerves much more than he’d ever want to admit. “I need to meet with my manager, and I need to get back on the ice for a few more hours, I can’t afford to lose a practice day this close to competitions. I need to think about everything , alright?”

And I think better at the rink , is what Jeongguk doesn’t tack onto the end. He doesn’t need to, they’re both aware that Hoseok knows already. They both used to be that way, they shared the same harmonious happy place, everything good and beautiful between them happened on the ice once. 

“Okay,” Hoseok says softly, still unwilling to look away from Jiyeon and watch Jeongguk go.

“I will call you,” Jeongguk promises. “I’ll let you know, either way.”

Hoseok says nothing. It’s not a no, but it’s sure as hell not a yes, and it wouldn’t even be fair for him to hope it will be. 

He sits in silence, ears straining to hear the sound of Jeongguk’s car when it backs out of the driveway, and all at once it’s just Hoseok and Jiyeon again, alone in a fog of uncertain quiet. 

“So,” Hoseok says when Jiyeon mouths away from the now-drained bottle and blinks up at him with groggy post-milk curiosity. “Just us again,” he informs her, his voice wavering a little bit. “What are we going to do about that?”

If Jiyeon has any big ideas, she doesn’t share them.

Hoseok lifts her up after a moment, settling her on his shoulder and patting her back rhythmically the way he’s seen parents do in public with their own pups. He isn’t sure if he’s doing it right, but she doesn’t seem to mind either way, and that has to count for something. He carries her to his room and sets her in the middle of the bed, keeping a cautious eye in case she makes a wild bid to flop off while he roots around in the bag Yunhee brought and pulls out a package of diapers.

Changing a baby, as it turns out, isn’t as simple as people make it look. It smells worse, takes way more wipes, and is generally more complicated than Hoseok would have predicted. Jiyeon fusses, probably from the sudden chill. She squirms, rolls when he tries to dab on the thick paste in the tub called rash cream , which he figures she could probably use, and kicks at his wrist when he tries to re-wrap her in the tangle of a clean diaper, with all its folds and angles and mismatched sticky tabs. When he finally gets it, he doesn’t bother with wrestling her back into her onesie, he just scoops her right up and lets her rest on his chance, bouncing in apologetic little motions.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “First time, no one taught me how to do any of that. I’m learning on the job, do you forgive me?”

Jiyeon lets out a disgruntled gurgle that Hoseok hopes means yes. 

Dark settles outside, the way dark seems to do so readily in the fall, and Hoseok manages to make himself his first meal of the day one-handed because he doesn’t have anything else to hold Jiyeon with, and he isn’t sure if he should just…set her down someplace. He turns on the newest episode of his favorite drama and lets her nap on his chest while he eats.

And it isn’t so hard, he thinks. It’s not so bad.

He does the dishes - the ones he used, at least, and walks her back to his room. She seems to have crashed out for the night, so Hoseok crawls onto the bed and props himself upright surrounded comfortably by every pillow he’s ever owned. He won’t be able to sleep, he knows that. Not when he doesn’t have somewhere she can sleep safely, so his arms it is. He’ll be alright.

It’s just one night. Tomorrow will be different. He’ll have made a choice one way or the other. He cues up another TV show to keep him occupied, and hunkers down.

The night passes quickly, all things considered. Hoseok binges all the TV he hasn’t gotten to watch while trying to juggle their rush reason at his work, he scrolls social media until his brain feels a little mushy and rotten, he reaches for the book he’s been trying to get through for weeks and reads a few dozen pages until Jiyeon wakes up fussing, and he gives her another bottle, a diaper change, and repeats the whole process from scratch again, and yet again. 

The sun is beginning to rise when Jiyeon wakes for the third time, only this time she doesn’t wake crying. She wakes with a blink. Then another, slow and blissfully calm. Her eyes are large and rounder than twin moons, and when she moves they sparkle just a little. She looks like a baby doe, or a tiny star, and Hoseok is afraid that in the last twenty-four hours he’s started to become terribly, terribly endeared to her in spite of everything. 

“I can’t,” he says softly, directing his gaze down at her, thumbing gently over her tiny, pink bottom lip. “I couldn’t possibly trust anyone else to take care of you, could I? I’m not an expert, but I know I’ll learn, I know I’ll do my best. What if they don’t?”

What if they don’t ? Hoseok isn’t sure he could walk around every day not knowing. Even if he handed over Jiyeon today to be placed in someone else’s care, he’d want to know everything. He’d want to follow up on her, to peer in and say hello sometimes. To be able to tell Hayoung one day, if she ever returns, that he really did do everything he could for her daughter. 

But that doesn’t feel like enough. Not for her, and not for him.

Without warning, Hoseok phone begins to ring, splitting the hollow silence that comes with morning, and making Jiyeon flinch.

“Sorry, my darling,” he murmurs, reaching over to silence the damn thing, when he sees Jeongguk’s name flash across the screen. Hoseok hesitates. It’s the crack of dawn, what would he be doing up at this hour, calling Hoseok no less?

With his heart in his throat, wondering if he wants to hear what Jeongguk has to say at all, Hoseok hits accept and lifts the phone to his ear tentatively. 

“Hello?”

For a moment, he hears nothing but the empty static of an open line unfilled, and begins to wonder if Jeongguk might have dialed him mistakenly, then a familiar voice breaks the quiet, following a deep inhale.

“Didn’t sleep at all last night.”

Hoseok looks down at Jiyeon, who is sucking voraciously on her thumb. “Yeah. Join the club.”

Silence again. The kind that you could cut with a knife. Jeongguk sighs.

“Hyung, I…I thought about it all night”

Hoseok’s heart dips. Here it comes. I’m really sorry, but…

He clears his throat. “And?”

“And…I’m leaving in three weeks, I’ll be hopping from country to country for at least two months, probably more. Hopefully more. But I talked to my manager, and we worked out some details, and….I can do it. Help you with her, I mean. But ,” Jeongguk continues in a rush, before Hoseok can hope to get a word in, “you and her would have to join me on the competition circuit. My company will cover all the costs and everything, so you don’t have to factor that in, but I don’t know if you can, or even want to come. But I don’t want to say yes, and immediately leave you on your own to deal with everything, I can only say yes if I can actually be three. So…” Jeongguk draws in a deep, almost nervous breath, “the ball is in your court, hyung. The choice is all yours. Come with me, and I’ll do everything I can to help you with her, or don’t, and I’ll just…bow out.”

For a moment, a long moment, Hoseok can’t say anything at all. Mostly because he didn’t expect Jeongguk to say yes, in any format. He didn’t even expect a maybe, and he certainly didn’t expect options. Options that he has to pick from. 

Tour ? With Jeongguk ? It wouldn’t been the first time they’ve done a competition loop together, but it would be the first time since Hoseok stopped skating, and certainly since they broke up. How would it even work? Would it be too much, with a baby? Would they switch days with her? Draw up some sort of custody plan?

Does Hoseok even want to?

He looks back down at Jiyeon, checking her reaction as if he expects her to be some sort of guiding light amidst the chaos. Unfortunately, Hoseok thinks he knows his answer already. He knew it every time his heart dropped when he thought Jeongguk would back out. He knows, deep down, that even with his and Jeongguk’s history, he would rather do this with someone familiar than take it all on alone. 

Even if that someone is Jeongguk. Even if it means packing up and leaving the country for a while. 

Hoseok did say he wants change, didn’t he? Well, change is slapping him across the fucking face over and over right now, not even giving him a chance to stand up before it deals another blow.

“Hyung?” Jeongguk’s voice is tight on the other end of the line, and Hoseok remembers he’s waiting patiently for a response.

“Yeah,” Hoseok croaks back, barely audible. He clears his throat and tries again. “I’ll talk to my boss and see if I can take a leave of absence. I’m sure, if I explain everything, she’ll–you know. I’ll figure something out. Work remotely. Something.”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk echoes, his voice softening a little. “Something.”

Chapter Text

“Holy shit. Holy shit . I’m thinking about it, I’m processing, and all I can say is– holy shit .”

Namjoon is staring, dumbstruck, over the rim of his coffee cup with wide, disbelieving eyes. Hoseok shrugs.

“Welcome to my life.”

“So, wait, hold on,” Namjoon lifts a hand to his face, pinching the pained expression weaving itself across his brow, “this whole time Jeon Jeongguk has been your ex? And you just didn’t tell anyone?”

Hoseok rolls his eyes, suppressing a groan as he snatches his own mug from the break room espresso machine and shakes a disgusting amount of sugar into it. It’s Friday, and he’s had the most absurd week of his life, if anyone deserves six sugar packets right now, it’s him. 

“Why would I?” he asks with a shrug, “him and I don’t talk anymore, it’s not like telling you guys was going to do anything besides start gossip.”

“But I would have wanted to know,” Namjoon wheedles, following Hoseok out of their sectioned off break room and down the bustling hallways between cubicles to Hoseok’s own office. As one of the magazine’s senior editors, he’s part of the limited number of people on staff who have their own workspace, and considers himself lucky to have it, especially because he has the best view down out at the city of all of them.

“As your favorite coworker, I definitely wanted to know. And I wouldn’t have told anyone,” Namjoon emphasizes the key two words heavily, reaching in front of Hoseok and grabbing the door for him before Hoseok can do it himself. Always the gentleman, Namjoon is. He’s one of those alphas who lives so completely separated from the usual alpha conventions - he’s on the shy side, his favorite movies are Hallmark romances, and he’s never raised his voice that Hoseok can recall - but at the same time he adheres to all of the most old-fashioned, almost sweetly-outdated rules from the social handbook of alpha gentleman. Open doors, offer your jacket to omegas, walk your date to the door. Namjoon told Hoseok once that he doesn’t sleep with anyone until at least the seventh date, which felt like such a deeply specific answer that Hoseok questioned why, and Namjoon had replied with simply “ we know each other by then. Sex isn’t fun unless you know each other .”

Most people assume he’s a beta. Hoseok knows him as the dearest alpha he’s ever known. Well, him and Jeongguk.

Jeongguk, who Hoseok is reasonably trying not to think about more than absolutely necessary, which usually can’t be helped now that their lives are inexplicably intertwined once again. 

“Well, now you know,” Hoseok replies simply, setting his steaming mug on his desk and skirting around to sink into his chair. His computer is pinging with a plethora of notifications, probably from his boss, who was generous enough to approve his wild request of taking the next ten or so weeks away, and helpful enough to create an agenda that will allow him to patch into work remotely, when he can.

“And don’t tell anyone, please,” he adds, silence his taskbar with a single click and leaning back in his chair. 

“Your secret is safe with me,” Namjoon replies from where he’s leaning on the door frame. He mimes zipping his lips and tossing the key over his shoulder to some irretrievable location. “Although, people might talk. You know, if they see you with him. He’s got quite the fan following I hear.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Hoseok murmurs gloomily, spinning his chair around to gaze out the broad window that sits proudly behind him. It overlooks the street that he sits three stories above, and beyond that the horizon of a busy city, all dressed in flaming orange and red foliage as the trees prepare to shed their coats for the winter. It’s raining, but only a drizzle, the kind that makes bookstores and cafés look their coziest, and urges laughing children to sink their rainboots into puddles. 

“Where is she now?” Namjoon inquires, breaking into Hoseok’s thoughts with a simple question. “The baby, I mean.”

“With Jeongguk,” Hoseok sighs, spinning right around ahead and settling at his desk. “I had to come into office today, so he took her, but we’re meeting later. Shopping ,” Hoseok says, taking little pleasure in their afternoon plans. “Shockingly, babies need a ton of stuff, and we have none of it. I told him we could go separately, but he was deadset on going together so we could pick the same things or whatever. Consistency between houses. I don’t know, it’s probably a good thing, but I just…” he trails off and rubs his hands over his face, like he’s scrubbing away the stress of the week, “I’m still tussling with the idea of spending a bunch of time with him again. I just hope we can pull it together, for Jiyeon’s sake.”

“You will,” Namjoon tells him kindly. “I mean, I don’t know about him, but you will. And she’s lucky to have you looking out for her, really Hoseok. You’re crazy, and an incredibly good person for doing this.”

Forget good person, crazy is just about all Hoseok feels right now. 

And yet, life goes on.

“Listen, I gotta get some work done before I leave, so I’m gonna kick you out and try to focus. But thanks for, you know, listening to my tale of woe.”

“Anytime,” Namjoon tells him genially. “And let me know if you need anything. A babysitter. A grocery run. A fifth of whiskey. I got your back.”

With those inspiring parting words, Namjoon slaps the door and shuts it behind him, leaving Hoseok alone with an unending to-do list, and a whole host of doubts that he can’t shake.

Hoseok arrives at the mall only ten minutes late, which is impressive, given the traffic he had to work through. He whips out his phone and taps out a text to Jeongguk after a brief scan of the plaza spots no one familiar.

HS: Here now, sorry about the delay

After hardly a second, Jeongguk’s little speech bubble appears in the chat, and a moment later his reply pops up.

JK: not a problem. right behind u.

Hoseok spins around. He spots Jiyeon before Jeongguk, actually. He remembers, because he was the one who dressed her this morning before taking her to Jeongguk’s for the day, and her little yellow onesie with tiny teddy bears scattered across it was so cute when he put it on her that the mental image lodged itself in his brain. She’s in Jeeongguk’s arms, kicking her tubby legs, and Hoseok wonders (with a little delight) if that means she’s excited to see him.

Jeongguk strides over to him, half hidden behind the baseball cap tucked low over his eyes and the mask pulled up over his face. He looks like he’s about to rob the damn place.

“Don’t mind the disguise,” he murmurs, once he gets close enough to Hoseok to be heard over the ceaseless noise of the other mall goers around them, “the paps don’t usually follow me around when I’m not actively competing, but it’s almost the season for it, so I can’t be too careful. Especially with her,” he lifts Jiyeon, bouncing her a little, and she flashes a gummy smile at Hoseok. 

He can’t help the way he gives her a once-over evaluation, like he’s rating Jeongguk’s ability to keep her well-cared for without his personal intervention. She looks clean, content, and she’s wearing a tiny little hat that Hoseok definitely didn’t put on her. Not bad, he has to admit. Jeongguk is clearly putting in some effort of his own. Either that, or he had someone assistant of his handle everything for him. Not off the table, considering he’s now, apparently, wildly famous .

“Sounds stressful,” Hoseok replies, unable to come up with anything better to say.

Jeongguk shrugs. “It is what it is. Comes with the job, I guess. Do you have a list?”

Hoseok clicks into his notes app and waves his phone. “Do you?”

“Of course.”

“Where do you want to start?”

Hoseok cranes his neck and looks around. He feels like he has a hundred things he needs to buy today, and there are probably two dozen stores here that carry different versions of everything. He glances at his phone, eyes landing on the first, and likely most essential section.

“The big stuff first, I guess,” he murmurs. “I still don’t have a changing table for her.”

“Big stuff it is,” Jeongguk agrees, swinging around with Jiyeon in tow and heading towards the elevators. Hoseok trails after them.

The cribs they got the day they decided to actually commit to this whole mad endeavor, because those were the sort of unavoidable, urgently necessary things that they needed in order to be able to sleep at night. Diapers, changes of clothing, and formula were all in the emergency kit Yunhee gave Hoseok, and Jeongguk must have picked up a few essentials to keep at his place too, but today is the big shop. The one where they get a million things that babies apparently need, the kind of stuff Hoseok, quite frankly, never even considered.

There’s the usual things, the changing table, the carseat, the diaper pail, and the binkies, but there are secret other tools and bonus supplies that Hoseok spent a great deal of time surfing the web about, poring over articles with titles like Baby Essentials: What’s Really Worth It and What No One Tells You You Need: Baby Edition .

Baby lotion. A wet wipe warmer. White noise sound machine. A play mat. A nursery monitor. A night light. Swaddling blankets. A high chair. Teethers. Teeny tiny bowls and plates and cups that won’t shatter when dropped.

The list goes on. And on. And on . 

They fill bag after bag, their arms growing so full so fast that they have to rent a little stroller for Jiyeon and a giant mall cart to tote it all around. Jeongguk insists on pushing the cart, leaving the stroller to Hoseok, and Hoseok can’t help but think that they must look like the most picturesque white picket fence family, the three of them all together. Hoseok playing the doting, maternal omega, and Jeongguk as the strong, confident alpha. 

They break to grab dinner at the food court, and Jeongguk lifts Jiyeon from her seat, bouncing her on one knee while he eats, which earns him admiring looks from various omegas milling around. Hoseok can’t blame them, unfortunately. Even with his face hidden, Jeongguk is as devastatingly good-looking as he always has been. An athlete’s body, lean and muscular, the rolled sleeves of his shirt showing off his collection of tattoos over smooth skin. 

An omega’s wet dream, that’s what he is. 

And you know what, any one of these people eyeing Jeongguk can have him. Hoseok has moved on, it’s been years . And sure, he hasn’t had much in the way of serious relationships since Jeongguk, but that’s because he’s been focused on his career, establishing himself and building himself up in his field. He’s done a damn good job of it, and he’s had enough flings since they broke up to confirm that he’s most certainly not interested in Jeongguk anymore. 

Jeongguk probably dates a bunch anyway. Don’t celebrities always do that? Jeongguk can have a queue of willing bedmates lining up around the block for all Hoseok cares. As long as he doesn’t bring any of them around Jiyeon. 

When they’re done eating, Jiyeon is reaching the tail end of her wake period, and growing fussy from it. She wails when Jeongguk tries to settle her back into the stroller, so Hoseok takes her instead, bouncing her consolingly while they hit their last round of stores and max out the remaining space in their cart.

“I don’t think she needs 100% Egyptian cotton onesies,” Hoseok grumbles as Jeongguk runs a curious hand over the soft material, eyeing them thoughtfully. “She’s six months old.”

“But it’s softer than the other ones,” Jeongguk murmurs, and Hoseok can see the frown in his eyes above his mask, all pouty and sullen over being told no. 

“Yeah, and it’s also three times the price. She’s going to grow out of them in a month and a half. Do you have any ideas how fast babies grow?”

“No, not really,” Jeongguk admits, his shoulders dropping. “But when she does, I’ll just buy her new ones.”

A brief pause. Hoseok tries not to grimace. He’s fortunate enough to be considerably financially stable thanks to his job, but he’s not made of money, and he can imagine the cost of a baby is going to eat into more of his finances than he’s even begun to comprehend. Which is fine, it’s what he signed up for when he agreed to this, but the fact remains that they can still be reasonable about unnecessary expenses. 

Not everyone is an international celebrity in their field. 

“I don’t want to have to buy her luxury pajamas every six weeks, Jeongguk,” he says finally, and annoyed strain creeping into his voice, “I didn’t pencil in haute couture fashion into the budget.”

“It’s not couture it's just–” Jeongguk pauses, and the crease in his brow deepens as if he’s considering something new for the first time. He flicks a concerned glance to Hoseok for half a second, then looks away again. “Ah. Hyung, if the cost–I mean, I don’t want her to be a strain on you. I’m more than happy to cover some of your expenses too, if it’s…you know. Stressing you out.”

Hoseok’s cheeks flush a sudden, dangerously hot red that he can feel burning on his skin the way a slap across the face would. Who does Jeongguk think he is? Some helpless omega who can’t take care of himself?

“I’m perfectly capable of covering the bills myself, thank you,” he says waspishly. “I’m not an omega in distress, you know.”

“No. I know that! But, I mean….” Jeongguk trails off, gulping audibly, and the annoyance rising in Hoseok’s chest doubles.

“What? You make more money than I do? You’re more successful than I am?”

“Hyung–”

“No, I get it, I mean, it must be oh- so -hard to resist throwing money at everything and hoping it can solve your problems. Like maybe if you buy all her stuff, you can just buy me right along with the baby wipes, right?”

In his arms, Jiyeon’s squirming is paired with a mewling wail, and her fists curl into his shirt. 

“Hyung, that’s not fair,” Jeongguk replies, keeping his voice low enough that the store attendants can’t eavesdrop, but his eyes are darkened with discontentment. “I was just trying to be nice.”

“Well, don’t,” Hoseok snaps. Jiyeon arches away from him, her little cries increasing in pitch, and Hoseok has to grapple to keep her from slipping out of his hold. “Shockingly, it’s not the 1950s anymore, omegas can be independent. I’ve done  just fine this whole time without you, and I’ll keep on doing that.”

“I know that–hyung,” Jeongguk breaks off, gesturing helplessly at Jiyeon, “it’s not a good time, she needs to go home.”

I want to go home , Hoseok thinks huffily. He doesn’t blame Jiyeon, he too feels a little like scrunching up his face and screaming. 

“Just, take her back to your place, and I’ll get your stuff to you.”

Yeah, with his personal assistant, no doubt. He probably has a butler who will sort and box it and mail it to Hoseok’s doorstep. 

Hoseok wants to argue, for the sake of defiance alone, but Jiyeon’s howls are starting to attract attention from passing customers, and if there’s one thing Hoseok doesn’t want, it’s to be spotted in a children’s clothing store with a screeching baby and international figure skating treasure Jeon Jeongguk.

“Fine,” he snaps, hoping he sounds every bit as begrudging as he feels. “And don’t get the stupid designer onesies, I mean it.”

Jeongguk doesn’t reply. Hoseok doesn’t stay long enough to pry one out of him.

Hoseok isn’t trying to toot his own horn here, but he would say he’s taken to his role as Jiyeon’s guardian fairly well, all things considered. The fact is simply that he likes having her around. He had suspected for a while that he’s been suffering from an acute bout of a miserable affliction called loneliness in this nice little house he has all to himself. The curse, of course, being all to himself .

Jiyeon fills the empty space. With sound, with all of the little clutter that comes with a baby, with an ongoing list of things for Hoseok to do. Just in the few days that she’s been here, Hoseok finds the days are shorter, and more engaging, breaking up his usual same old-same old routine, a monotonous series of patterns that he completes day in and day out.

Jiyeon is new, and different, and therefore exciting. Plus, she’s the cutest gosh darn pup Hoseok has ever seen, even when she fusses. Which she doesn’t, usually, but he supposes the mall excursion was a little taxing on both of them. After all, Hoseok started fussing with her, didn’t he?

“Sorry about all that,” he hums, elbows propped on the table to lean on while he experimentally spoon-feeds Jiyeon from a tiny cup of apple and carrot purée. Some preliminary research informed Hoseok that at her age, they should be starting Jiyeon on soft, mushy solid food so she can start developing a taste for it, but it would appear that she already has that part down, judging by the way she’s inhaling this stuff. 

“You were probably just embarrassed listening to us argue, weren’t you?” he asks, loading up another spoonful and delivering it to her waiting mouth. “I don’t blame you, it was stupid. Grown-ups arguing in public? How silly, right?”

Jiyeon makes a resounding ah! sound and claps her hands. Probably means she agrees with him. She’s sitting propped in the middle of the table on top of a towel, because Hoseok doesn’t have a high chair yet, and he’s too proud to text Jeongguk and ask when it’s going to get dropped off, so he’ll have to make do for now. It’s alright, there’s been a lot of making do this week. What’s a little more?

“Anyway, you’re a real champ with this purée you know,” Hoseok wags the spoon approvingly at Jiyeon. “Everything I read was a warning to be patient and not lose hope when trying you on new stuff ‘cause you would just, I dunno, spit it back at me or something, but you’re powering through.”

“ Yah! ” Jiyeon points her chubby finger at the purée, and Hoseok dutifully prepares another bite for her.

He cleans her up after her meal, though with the careful spoon-feeding she didn’t get much of a chance to make a mess in the first place. Still, he dabs at her with a warm cloth to make sure she doesn’t have any carrot stuck in her dimples, or smeared into the soft whisps of her dark hair. 

Hoseok is just settling onto the living room floor to let her have a nice round of post-dinner tummy time, when the doorbell chimes unexpectedly. He glances at Jiyeon, half expecting her to have the answer of who might be visiting them after dark, but all she does is give him a quizzical look in return, as if to say hello, you’re the grown up, this is your job! 

Hoseok scoops her up and shuffles into the hallway and down to the front door. He clicks the latch open and peers out, unsure who exactly he expects to see standing there, but he certainly didn’t bank on finding Jeon Jeongguk on his porch staring back at him from beneath his tousled fringe. 

“Hi,” Jeongguk murmurs. His hands are shoved in his jacket pockets, and he’s shuffling his feet awkwardly where he stands, but more notably there are about ten giant boxes and a few overflowing bags stacked on the porch beside him. “I uh,” he pauses, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, “I brought your stuff.”

“I see that,” Hoseok replies, blinking out at the numerous piles. For a moment, neither of them says anything, and, again, Hoseok can almost imagine the symphony of cricket noises that should be playing right now. Then Jiyeon kicks her legs and squeals, pointing a finger out at Jeongguk.

“ Bah!” she cries, sounding fairly delighted about it. At the sound of her squeaky little voice, Jeongguk cracks the edge of a smile and reaches out to meet her tiny hand in the middle, giving it a squeeze, then looking to Hoseok.

“Um, do you mind if I carry all this inside?”

“Yeah, sure,” Hoseok relents, and steps back to make space. He retreats back into the living room, sinking onto the couch and bouncing Jiyeon on his knee while they watch Jeongguk make quick work of all the boxes. It’s annoying, really, how good he looks hauling things around. In his hoodie and glasses he looks like the quiet, nerdy college student that you can’t help but crushing on, then when he lifts something high, the hem of his sweater rides up, and Hoseok can’t help but glance at that clandestine little strip of skin that betrays how strong and well-built he is beneath the baggy clothes. 

And his scent . 

Don’t get Hoseok started. He wishes he never smelled Jeongguk in the first place, wishes that he didn’t have so many years filed away in his brain that associated Jeongguk’s scent with home, because now when he breathes him in he feels something. Something that isn’t his to feel any longer, something he doesn’t want. Like muscle memory that stubbornly refuses to face, a cramp that won’t relax.

“Hyung.”

Hoseok looks up. Jeongguk is staring at him expectantly, his brows creased behind the wire frames of his glasses like he’s waiting for an answer. 

“Hm?”

“I just asked if you wanted me to unpack stuff and put it any where particular.”

“Oh. Oh, no,” Hoseok gets to his feet again, hauling a babbling Jiyeon up with him. Objectively, it’s a nice enough offer, but Hoseok hadn’t had the chance to clean his house since Jiyeon arrived, and the last thing he wants is Jeongguk walking through the whole place casting judgement on Hoseok’s home in its most frazzled state. 

“It’s fine, I’ll deal with it in the morning.”

“Okay,” Jeongguk nods. “If you’re sure.”

A beat of silence. Hoseok has the distinct feeling there’s something both of them owe each other out loud, but he isn’t sure how to begin saying it, or even what it is in the first place. All he knows is that the air is thick with words unsaid, and Jiyeon has fallen stone silent in a way that makes Hoseok think she notices.

Finally, Jeongguk sighs. “Hyung, I’m sorry that what I said at the got taken the wrong way, I wasn’t trying to upset you. But–you know I don’t think you can’t take care of yourself, you know that. I never meant to offend you, I was just trying to be helpful. In case you wanted it. That’s all. But I’m sorry it got all messy, I wasn’t trying to…” he breaks off again, looking a little dejected, and lifts one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “Whatever. I just wanted to clear the air.”

He turns, on his way to slouch back towards the front, when Hoseok relents.

“Jeongguk, wait. I know.”

At that, Jeongguk spins slowly, coming around to face Hoseok with hesitation.

“I overreacted,” Hoseok admits, though his pride burns in his throat as he says it. It’s only fair for him to own his mistake, if Jeongguk took the punch of apologizing first. “I know you’re not a dick, and you wouldn’t think that. So…yeah. I’m sorry for snapping. And,” he swallows, glancing down at Jiyeon, who is staring up at him with her wide, dark eyes. They hold all the trust in the world, and that breaks Hoseok’s heart as much as it fills it. The two of them, they’re everything to her now. Her safety, her home, her comfort, her caregivers. They’re all she has.

They better start taking that real fucking seriously, because she deserves that.

“I think we can’t argue in front of her anymore,” Hoseok says firmly, looking at Jeongguk again. “Clearly, it really bothers her, and it sets a bad precedent. The past doesn’t matter to her, all she should know is that we’re working together.”

“I agree,” Jeongguk says automatically, and there’s a note of relief in his voice when he does so. “I mean, she’s the most important between the three of us, right?”

“Right,” Hoseok nods. If they can both agree on that, they must have some foundation for figuring out how to do this the right way. He shuffles Jiyeon into one arm, and extends his other hand to Jeongguk. “No angry words in front of her?”

“None,” Jeongguk nods, and shakes Hoseok’s offered hand firmly. His palms are soft, and his grip tight, and it makes Hoseok ache with familiarity for the rest of him for just a moment.

“Good,” he replies, his throat a little tight when he drops Jeongguk’s hold and slides his hand back to Jiyeon. Her head has dropped onto his shoulder, and the loose, content way she’s laying on him tells Hoseok they’re doing the right thing by making this promise. “In that case, I’ll see you on Monday if you’ll still take her until Wednesday evening?”

“Great, no problem. Can you drop her at the rink?”

“Sure.”

“Okay,” Jeongguk nods and takes a backwards step toward the door. “Monday it is. 8:30?”

“Yep.”

“Good. Kay. I’ll see you then. G’night, hyung.”

“Goodnight, Jeongguk.”

Hoseok listens until he hears the door click relatched after Jeongguk, then exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Not so bad,” he sighs. “Right Jiyeon?”

Jiyeon says nothing. Not even a babble. Hoseok glances down, and finds her rosy cheek presses against his collarbones like a built in-pillow, her lips pursed with each snuffling breath. Fast asleep .

Hoseok’s chest warms. Consider her peace protected. 

Chapter Text

The next few weeks pass in a flurry of reorganizing his house, setting up a little room of Jiyeon’s own, cramming every second of his work day to prepare for life on the road, and a series of exchanges with Jeongguk taking place at what feels like every corner of Seoul. His house, Jeongguk’s house, the ice rink, a grocery store parking lot, and just once, the café down the street from Hoseok’s place. And Hoseok wouldn’t exactly call them friends amidst all of this, but they do keep their promise not to so much as bicker in front of Jiyeon, which seems to benefit her a great deal. She’s a happy baby, really, and a great sleeper (which the internet has informed Hoseok is a rare and tremendous gift with her age group). She loves playtime on her tummy, and trying new foods, and going on long walks, particularly in the evening when Hoseok would like nothing less than to kick his feet up on the couch with a box of takeout and fall asleep at 9 PM. But he indulges her, just to see that smile she glimmers up at him from her little bundle of blankets tucked inside the stroller. 

Before Hoseok even knows where the time went, Jeongguk is texting him his and Jiyeon’s boarding passes for their morning flight and a gate number to meet at before 9 AM, and Hoseok is shoving his life into the two suitcases that he owns, and jamming the rest into a carry on tote, hoping he’s thought of every possible distraction and necessity that Jiyeon might need for a fourteen-hour flight to New York City.

“No crying on the plane, right?” He asks Jiyeon, who is bouncing away in her little mobile jumping chair, which has become her Favorite Item Of The Week. Too bad Hoseok can’t stuff that into his checked baggage. “We’re going to be cool as a cucumber.”

“Gah!” Jiyeon announces. Hoseok really hopes that’s a yes.

With alarms set for 6:30 AM, he and Jiyeon eat dinner and head for an early bed, Hoseok sliding under his sheets with his fingers and toes crossed that everything will go according to plan tomorrow. Passports, check. Luggage, sorted. List of things for Jiyeon he absolutely cannot forget, check check check.

With loose thoughts of missed connections and vanishing suitcases, Hoseok rolls into a restless sleep.

His alarm has him back up again sooner than he’d like, but at least he has time for a quiet cup of coffee before he has to wake a very groggy, disgruntled Jiyeon to dress her for the day and tuck her onto her carseat carrier. The driver of the cab he ordered is kind enough to load up all of their luggage for them, clearly pitying the way Hoseok is already laden down with a baby, a diaper bag, and his own purse. By the time they got on their road, he’s pleased to check the time and find they’re running twenty minutes early.

His first parental test, and it’s a success. So far. He turns to Jiyeon and tickles her chin. “Let’s keep these good vibes rolling, yeah?”

He texts Jeongguk to let them know they’re on their way, and Jeongguk texts back with a semi unintelligible series of emojis that Hoseok are pretty sure mean something along the lines of hurrah or good job , and he stows his phone away for the remainder of the ride.

The airport is packed, as usual. Hoseok has to elbow his way through throngs of travels to get to the baggage point and hand over his luggage to be checked onto their flight. He hassles himself and Jiyeon through security, which is a whole, complicated game in and of itself - shoes off, tablet out of his bag, don’t set the baby on the conveyor belt and forget about her, that sort of thing. Finally, after what feels like hours of hard-fought battles, the security line spits him and Jiyeon back out at the mouth of a great, domed terminal, and Hoseok sighs his relief.

Herculean task one: done . And right on time too, as it would seem. There’s a blond in a trim peacoat waving a hand at Hoseok, waltzing toward him with a purpose.

“Jung Hoseok-ssi?” he inquires, stopping when he reaches them, and glancing down at the carrier, “and hi baby,” his voice melts when he kneels to get on Jiyeon’s level to wave to her. “How is Jiyeon-ah this morning? Hello gorgeous,” he coos for a moment, waggling his fingers at her before jumping back to his feet and extending his hand to Hoseok with a quick, shallow bow. “Park Jimin, I’m Jeongguk-ie’s assistant, I’ll be traveling with you all for the duration of the circuit. Anything I can do for you, please let me know! He’ll be at the rink most of the time, so he made sure that I tell you I’m at your disposal. We’ll be spending a lot of time together!”

“Hoseok,” Hoseok informs him, easily endeared by the way Jimin’s eyes crinkle into twin half moons when he smiles, and the singsong cadence of his voice. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“You as well! Jeongguk and the others are waiting in the lounge. Shall we?”

Jimin takes the diaper bag, as well as Hoseok’s purse from him, leaving Hoseok with only the baby and her carrier, and leads the way through a sleek door that he has to scan a card for access to, and into a wide, well-lit lounge area.

“Hyung!” Jeongguk perks up from across the room when he spots them, and makes a beeline to where they’re standing. He’s dressed much more eloquently than Hoseok at this hour, simple but classy in his blue jeans and white Calvin Klein T-shirt. Hoseok is pretty sure he was named an ambassador for them last year, but he can’t say for sure. Because he deliberately, willfully, does not keep up with Jeon Jeongguk.

“How is she?” Jeongguk asks, crouching and reaching for Jiyeon, who seems to be waking up at the sight of her other best friend and spares a smile for him. “Good with the early wake-up?”

“She’s been fine. Really good actually,” Hoseok tells him through a stifled yawn. “Could use her second bottle soon here though,” he adds, casting a hasty glance at his watch. “Do they have a microwave in here?”

“Hyung, it’s the first class lounge, they have whatever you need.”

Well, excuse me , Hoseok almost remarks, best I’ve ever flown is business . He keeps that particular thought to himself, however, and lets Jeongguk collect Jiyeon and her bottle to go prepare it and sit with her for a feeding. While Jeongguk is preoccupied, Hoseok shuffles over to the little group gathered by the couch Jeongguk has set up base at, and introduces himself to the assembly that he can only refer to as Jeongguk’s entourage.

There’s Seokjin, a beta, and broad-shouldered former skater, who Hoseok recognizes from leagues above him back when he was competing, and Jeongguk’s coach for the past three years. Yoongi, an alpha, but a rather unassuming one with his soft voice and stoic mannerisms, who informs Hoseok he’s Jeongguk’s manager - “ and my husband , more importantly,” Seokjin adds, sounding a little exasperated about it - and Taehyung, who objectively has to be one of the most drop-dead beautiful people Hoseok has ever seen. Tall, graceful, strikingly handsome, and polite when he introduces himself as Jeongguk’s one-man security detail. Which, the fact that Jeongguk even needs a security detail is something of a shock to Hoseok, but he supposes he’s better safe than sorry, especially since they’re traveling with Jiyeon.

They take a private hallway to board the flight, and Jeongguk offers to handle Jiyeon for the first few hours if Hoseok wants to catch some beauty sleep, and shit, that’s not an offer Hoseok is going to pass up. He asks for a blanket, pulls an eye mask on, and curls up. 

He wakes when they touch down for their layover, and spends most of the in-between period waiting for their second flight pacing around another airport lounge sleepily rocking Jiyeon until she herself falls asleep right before they board. She snores away for the next three hours, which is absolutely fine by Hoseok. He patches into the in-flight wifi and gets some work done on his laptop, orders food and finishes it right around the time that Jiyeon wakes up ready for a meal of her own. 

While Hoseok gives her her next to bottle, he has to fight the urge not to zone out and stare at a sleeping Jeongguk who is curled up in the window seat across the aisle. He looks younger, and unbothered like this, cradled in the safety of his sleep. When Hoseok blurs his own vision, he can almost see the scruffy, wily alpha pup he fell for all those years ago. 

Jiyeon snuffles against the nipple of her bottle, tugging on Hoseok’s sleeve and pulling his attention back to her. 

“Hey little pretty,” he murmurs, brushing her tufty hair back off her face. “You’re doing so well, being so well-behaved, mm?”

Jiyeon blinks back at him, silently engrossed in her milk, but looking unsurprised by his praise. It seems to Hoseok like the message in her eyes says “well of course I am, did you expect anything less?”

Hoseok smiles and continues to bounce her. 

When Jeongguk wakes, they switch off again, and Hoseok goes back to his computer to do some more work. When he’s finished, he peeks over the seats ahead of him to see Jimin and Seokjin crowded around Jeongguk entertaining Jiyeon with a variety of shiny toys. He decides she’s well taken care of, and sinks back into his seat to pull out his headphones and watch a movie. 

 Before he knows where the time went, the sun is shining blindingly bright and the plane is descending from the endless fluffy clouds to deposit them on an airway in glittering New York City. 

They gather up, Hoseok stowing Jiyeon safely back in her carrier and placing a blanket over the top just in case they encounter overzealous paparazzi ( “my American fans can be a little…excitable,” Jeongguk had admitted to him on the plane) but they depart safely out of the private exit and into their hired car without incident. 

Despite it being freshly morning in the states, Jiyeon is exhausted from the flight, and so her and Hoseok, along with Taehyung, Jimin, and Yoongi are all deposited at their hotel whole Jeongguk and Seokjin continue on to the rink. Hoseok doesn’t know how Jeongguk has it in him, all he wants to do is fall face-first into a bed right about now. Travelling always aggravates his bad hip, and he’s dreaming of warm baths and freshly laundered bedding. 

Yoongi does the great service of getting them all checked in, and once in the hotel room, Hoseok’s jaw drops. Calling it merely a room is a disservice to the space, it’s nothing short of a penthouse. Quite literally a small apartment, with the front entrance opening onto a wide living space framed with floor to ceiling, a kitchenette that’s more like a small, sleek open concept kitchen, and a hallway on either side that lead to three separate bedrooms. 

“One for you, one for Jeongguk, and one for the baby,” Jimin informs Hoseok, gesturing around at the place with a strain of pride, as if he built it from the ground up himself. “Jeonggukie thought it would be easier to do the co-parenting tango if you shared the penthouse, but he made sure you’re on opposite ends of the place so you have lots of space to yourself, and an en suite bathroom, of course. Oh! And the windows don’t open, they’re triple layered fiber glass and immovable, so no worries about Jiyeon crawling around.”

A warm feeling of relief spreads across Hoseok’s chest. Clearly someone - whether it be Jeongguk, or Jimin, or both - clearly took a good amount of time and consideration when picking a place that would work for all of them. It’s perfect, even the furniture has rounded angles just in case Jiyeon tries to pull herself on them and explore. She’s not walking yet, or even cruising, but Hoseok has seen her try to stand a few times so he can imagine it’s all right around the corner for her. 

“This is great, thank you,” Hoseok nods, setting the carrier down and unbuckling Jiyeon so he can lift her into his arms. “Not much of a hardship, staying here. I’m sure we’ll adjust just fine.”

“I’m staying down the hall with Taehyung, Yoongi-hyung and Seokjin-hyung are in the room across the way, but this is sort of going to be our base camp if you don’t mind me setting up my computer at your dining table.”

“Not at all,” Hoseok waves a vague hand to the entirety of the place. “I mean, this is on Jeongguk’s dime, not mine. I feel like the guest here, so you all do whatever you’d like as long as I get a room to myself.”

In his arms, Jiyeon makes a loud, keening sound, and Hoseok crouches again to root around in the diaper bag. “If you guys don’t mind, I’m actually gonna head off to that room and get the little one down for a nap. Might take one myself while I’m at it.”

“Take your time. Let us know if you need someone to take a turn with her,” Jimin offers him his sweet smile and bows lightly, “there’s no shortage of arms that wanna hold the cutie.”

“Thanks,” Hoseok tells him, and he means it. “I think I’m good for now, but I’ll take you up on that at some point.”

With that, Hoseok retreats down the hallway to the direction of his personal space. Like magic, he finds both of his suitcases waiting for him, tucked neatly in the corner. This room alone is the size of the usual hotel suites he’s used to, impeccably clean and airy in quality. 

“Would ya look at that,” Hoseok sighs, hoisting Jiyeon up so she can catch a look at the sunny New York skyline illuminated through the wide window at the head of the room. “The Big Apple, right Jiji? Do you think we’ll have fun here?”

Jiyeon squirms and drops her chin onto Hoseok’s shoulder with a whining sound. Hoseok chuckles. 

“Yeah, alright, you just want your bottle, don’t you?”

When Jiyeon sleeps, Hoseok does too. Without a crib in his room, and too lazy to trek back out to find whatever sort of nursery has been set up for her here, Hoseok simply tucks her back into her carseat, then crawls onto the bed himself and passes out in about thirty seconds flat. He wakes hours later to find she’s (impressively) still fast asleep, and decides to go for what ends up being the most glorious shower he’s had in his life. The water pressure, the scent of the soap, the unbeatable view - all of it has Hoseok wishing he could stay in there for about ten times longer than he actually does. He finishes towelling off and redressing himself, and he’s just about feeling like a functional human again by the time Jiyeon wakes up, and he gives her a diaper and outfit change herself before walking her back out to find the others. 

Jimin and Yoongi are poring over laptops at the dining table, exactly as Jimin predicted they would, both of them with to-go coffee cups sitting cold and abandoned near their occupied hands. Taehyung is laying on the couch scrolling his phone, evidently having less of a job to do than the other two in this environment. Must be nice to get paid to just sort of hang around sometimes. 

“Ah, Hoseok-ah,” Yoongi lifts his chin in casual greeting when Hoseok walks in. He reaches across the table for a sheet of laminated paper and gives it a wave in Hoseok’s direction. “Room service menu if you’d like food, or a coffee or anything else. We were thinking about walking down the street to grab an early dinner in a couple of hours here, if you’d like to join, but in the meantime you do whatever you’d like. TV is all yours, don’t mind Taehyung taking up the couch.”

“I can move,” Taehyung says, the pout in his tone contrasted against the baritone quality of his voice. True to his word, he sits up and pets the available cushions, inviting Hoseok to sit. He does, and passes Jiyeon to a willing Taehyung while he uses the unit phone to order an iced Americano and a basket of french fries with a side of spicy ranch. Maybe the caffeine and the salt will work together to wake him up the rest of the way.

He pulls a little packet of pear and carrot purée from the diaper bag, and acquiesces to Taehyung’s earnest requests to be allowed to feed it to Jiyeon. If she’s bothered by being fed by a new pair of hands, she doesn’t show it. Then again, nothing much seems to come between that girl and her mealtimes as far as Hoseok has seen.

He kicks back while she eats, putting on some on-demand baking show, and digging into his own food. He spends the next hour after that alternating sitting on the floor with Jiyeon, and pacing around the spacious floor plan with her in his arms, bouncing her lightly as he does so to keep her entertained. Soon after that, Jimin announces he got them a reservation at a nice spot a block or two down, and suggests they make a short walk of it, so Hoseok goes to dig through his suitcase for sweaters, and sits on the bench in the entryway hall waiting for the others.

The journey to the restaurant, a sleek little place called Gianni’s , takes all of about four minutes, even with pedestrian traffic. They’re sat in a private room, per Jimin’s request, and greeted by the friendly server who breaks down the menu for them and takes their drink orders. He even brings a coloring page and crayons for Jiyeon, which makes Hoseok laugh a bit, because Jiji is roughly the size of a large squash and most definitely does not have the motor skills for things like drawing yet. Still, the thought is nice, and the food is even nicer when it arrives, steaming hot and scented like garlic, cream, and tomato. 

“So,” Yoongi waves his fork at Hoseok, singling him out with quiet curiosity, “how’s fatherhood treating you?”

“I mean, Jeongguk told us how it all happened,” Jimin adds, leaning over his shrimp scampi conspiratorially, eyes sparking with intrigue, “that you, you know, didn’t exactly plan for all this.”

Yeah, I most definitely did not plan to inherit a kid with my ex , Hoseok thinks vehemently, but out loud he offers them a smile. “It was rocky in the beginning, but it’s been a few weeks, and I think we’re settling in well. We have our little routines and stuff - of course, it’ll all be different now that we’re traveling, but…” Hoseok hesitates, wondering both how much he should say, and how much they know about his and Jeongguk’s clandestine past, but in the end he settles for what’s true, no matter how he feels about Jeongguk nowadays, “I’m grateful to Jeongguk for making it so that her and I could come with, and we could continue sharing responsibilities. I think it’ll be a great learning experience for everyone.”

“Definitely,” Taehyung nods and raises his glass of white wine as if he’s saluting Hoseok’s words. “And they say it takes a village, so here we are. At your service for this whole crazy trip.”

“Yah, no one said anything about crazy,” Yoongi murmurs mildly, taking a knife and slicing into his chicken cutlet, “Jimin and I have planned this trip out to a T, everything should go smoothly if we all behave.”

“ If we all behave,” Jimin snorts. “Get some wine in Taehyung, and who knows what’ll happen.”

“It’s half a glass,” Taehyung retorts, though his words sound more like a pout than a comeback. “Because that’s all I’m legally allowed while I’m on the job,” he adds matter-of-factly, a strain of sass creeping into his voice, and Hoseok finds himself cracking a smile. 

He can get used to this group, easy. He’s pretty sure it won’t be a hardship to hang out with the bunch of them.

They take their time with dinner, passing Jiyeon around the group, so everyone gets a turn with two hands to eat their meal, and then they order a round of dessert. Jiyeon samples the soft pistachio gelato off of the tip of Hoseok’s spoon, and they giggle when her round eyes widen with the sort of delight that can only be held by someone discovering gelato for the first time. Even after they’ve finished eating, they linger around the table for a while for lack of anything more pressing to do, and Hoseok likes the easy way conversation flows between them all. Clearly, the three of them have known each other for awhile, but he doesn’t find that that puts him at a disadvantage when talking to them. They’re deliberate in making sure to include him, or pausing to explain an old reference or inside joke so he can laugh with them, and it’s the small sort of efforts like that that make Hoseok feel as though he’s known them for much longer than he has by the time they pay the bill and reach for their sweaters. Yoongi announces that Jeongguk and Seokjin have arrived back at the hotel and ordered dinner in, so they make their way to the door to meet them back at their lodgings.

Hoseok doesn’t realize they have a problem until Yoongi points it out. Frankly, he’s not familiar with New York pedestrian traffic, so he sort of assumed that the crowd gathered at the front of the hotel is the sort of thing that just sort of perpetually exists here and there. It’s not until Jimin’s hand snakes out in front of him, barring him and Jiji from stepping any further, that he realizes they might have a situation. 

“ Shit ,” Jimin murmurs under his breath, pushing onto his tiptoes to try to look over and around the swarm festering in front of the rotating golden doors. “Media fiasco,” he groans, shaking his head and digging into his pocket for his phone. “We can’t go in around the front, do you think we should try to duck around and take the back?”

Yoongi tips his head, deep in consideration as if he’s weighing the pros and cons of the scenario. “They can only be looking for Jeongguk, right? If we keep our heads low we should be able to inch around them and go through the back entrance. Just–Taehyung goes ahead, he’ll stand in front of Hoseok just in case, and we’ll give them a wide berth.”

Hoseok’s skin suddenly feels prickled with goosebumps, an unfamiliar chill running up and down his spine as they rearrange the group so Taehyung leads, keeping his body conveniently positioned in front of Hoseok and Jiyeon as they make their way toward the crowd. Jimin passes Hoseok his baseball cap, quietly instructing him to pull it low over his eyes. He hugs Jiyeon close to his body, telling himself it’ll be fine , they’re nobodies, Jeongguk isn’t anywhere in sight, when–

“Hoseok! Jung Hoseok, tell us about the baby!”

“Congrats on the baby, Hoseok, how long have you and Jeongguk been together!”

“Give us a smile, can we see the baby?”

“ Oh, fuck me.”

Hoseok is dimly aware of Yoongi’s voice, low and anguished behind him, but it’s overtaken in a second by a swarm of paparazzi and cameras rising in his face like a tidal wave ready to take them under. All he can hear is his own name hollered all around him, bouncing off of the sidewalk and nearby walls, and all he can think is how could they possibly know me?

“Step aside, please move aside, no crowding. We have a baby, please no crowding.”

Taehyung is speaking firmly, directing as many people as possible out of their immediate walkway, and Hoseok is glad for his presence two steps ahead of him, but they’re wildly outnumbered even with Taehyung’s best efforts to tame the chaos. Jimin and Yoongi have taken up arms on either side of him, and Hoseok half-notices when Yoongi reaches out and drapes something - his sweater? - over Jiyeon’s head, concealing her from the many camera bulbs going off one after another in a blinding series of clicks and pops.

But most of all, Hoseok is aware of Jiyeon’s crying. If he’s overwhelmed, it must be ten times worse for someone so small and so new. Her little mewling wails are drowned out amongst the photographers, but to Hoseok, they’re all he can hear. It makes the very hairs on the back of his neck stand, and his skin prickle with goosebumps and dread. A door opens, and the shouts seem to reach a fever pitch, and then Jimin is slamming the back entrance shut, and everything falls silent as quickly as it became deafening.

A pause. Hoseok’s ears ring with the aftershock of the shouts, his name and their vicious calls bouncing around in the corners of his head like a nasty earworm. 

“Hoseok, I’m so sorry,” Yoongi says, and his hand is on Hoseok’s arm a moment later, squeezing him in apology. “I have no idea how or why that happened, or we would have been more prepared.”

“It’s fine,” Hoseok says faintly. It isn’t, but he has the presence of mind to at least comprehend that it isn’t Yoongi’s fault, nor Jimin’s, nor Taehyung’s. They did the best they could in the moment, but now his baby is sobbing, and terrified, and Hoseok wants to crawl somewhere dark and safe and squirrel her away from all the overbearing, dangerous things in the world.

“It’s fine,” he repeats, a little bit stronger this time, but his hands are shaking where they’re holding Jiyeon, pressing her firmly to his chest. He drags the sweater off of her head and lifts her closer, kissing over her little face and whispering soft consoling sounds to her, though he doesn’t feel calm himself.

Why do they know him? How? This wasn’t supposed to happen like this, it was all supposed to be under the radar, Hoseok didn’t join Jeongguk on this trip to become a public figure. Far from it, the last thing he wants is media attention on top of everything else he has to juggle. He has enough on his plate as it is.

“Do you want me to take Jiyeon?” Taehyung asks, holding out his hands as they begin to climb the stairs. Hoseok didn’t even notice how they entered the building, but it seems to be some sort of staff entrance given the rather drab appearance of the stairwell that doesn’t match the rest of the hotel in the slightest. A maintenance route, perhaps. Whatever it is, they’re climbing it at a rapid pace, Jimin’s hand on Hoseok’s arm as if to guide him.

“Hyung?”

Hoseok blinks, and realizes he never answered Taehyung’s question. “What? Oh. Oh, no, I’m fine, I’ve got her. Thanks.”

He doesn’t want to hand her over. Even to Taehyung, who he’s sure as anything means well, but every parental instinct he’s ever had is yelling at him to keep the baby close to himself, where she’s safe.  

The main hotel is quiet, as pristine and peaceful as it was when they left it, and Hoseok wonders how the front desk attendants can manage their work with a crowd outside like that. Does it not terrify them, the hungry mob practically beating the doors down? How do celebrities bear it all? No one ever told Hoseok it would be so unspeakably jarring to be the prey of one of those swarms. 

If he never had to do that ever again, it would still be too soon.

They take the elevator back to the room, and Jiyeon’s wails begin to subside as the doors open with a pleasant ding, and they make their way to the end of the hall where the penthouse lies. Jimin scans a keycard to let them in, and he can hear Jeongguk’s voice ring out to greet them.

“Hi! How was dinner? Hyung and I just grabbed some–what’s wrong?”

Before Hoseok can even make it to the end of the hallway, Jimin and Yoongi are already making beelines for their computers, still propped open on the dining table amidst the wrapping of Jeongguk and Seokjin’s takeout orders. 

“Media crisis,” Yoongi mutters, shoving a box of noodles out of the way and sinking down on a barstool in front of his laptop, then beginning to type with an almost frightening speed.

Hoseok rounds the corner, and glances at Jeongguk and Seokjin who seem to have been lounging leisurely on the couch, but the air in the room is now tense with uncertainty. 

“Media crisis?” Seokjin repeats, a frown marring his face. “What happened?”

“That crowd outside?” Jimin jerks his thumb over his shoulder, “here for you. Well, not just for you, they seem to have done quick work with putting names to faces, but I haven’t figured out how that happened yet.”

“Oh, shit ,” Jeongguk gets to his feet hastily, and crosses the room toward Hoseok in a hurry. “We went around so they didn’t notice us, did they get you? Is Jiyeon okay? Are you ? They don’t know who you are yet, right?” He glances over his shoulder at Yoongi sharply. “Right, hyung?”

“I don’t know, Jeongguk,” Yoongi shakes his head. “I’m on with your PR team right now trying to figure out what they know, and how, and what we should say about it, if anything.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Jeongguk buries his face in his hands, shaking his head. His scent has taken on a bitter note that Hoseok recognizes from years ago, the same tinge he would take on when he couldn’t get the hang of a jump, or on the rare times the two of them argued. He’s unhappy, bordering on angry even, but when he looks up at Hoseok again, his eyes are nothing but imploring.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry, hyung, I didn’t know it would happen. I thought they were here for me .”

They are here for you, Hoseok wants to tell him. It’s just that I’m an extension of you now .

Instead, out loud, all he says is “it can’t happen again, Jeongguk. She was terrified.”

I was terrified .

“I know,” Jeongguk replies, and he looks so truly apologetic in that moment, that for a fleeting second Hoseok thinks he might cry. He reaches out his hands for Jiyeon, offering to lift her from Hoseok’s arms. “I’m so, so sorry, hyung. We’ll talk to hotel, double on security, anything you want to feel safe.”

Hoseok says nothing. He doesn’t pass Jiyeon to Jeongguk, he doesn’t want to. In this moment, there’s no power on earth that could change his mind that she’s his baby, and he needs to look after her. It must be something primal and awfully deep-rooted, the instinct to shuffle her away from anything and anyone that isn’t him, because they could be dangerous, and he is safe.

And then he feels guilty, because it’s just Jeongguk, and he cares about her too. But not tonight. Tonight…Hoseok needs their space.

“I’ll take her, hyung,” Jeonguk says softly. “Go rest.”

“I’m fine with her,” he replies stiffly. It isn’t near the usual time he’d go to bed, but it’s close enough to Jiyeon’s that he has an excuse to steal her away. “Someone needs to put her down, I’ll take her for the night. You guys–” he lifts hand, waving vaguely to the others, “figure this out.”

“Okay,” Jeongguk says, though he still sounds doubtful. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Hoseok considers replying with a curt I won’t , but it feels too cold to say to Jeongguk’s worried face, so instead he says nothing and turns down the hall to his room without another word.

Jiyeon, at least, is calm now. She babbles while he changes her diaper and gives her a little wipedown before slipping her into her soft pajamas, gurgling and kicking her legs as if the chaos of the last twenty minutes didn’t just happen.

At least she bounces back quickly.

She downs her bottle with the haste of a starving woman, but seems content to cuddle afterwards, and eventually dozes off to Hoseok pacing slowly around the room with her, piano lullabies playing off his phone in the background. Earlier, Taehyung helped him drag the bassinet sleeper from the extra room that could be Jiyeon’s, but Hoseok would rather have her in either his room, or Jeongguk’s. It’s one thing to put her to sleep in her nursery at home where Hoseok knows every inch of his house, and security, and all of his neighbors, and an entirely different thing to lie her in a completely separate room here where everything is so new and unfamiliar. 

Especially with that damned crowd outside, there’s not a chance he’s letting Jiyeon out of arm’s reach. 

He settles her in the bassinet, making sure it’s tucked close enough to his bed that he could sit up and look at her if he wanted to, and watches her for a moment to make sure she doesn’t stir. She’s a good sleeper, this girl. The day might not have ended on a high note, but Hoseok will still count his blessings where he gets them. 

He slips into the en suite to wash his face and dress for bed himself. It’s barely 9 PM, but he’s jet-lagged, and feeling supremely antisocial anyway, so he does his skincare, throws on sweatpants, and crawls into bed for his daily dose of uninterrupted social media time. 

Which is his first mistake.

He’s not on Twitter for more than two minutes before his thumb scrolls past a grainy, smudged photo of himself, and he freezes for all of ten seconds before slowly rolling his feed back upward and stopping, jaw slack, to stare at his own visage looking back out at him.

It’s a gritty cell phone photo, clearly not taken by a professional, snapped in the spur of the moment, perhaps by someone not trying to be seen at all. Hoseok remembers the exact moment too, they were at the airport waiting for their car to head to the hotel, and Jiyeon was fussing. While they stood around, Hoseok lifted her from the carrier to rock her for a moment, then when their ride pulled up, Jeongguk hoisted the carseat to clip it in, and there was a fleeting second when he leaned into the car, one hand on the carrier handle, and the other resting casually on Hoseok’s waist. It was one of those things that happens in passing, Hoseok is sure Jeongguk meant nothing by it, but it did stick in his mind solely because Jeongguk always used to place his hand in that exact spot while they dated, and Hoseok wondered if it had been nothing more than muscle memory that led his palm back to that place for a fleeting second. 

He didn’t think anyone had seen it, much less snapped a photo. And the longer Hoseok stares at it, the more he feels this untameable sort of anger at it being on the internet at all. That wasn’t a moment for the world, it was a moment for them. Tired from traveling, just trying to get their shit together long enough to pile into the car. Hoseok doesn’t even look particularly good, he has bags under his eyes, and he’s frowning as if he’s distracted by something, and it all seems so brutally unfair that he’s being seen like this at all. And judging by the - fuck , hundreds of thousands of reshares - it’s being seen alright. News outlets and tabloids are posting it with twisted variations of their own headlines, broadcasting the news to the furthest reaches, as if it’s the most important possible information they could possibly hope to distribute to the public.

Mystery Bombshell Spotted With Korean Ice Legend Jeon Jungkook. 

What We Know About Jung Hoseok So Far

BREAKING: Figure Skater Jeon Jungkook Debuts Mate and Baby in Shocking New Photos

Hoseok’s stomach rolls - no, it doesn’t roll, it somersaults . He feels dangerously like he could throw up. These people sitting behind their screens, faces hidden, thinking that they know anything about–about anything . They have the whole story twisted, they’re painting this perfect image when the truth is far more convoluted and difficult to comprehend, and it makes Hoseok want to scream, and tear down the articles with his bare hands and tell them that if they want his information so badly they can come back with a warrant. 

He doesn’t realize his hands are shaking as he scrolls deeper and deeper into the media pit of lies and speculation, until a text notification pops up on his screen, breaking up the stream of public opinion debating whether or not he’s pretty, or young, or famous enough to stand by Jeongguk’s side.

A message. From Jeongguk.

JK: stay off social media. scrolling doesn’t help. sorry again, hyung

Hoseok stills. His phone is in his hand, glaring at him, but Jeongguk’s message feels like soft respite on a device that suddenly feels as if it no longer belongs to him. He takes a deep breath, then clicks his screen off, and sets it on his side table, sliding it far enough away that he’d have to stretch a good deal to be able to reach it again.

He doesn’t want it next to him. He doesn’t really want it at all anymore, not if it gives him a front row pass to watching himself get eviscerated by people on Twitter for no real reason besides the fact that he looks sort of tired, and he’s wearing sweatpants instead of Prada.

At the airport.

At 7 in the morning .

Hoseok lies back, trying to tune in to the sound of Jiyeon’s snuffling breathing to clear the sheer volume of the thoughts rattling around in his head. It takes him ten minutes before his heart settles back to its usual rhythm instead of the frantic pounding that one would normally associate with being hunted for sport. Even then, he doesn’t know how long he spends tossing and turning before sleep finally sucks him under its embrace.

And when that happens, he dreams of journalists crawling toward him in the dark, and sees his own tired face reflected at him from the front of a hundred, nameless magazines. 

Hoseok wakes suddenly. He doesn’t know if it’s a noise, or the sun, or something else entirely, all he knows is that he goes from sleeping to waking in an instant, and his heart is pounding when he flies upright, heart pounding, and finds himself face to face with–

“Jeongguk,” he chokes out, throat dry, voice deep from the last vestiges of sleep, and probably frayed from being startled out of his skin. “What are you doing here?”

The shades in the room are still drawn, and judging by the sounds coming from her bassinet, Jieyeon is still slumbering away, but Jeongguk is standing by the edge of his bed, a lidded tray in his hands, and a look of utmost apology on his face.

“Sorry,” he says softly. “I didn’t mean you wake you, I thought you might already be up. But we ordered room service, so I got you things I thought you might like. Here, I’ll just…” he trails off, a little awkward, and shuffles sideways to the night table where he can shuffle Hoseok’s things aside and set the tray down.

Hoseok leans back against the headboard, calming down now that the initial shock of waking up to a pair of eyes is fading and his senses are kicking in. There’s dull commotion coming from down the hall, a sure sign that he and Jiyeon are the last ones left sleeping out of their group. 

Jeongguk is dressed for practice, in a black compression tee and jogging pants, his usual rink uniform. His hair is long enough now to be pulled back, and a little curly at the ends where it shrinks back into itself like a sort of flower. He has it up in a ponytail and pushed out of his face with a headband, and he smells like all of the things that Hoseok hasn’t stopped associating with him, even years later.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, drawing his legs close and hugging them to his chest. “Don’t you have to be at the rink though?”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk lifts a shoulder in a slightly sheepish shrug. “But I didn’t want to leave before you woke up. I wanted to, um, check on you. After last night.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok replies, short and unelaborative. There’s not much more to say besides yeah . Yeah, that fucking happened. 

“Hyung,” Jeongguk’s hands come to his front, latching onto one another and weaving nervous motions with his fingertips. “I really am sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen. It’s my mistake, mine and my team’s. We should have been more prepared, but it’s just–uh, I guess I’m still adjusting to all of this too. And, it’s really hard.”

Jeongguk’s voice dips into an oddly tight tone, and when Hoseok looks up at him, he swears he sees a slash of moisture in Jeongguk’s eyes before he blinks it away in a hurry and resumes a neutral expression. But he’s not fast enough, Hoseok’s heart is already shriveling with a feeling that some might call guilt.

How could he be so ensnared in how this affects him, how it feels to him , while he overlooks the fact that this, all of it, is Jeongguk’s reality too? This is his every day, his name in people’s mouths, chewed up and spat out, then stomped over by a crowd of hungry journalists. If you can call them that. Vultures, more like, searching for their next hapless victim to crack open.

“Jeongguk–” he begins, making his voice softer than he thinks he’s ever used on him since they broke up.

“No,” Jeongguk cuts over him, shaking his head resolutely. “I’m not looking for pity, I just wanted to explain to you that I don’t think I’m very good at this yet. You know I didn’t start skating to get famous, that part just sort of happened , and I think it happened faster than I knew how to handle, so I’m still kind of…learning how to swim? But I think I should have explained more of that before I asked you to do this. I just–” he pauses, shutting his eyes momentarily and taking in a deep breath, “I just wanted you to think I was able to handle it. That I was…cooler and better at this than I really am.”

Hoseok’s shoulders wilt, sinking toward the ground the way an unwatered plant would. “Jeongguk,” he says quietly, not hiding the bewilderment in his tone. “Why would you ever think that I would need you to do that?”

“I dunno,” Jeongguk gives a lopsided little shrug, and cracks the corner of an embarrassed smile. “Doesn’t everyone want to impress their ex?”

Well, the answer to that is yes , but Hoseok had been so caught up in trying to do it himself, and so preoccupied by the fact that everything Jeongguk has done since they broke up is so objectively impressive that he himself had miles of catching up to do. But maybe all of that is stupid, and childish, and the two of them can have the grace and maturity to say that after everything, they started as friends, and maybe it would feel better to end that way too. 

“You don’t owe me a performance,” Hoseok shakes his head, and before he can think better of it, he succumbs to the urge to reach across the blankets and take Jeongguk’s hand where it’s resting in the folds of the comforter. He doesn’t lace their fingers together, or squeeze, he just sort of holds it, casually, the way that one holds the hand of an old acquaintance. “I mean, all of this is hard enough as it is. I think it would be easier if we were just honest with each other. About everything. Don’t you?”

Jeongguk flicks his gaze up to Hoseok, and in it Hoseok sees the fleeting light of hope. “Yeah, I do.”

“Okay, I’ll go first,” Hoseok shrugs, withdrawing his hand from Jeongguk’s, though a little reluctantly. He was blissfully warm, and oh-so-familiar to touch, but if Hoseok did for any longer he knows that something deep asleep would begin to stir in his chest. “What happened last night freaked me out, and I think I need to have my phone privileges revoked for all the scrolling and doom spiraling I did last night…but I don’t blame it on you.”

“Really?” Jeongguk’s chest seems to melt with relief.

“Really. Unless you called them.”

Jeongguk’s eyes widen. “Hyung, I didn’t , I swear.”

“I know,” Hoseok suppresses a smile, “that’s why I’m not mad. Just…shaky. And it’s not your fault, so no more apologizing. But it did scare Jiyeon, so I don’t think it can happen again. Whatever we need to do to do avoid it…we do.”

Jeongguk nods fervently. “I agree. Completely. And I already talked to Taehyungie-hyung, and Jimin-hyung, and Yoongi-hyung, and we’ve come up with plans, and strategies, and we’re going to do better. I think…we’ll be okay.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok matches the bobbing of Jeongguk’s head, and feels something very fragile melt in his chest, like a sore muscle finally relaxing after unbearable tension. “So do I.”

Chapter Text

If you’re asking yourself why Jung may look familiar, we have all the answers here. Jung himself was a professional skater (hello on-ice romance!) right up until his career-ending injury at one of the Grand Prix circuit stops in Japan, which was televised internationally, prompting thousands of social media posts wishing him well and wondering what caused such a promising young athlete to endure such a tragic–

“Hyung!” A hand reaches in front of Hoseok’s face and snatches his phone right out of his grasp, startling Hoseok into looking up at him. 

Jeongguk is leaning over the barrier that separates the ice from the coach box where Hoseok is sitting with Jiyeon. His hair is mussed, his skin flushed with sweat, and his head is cocked to the side with a look of disapproval. He waves Hoseok’s phone at him. 

“There’s nothing good in those stupid articles, you’ve gotta stop.”

“I have stopped,” Hoseok replies, crossing his arms over his chest. Jeongguk raises an eyebrow, unimpressed, and he folds. “For the most part. That’s, um, only the third one I’ve looked at today. But! I didn’t look at any of them yesterday, so really…”

“Really nothing,” Jeongguk sighs, clicking out of the tab that’s still sitting open, and passing Hoseok’s phone back. “You were in a great mood yesterday, funny how that works.”

“I’m in a great mood now,” Hoseok says defensively. He’s not sure of that, in all actuality. Jeongguk is right, reading the media pieces always does make him feel a little ill, but he’s not feeling like admitting that at this very moment, so he puts in a semi-convincing smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Dunno, but you weren’t watching me,” Jeongguk replies, pushing away from the thick barrier and beginning a step sequence from his current routine with so much ease that it looks like nothing harder than breathing when he does it. “Because if you saw the way I landed that lutz you definitely would have booed.”

“I wouldn’t boo you,” Hoseok replies, feigning shock at the accusation. He would, in fact, boo Jeongguk, and he has, in fact, done just that. For the past four days he and Jiyeon have spent at least a few hours sitting rink-side watching Jeongguk practice. Partially because there’s only so much to do sitting around in a hotel room with a baby, and partially because Jiyeon seems rather entranced by watching Jeongguk skate, and when she gets fussy there’s no better remedy than popping her in her carrier at the edge of the stands so she can watch him run through a private show in her honor. 

But Hoseok enjoys being Jeongguk’s little critic, partially to annoy him, and partially because, well, someone has to do it. In a world full of adoring fans praising his every move, it’s up to his coach and Hoseok to keep him levelheaded and humble. 

“You would too,” Jeongguk replies. “I almost broke my ankle, I think.”

“ Jeongguk,” Hoseok exclaims, standing up to approach the edge of the ice. “Be careful, oh my god. Just because your coach is on lunch doesn’t mean you should flail around and do whatever. You can’t skate around like you’re indestructible, it’s not gonna end well for you.”

After all, look what happened to me . The unspoken comment hangs between them, unintentionally and briefly terse. Hoseok can feel them both thinking it, and there’s nothing he wants less than to think about that , so he clears his throat and pushes onward. 

“You’re going into the jump too strained on your right side,” he announces, dictating to Jeongguk’s leg and hip. “If you go into it tense, landing shocks your joints. It hurts, and half the time your leg will give out. Loosen up and breathe a little.”

“I am breathing,” Jeongguk huffs, running his arm across his face to gather the moisture collecting on his brow. “But have you seen the combination sequence moving into the jump? Hard not to tense up, my knees hurt.”

“Knees hurting is part of the sport,” Hoseok rolls his eyes. “Ice them when we get back to the hotel. Run it through again, but this time make an effort to stay relaxed, especially in your right hip.”

Even as Hoseok says it, he can feel his own right hip twinging in sympathy. Most of the time, it doesn’t bother Hoseok too terribly. His limp barely shows after all this time, and his doctors say he recovered exactly the way they hoped, but sometimes he feels it, like a phantom pain more than anything. A harsh, bitter reminder of the rods of metal used to reconstruct shattered bone, of the long, brittle scar marking the place where they had to cut into him to make sure he wouldn’t lose his ability to walk .

But skating was off the table. There was no doubt about it. Two months after his surgery he got onto the ice again for the first time, just to test it. He was encouraged by Jeongguk and his coach not to let his love for it boil away, but it was too painful. To stand on that seamless, beautiful, cold expanse that he had called home for so many years, unable to do even a fraction of what he used to be able to. He tried, halfheartedly, for a few weeks. Maybe even a few months, it was part of his physical therapy sessions, but eventually it became too taxing for him to keep pushing at something he was never going to have again, so…he stopped.

And he and Jeongguk split.

And the ice just didn’t call to him the way it used to. Not like that, anyway. Figure skating was - and is - the only thing he really knows how to do, so he took all the theoretical knowledge of it that he had and joined the editing team of an ice skating magazine, a large, international publication. A few years of hard work there, and he worked his way up the ranks, settling somewhere high enough that it felt worth his time. 

Hoseok likes his job, and his salary, and the people he works this. But damn , if it doesn’t sting a little bit sitting on the benches watching Jeongguk move across the rink like art in motion, wishing that could be him. Hoseok prepared himself for it, the bitterness creeping back in just from being, and he promised he wouldn’t take it out on Jeongguk. Not when it’s so important that they get along. And he isn’t he swears, it just burns to think about. Like an itch that can’t be scratched. 

He misses it. He wants it, still. After all this time. 

Hoseok rests his forearms on the barrier, as close to the ice as he can be without actually stepping onto it, and watches as Jeongguk runs himself through the segment again, and again, and again, tweaking and adjusting based on Hoseok’s feedback while Jiyeon snoozes away in her carrier, until he drifts back to the edge of the rink, cutting up a spray of ice with the blades of his skates as he grinds to a smooth, sharp halt, and drops forward over the barrier, panting.

“Break,” he groans, flushed pink and glittering all over with sweat, “you’re running me through this harder than Jin-hyung, and it’s hotter than hell in here.”

“You have your first competition tomorrow, there’s no better time to go no-holds-barred and make this happen. Also, it’s an ice rink ,” Hoseok rolls his eyes, reaching behind him and grabbing for his own bottle when he doesn’t see Jeongguk’s. “It literally doesn’t get colder than this.”

He passes the bottle to Jeongguk and watches as he drains it like it’s the last drink left in a desert, clearly considering the idea that it’s Hoseok’s to be a non-issue. Figures, it wouldn’t be the first time they’ve swapped spit. Or other bodily fluids, for that matter. If there was a time to be a germaphobe about things, it’s long gone now.

“Easy for you to say,” Jeongguk pants, slamming the bottle down and hanging his head back, shaking his hair to air out, “you’re just sitting there. You don’t think she’s cold, do you?”

Hoseok glances at Jiyeon. Her cheeks are a little pink, but she’s wearing a onesie, a jacket, socks, and a tiny little hat, and she has a blanket tucked around her to keep the chill out. He shrugs. “If she was, I think she’d be fussing, not sleeping. She looks fine to me. Your necklace is crooked by the way.” Hoseok adds, nodding to the fine silver chain that Jeongguk doesn’t seem to have taken off since he was thrown unceremoniously back into Hoseok’s life. 

Jeongguk lifts his head and looks down. The tiny pendant, a heart-shaped locket, has flipped the wrong way around, hanging at the back of his neck instead of between his collarbones. “Ah,” he reaches for it, adjusting it to set it back where it should go. “Happens a lot. Hyung is always grumbling at me to take it off, but…” he trails off, shrugging. “Good luck charm.”

It’s funny. Jeongguk always rolled his eyes at the idea of good luck charms when they were kids. Either you skate well or you don’t , he would insist whenever anyone brought them up, a trinket has nothing to do with it.

It would seem that time has changed that too about Jeon Jeongguk. 

Competition day dawns bright, sunshine so thick and dewy that it filters through even the  blackout curtains that Hoseok draws shut in his room every night before putting Jiyeon down. Jiyeon who, as it seems, is wide awake with the sun and ready for their day of action. Hoseok checks the clock. 

7 AM, damn. She’s usually a (blessedly) late sleeper, but apparently this morning calls to her. Or maybe she can just hear the commotion down the hall to the rest of the penthouse where the others are no doubt up and crowding the living area as they prepare for the day ahead. Hoseok knows the schedule, private pickup for Jeongguk at 9 AM to head to the rink, then Hoseok, Jiyeon, and Taehyung will head down an hour later once the majority of the crowds caused by Jeongguk’s arrival have died down. They’ll watch, masked up and bundled away from prying eyes, from one of the private boxes where they can’t be rushed by fans and reporters alike. 

And everything will go fine , Hoseok assures himself, scooping Jiyeon out of her bassinet and giving her reassuring little pats that he isn’t sure are for her sake or his. He scoots out of bed, gets her changed, then dresses himself, and he’s feeling positively calm after doing his skincare and cuddling with Jiyeon for awhile by the time he swings his bedroom door open and heads into the main area.

Yoongi is in the corner, discussing something in a low, rapid tone with Jimin, and a man dressed in white whom Hoseok has never seen before. He has a serious expression on his face, and a neat, shockingly clean little briefcase tucked in one hand. 

Jeongguk is nowhere to be seen.

Seokjin is on the coach, phone in hand, typing at lighting speed, and Hoseok inches over to him, skirting around the stranger in white and taking a seat.

“Um,” Hoseok clears his throat, flicking an inquisitive glance around the room. The energy isn’t excited terse, it’s just… dismal terse, like something has gone terribly wrong and everyone is leaping on plan B to make sure it doesn’t blow up in front of them.  It also smells oddly sharp and clinical, everyone’s usual cluster of scents scrubbed clean as if the entire room was doused in blockers, or rinsed down with chemical cleaner. “What’s going on? Where’s Jeongguk?”

Seokjin glances up, a little startled, as if he was so absorbed in his screen that he didn’t hear Hoseok and Jiyeon appear beside him. “Oh! Hi. Um, we’ve hit a little hitch here this morning. The absolute– worst timed hitch ,” he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, “that we could possibly have.”

Hoseok’s heart does an alarming series of backflips inside his chest. “Is everyone okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just…” Seokjin throws a nervous glance over his shoulder at the trio gathered in the corner, dropping his voice even lower as if even saying what he knows out loud comes with a risk, “Jeongguk went into rut way out of schedule. Or–pre-rut at least. We don’t really know yet, but he’s not in a good state. Happened overnight I guess, he went to bed thinking he was just drained from practice, and he woke up literally not able to stand.”

Hoseok’s jaw drops. “Not able to–he’s skating today!”

“I know that,” Seokjin groans in the voice of a man who has came to the same conclusion a long time prior and is now staring down an unsolvable problem. “Trust me, I know that.”

Jiyeon hiccups. Hoseok moves his hand to her back, patting her gently while he keeps on staring, open-mouthed, at Seokjin. “So is he going to–?”

“He wants to,” Seokjin shrugs, a little helpless. “We called in a traveling nurse, he’s going to give him an IV of suppressants and a bunch of vitamins so he can get back on his feet.”

Hoseok gulps. “And will that work?”

“Fuck if I know. Sorry,” he casts a guilty look at Jiyeon, “I meant, uh, heck if I know. I really don’t know, Hoseok, but if he can’t compete today…”

He trails off, but Hoseok doesn’t need him to finish in order to know where he was going with it. This tournament is the qualifier, if Jeongguk doesn’t skate this one, he’s out for the season, at least in the major leagues. He could go home, drop back down to regional competitions just to have something to do with his time, but it’s a disservice to his caliber of athlete. Jeongguk is a global phenomenon, and he should be skating as such.

But if he can’t…what can be done about that?

“Here,” Hoseok shuffles Jiyeon toward Seokjin. “Will you hold her for a moment? I want to go talk to him.”

“Blockers,” Seokjin advises in a stern tone, “ everything is setting him off right now, Jimin can’t go in there. I’m not sure if it’s a good idea if you try.”

“I just want to talk to him,” Hoseok shakes his head, getting to his feet. Seokjin doesn’t understand it, Hoseok doesn’t even know if he’s aware what he and Jeongguk used to be, or if Jeongguk kept that particular tidbit to himself. First and foremost, before being a couple, before even being friends, they were competitors who trained in each other’s space for years on end. Hoseok has seen Jeongguk at his athletic lowest, and vice versa, he’s picked him off the ice and given him pep talks when he was so nervous he could puke, they’ve gritted their teeth and endured tournaments that drained them to the bone. They had an unbreakable bond.

Or at least, Hoseok thought they did.

But no matter the history, he can’t bear to turn his back on Jeongguk now if he needs to help. Past be damned, Hoseok doesn’t have the heart. He skirts off to his room, rooting around in his suitcase for the prescription scent blockers he’s glad he packed and giving himself a douse so thick he’s pretty sure he won’t smell for a week, then making a beeline back out through the living area and down the opposite hall to the room that he’s only been in for mere seconds at a time to grab Jiyeon.

Hoseok doesn’t knock, because he knows Jeongguk will either say to come in, or he won’t, and it won’t matter, because Hoseok is coming in anyways. He tugs the door open, and is met with darkness. Whatever blackout curtains Jeongguk has, they must be doing double what Hoseok’s are, because the room is dark as night, and for a moment it’s all Hoseok can do to blink into it until his eyes adjust just enough that he can make out the rising and falling lines of Jeongguk’s body tangled in bed.

“Jeongguk?” he speaks quietly, not wanting to startle him. Alphas in ruts are usually territorial, though with no mate and no partner, Hoseok isn’t sure who exactly Jeongguk would have to be possessive about. “It’s me. I just…wanted to check on you.”

“ Hyung ,” Jeongguk’s voice is a reedy whine, and Hoseok is wholly unprepared for the way it shoots electricity up and down his spine, a sensation that’s somehow both chilled, and hot, and laced with near-crippling familiarity. 

He’s spent ruts with Jeongguk, of course he has. They were together for years, how could he not? Hoseok only missed the one, and it was because he was at a skater’s retreat in Germany, and Jeongguk was home in Busan training, and even then he had called Jeongguk every day just so he could hear his voice, and, well, give him something to get off too, though Hoseok is sure that it didn’t carry nearly the same amount of relief over the phone as it would have in person.

Hoseok supposes, after they broke up, he was too preoccupied by other things to consider that Jeongguk probably started rutting with other people, but it’s hitting him now with the oddest, most detached sense of loss that no longer belongs to him. 

Focus, Hoseok, you’re not here to reminisce about days past, you’re here to make sure Jeongguk is well enough to get on the ice. 

“It’s so fucked up,” Jeongguk groans, sounding like he’s panting out each word. It feels noticeably hotter in here than it was out there, and it smells unbearable, even to Hoseok, who is nowhere near the peak of his cycle. It smells like his pants should already be on the floor, and he should be crawling up Jeongguk’s perfectly primed, sweaty body begging for a knot, and–

No, what the fuck? Jesus Christ, talk about thinking with your downstairs brain. Hoseok physically shakes himself like he’s trying to rattle sense back into his brain.

“Yeah. Yeah, it really is.”

“ Now ,” Jeongguk whines. “It had to happen now ?”

“It’s some screwed up timing,” Hoseok acknowledges. Half of him wants to take a seat on the edge of the bed, but the other half is unsure that he would stay on the edge of the bed if he did that. He might scoot closer, or Jeongguk might pull him closer, and Hoseok isn’t entirely sure if he could, or would say no. 

“I mean, first the unexpected baby right before leaving to compete, then the unplanned rut. Who did you piss off in upper management, Jeongguk-ah?” Hoseok asks, trying for a touch of humor just to see if Jeongguk reacts to it.

“It’s not funny,” Jeongguk moans. And really, it isn’t. It’s a little bit dire, if they’re being honest. He shifts, and the blankets move with him, turning around to face Hoseok, and Hoseok tracks his movement based only on the minimal light that reflects off of his eyes. It’s always the eyes with Jeongguk. The bedding moves again, and Jeongguk’s hand reaches out, fingers flexing, closing around something that isn’t there yet.

“Come closer,” he murmurs, voice suddenly darker, almost gruff.

Hoseok frowns. “Jeongguk. No, you know I didn’t come here for that.”

“I know, I know,” he breathes, sounding more pained, and a little more like himself. He’s fighting it, instinct, hunger, whatever it is that’s trying to dig deep into him right now. “Sorry. It’s not–I can’t help it. You smell still, you know.”

“I put on blockers.”

“It isn’t helping.”

“Sorry,” Hoseok takes a step back, adding useless distance between the two of them. “I can leave, I just wanted to be the voice of reason if everyone is telling you to skate.”

A beat of silence. Jeongguk twists again engaging in a brief fight with his pillows then promptly losing. “No one is telling me to skate, I’m telling me to skate, I have to do this.”

“You don’t,” Hoseok says simply. He wishes he could see better in the dark, wishes he could look at Jeongguk very firmly and tell him that there’s life on the ice, and there’s life off of it. And if he places his every hope, and dream, and shred of happiness on his ability to get on there every day and perform, he’s going to be in for a brutal awakening when the inevitable moment where that’s no longer possible arrives.

Take it from Hoseok. He would know.

“If I don’t skate today,” Jeongguk begins, voice thick, “I don’t skate at all . You know that.”

“I do, but there’s always next season.”

“ Is there? Hyung, I’m twenty-six, I’m not–I’m barely in my prime anymore. These are my last years, I have to make them worth it, I can’t just not do this because of stupid–biological –fuck ,” Jeongguk breaks off, teeth gritted through his misery. “I have to. I am. I’ll be fine, I’ll get through it.”

“If that’s what you want,” Hoseok nods, forgetting that Jeongguk can’t see him.

“It is. And I don’t want you frowning at me for it.”

“I’m not frowning,” Hoseok replies, quickly rearranging his frown. “I just want you to see the bigger picture.”

He considers pulling out the last resort you do have a kid now, after all , but decides against it. If Jeongguk is already struggling with the unstoppable force of aging out of peak athleticism, he probably doesn’t want to be reminded of anything that will make him feel older. Fatherhood, for example.

“Just–call the nurse in,” Jeongguk mumbles, rolling to face the wall again, “please.”

“Sure,” Hoseok says, already backing out. If Jeongguk’s mind is made up, it’s made up.

And if he fails today, at least Hoseok can say he tried to remind him of a world that exists outside an endless expanse of frozen water. 

Jeongguk doesn’t look well enough to be on the ice. There’s no doubt in Hoseok’s mind, if he were sane, he wouldn’t be skating. But unfortunately, Jeongguk is both stubborn, and out of his mind, so here he is, lacing up his skates with trembling hands while Seokjin braces a palm on his shoulder, no doubt giving him advice that Hoseok can’t hear over the rumble of the crowd. 

Even after the nurse saw him at the penthouse he still looked clammy and jittery with bags beneath his eyes and sweat prickling at his hairline. He muttered that he was fine, he just needed a shower and some water and he’d head to the rink, but he wasn’t fooling anyone. At least, he wasn’t fooling Hoseok. 

Jiyeon has been a little fussy the whole time they’ve been here, which is unusual because she seems to have loved watching skating before this, but today she’s restless. She kept reaching out to Jeongguk while they were still at the hotel getting ready, but there was no extra time for him to hold here. Getting the IV drip already placed them an hour behind schedule, it was imperative that Jeongguk got to the rink and began warming up before his performance slot. She’s making grumbling sounds now, rocking forward to try and make an escape out of Hoseok’s lap to get to Jeongguk, but he’s already up and stepping onto the ice, and if Hoseok knows him still, he knows there isn’t a thought in Jeongguk’s head except his music, his routine, and getting through the next three minutes without a hitch.

Hoseok pulls Jiyeon back against himself and groans. “I feel like I’m gonna be sick.”

“Don’t say that,” Jimin replies, not sounding much better off. “He’ll be fine , it’s just one skate, and he doesn’t even need to be the best, he just needs to get through it.”

Getting through it is the problem , Hoseok wants to moan. What if he can’t ?

Jeongguk sails out into the center of the ice, striking his beginning pose and holding it, chest heaving prematurely, waiting for that first note to fill the arena and spur him into movement. Hoseok’s hand tightens, nails biting into his palm.

Please be fine , he chants in his head. Please walk off the ice in one piece .

When the music starts, Hoseok’s heart speeds along with the drastic tempo Jeongguk is moving too. He feels excruciatingly as if he can’t take a breath, not until the worst of it is over. Jeongguk has three particularly complex jump sequences in this routine, one worse and more complicated than the other two, and every time Hoseok shuts his eyes he sees steel blades landing awry, limbs hitting ice, and he hates how easy it would be. How easy it always is. 

One wrong move. One misjudged leap. All of it, any of it, could spell the end in a second.

Five, six, seven, eight , Hoseok counts along with the tempo, watching Jeongguk’s every move with dread crushing a hand around his chest. He marks off in his head every slight misstep or wobbly landing that will dock Jeongguk points, and he knows, already, Jeongguk must be beating himself up for them. But Hoseok doesn’t care. He cares that Jeongguk is still landing cleanly, he’s still upright, letting muscle memory carry him through the movements, until the music ends, and he drops like a puppet, all fight leaving him in an instant, and for a moment Hoseok doubts he’ll even skate his own way off the ice. He wobbles where he stands, then begins making a path back toward the box where Seokjin is waiting for him, and it’s only once he steps off, rubber guards passed to him to cloak the blades of his skates, that Hoseok lets himself breath.

It’s over . He did it. Not perfectly, no, but better than anyone could expect of anyone under Jeongguk’s circumstances. For a second, Hoseok feels almost guilty for ever doubting him, but mostly, all he feels is relief. 

He lifts Jiyeon and turns her around, kissing her cheek and exhaling shakily. “Glad that’s over, yeah?”

Jiyeon fusses in response, wrinkling her nose and balling her fists. “ Bababa!”

“Jesus,” Jimin pants, turning to Taehyung and dropping a head on his shoulder, gasping like he too was holding his breath for the entire duration of Jeongguk’s performance. “File that under things I never want to have to experience again.”

“He was fine,” Taehyung sighs, sounding very much as though he didn’t expect for everything to be fine. “He was great, everything’s great. That was–wow. I can breathe again.”

“Excuse us,” Hoseok gets to his feet, hauling Jiyeon up with him and scooting around Taehyung and Jimin’s legs on his way to the doorway that Seokjin has already pulled Jeongguk back through. “I want to go see him real quick.”

Before Jimin or Taehyung can say anything, Hoseok has already cut past them, ducking into the waiting room for skaters and scanning wildly for Jeongguk, but all he sees is–

“Hoseok?”

Hoseok looks to the side sharply. Seokjin his looking at him, head cocked.

“What’s up? Where are Jimin and Taehyung?”

“Oh, they’re–they’re in their seats still. I just wanted to talk to Jeongguk.”

“Oh,” Seokjin frowns, a little sympathetic, and lays a hand on Hoseok’s shoulder that serves the dual purpose of wheeling him around back toward the exit. “He’s already gone, went out the back exit two seconds ago. We’re moving him to one of the rut rooms at the hotel, he needed to be lying down like, two hours ago. God, I’m shocked he got through that.”

“He was great,” Hoseok says, but his heart is sinking in his chest for reasons he doesn’t quite understand. He doesn’t need to see Jeongguk, there’s nothing particularly crucial he has to say to him, yet somehow he can’t conceal his disappointment at not getting the chance to.

The next few days pass with painstaking slowness. Jeongguk is floors below them, sweating out his rut in one of the specialized rooms that most high-end hotels offer in the unlucky case that one’s cycle coincides with their travel. Hoseok doesn’t see, nor hear from him even once, and though he knows it’s for very good reason, the sudden silence after their weeks of being forced to interact with one another near constantly feels odd, and hollow. No texts coordinating when one of them should pick up Jiyeon, or asking which flavor of baby food she’s been liking best this week, or reminders for their pediatrician appointment. 

Hoseok has no right whatsoever to know, and he’d never ask, but part of him is hungry to know if Jeongguk hired a short-term partner to pass the time comfortably. If he’s laying in bed wrapped around someone at any given moment while Hoseok rocks their cranky baby to sleep, or claps while she experiments with pulling herself up to stand. 

Like Hoseok said, he has no right to wonder. And yet, the idea burns like straight alcohol in the back of his throat.

It’s some consolation that Jeongguk’s team is around the penthouse, left with nothing better to do now that his activities have halted in their tracks. They help with Jiyeon during the day, which is welcome respite from full-time responsibility, but they’re no replacement for Jeongguk, as Jiyeon herself seems to have decided this by the way she’s become inexplicably fussy and clingy, never satisfied by sitting in one place, yet not keen on moving around either. On the morning of day three, Hoseok relents completely. 

Jiyeon has been wailing for twenty minutes straight, fat tears rolling down her cheeks and wetting the collar of her daisy-patterned onesie. She’s fed, bathed, changed, they went on a walk before breakfast, and had tummy time afterwards, he’s run through all of the limited amount of toys and books he packed for her, and he’s simply out of ideas, save for one. 

“Okay,” he sighs, reaching for her and scooping her up. “You wanna try something else? We’ll try something else.”

He walks them down the hallway, Jiyeon still bawling like she hasn’t known peace since Jeongguk departed, and makes a right turn into the doorway of Jeongguk’s vacated bedroom. Even just standing on the edge of the room, his scent is overwhelming, and it makes Hoseok a little dizzy as he shuffles in and drags the blankets to the center of the bed. He makes a sort of pit in the middle and sets Jiyeon in it, tucking pillows on either side of her for support, and grabbing a handful of the sheets to press into her grabby fists so she can bring it to her face and smell it for herself.

The effect is instant . Her cries subside, her tears halting in their tracks, and she leans forward, melting into the blankets.

“Baba,” she coos her choice string of sullables, much softer and calmer than she was even ten seconds ago. Her eyes have widened, almost wondrous, and she gazes up at Hoseok with slow, steady blinks. “Ba-ah-bababa.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok sighs, feeling his whole body physically relax from head to toe at her sobbing ceasing. “You just miss him, huh?”

Jiyeon doesn’t say anything back, but the way she folds forwards into the blankets, gathering them up to hug to her tiny chest is reply enough. It doesn’t take even five minutes for her to fall asleep like that, tucked in a makeshift nest of her own, and seeing her this way brings a sense of calm back to Hoseok that he isn’t sure he’s felt in days. Like the breath he started holding when Jeongguk stepped onto the ice was never quite let go, and it’s just been living in his chest the whole time, waiting for a chance to be exhaled. 

It’s funny. On day one, Hoseok was so ready to grit his teeth and do this on his own. And now, he’s beginning to suspect very much that he couldn’t do it without Jeongguk at all.

The afternoon passes easily, with Jiyeon taking a necessary nap through most of it, and then it’s evening all of the sudden and the two of them are sneaking out the back exit into a car with Jimin and Taehyung to head to dinner somewhere downtown. Per the hotel’s request, the media swarm that had gathered last week has dispersed, but Hoseok still doesn’t entirely trust any random passerby hanging around not to be a paparazzo in disguise waiting to snap a photo of something that doesn’t belong to them.

Jiyeon is in a much better mood for the meal, babbling her way through conversations of her own that the others keenly indulge, nodding along as if she were saying actual words. Hoseok slips her smushed samples of his meal to keep her food interesting - variety, after all, is the spice of life - and they pass her around to be bounced and burped and generally fawned over until it’s time to pack it back up and head back to the hotel.

The penthouse is silent when Hoseok lets himself inside. Seokjin has been at the rink handling things on Jeongguk’s behalf and supposedly retouching choreography for his minimally rehearsed skate for the upcoming second tournament, and Yoongi has been bouncing around the city taking meetings all day. It means a slightly hollow feeling echoing through the space as Hoseok bathes Jiyeon, then lingers in the kitchen prepping her bottle for the night. 

She goes down easy, much easier than she has for the past three nights, and Hoseok is able to get her into her bassinet on the first try without her waking up and demanding to be held. 

It’s even quieter when he shuts his bedroom door softly behind her and shuffles back out to the living room, where an unoccupied couch is sitting, wide open and a little lonesome. He sinks into it and reaches for the remote, casting a glance at his watch. 8:30 PM. 

It’s going to be another dreary night. 

Hoseok puts on some cooking show streaming on the hotel’s cable, letting it run in the background as filler noise more than actual entertainment while he grabs for his phone and browses through backed up work emails. He finds himself sorting them by priority, but replying to none of them. He can’t muster the motivation to bring himself to actually work, so thinking about it will be the best he can do tonight. 

He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. There’s this itch sitting in the roof of his mouth and the pit of his stomach that won’t go away. Like a worry that he can’t remember, or a task he’s forgotten about. Or maybe, it’s an absence of something. A little black hole waiting to be filled with something he doesn’t yet know he needs. 

Hoseok tosses his phone onto the coffee table and wilts, rubbing his hands up and down his face, carding his fingers through his hair and groaning lightly. If every day is going to be like this, he thinks he might have to—

“Hyung.”

Hoseok  startles so hard his leg slips and he nearly topples off of the couch entirely. He catches himself just in time, whipping around with his heart in his throat, only to find Jeongguk standing behind him, shadowed by the unlit hallway. 

“Jeongguk,” he sighs, pressing his palm flat to his chest to quell his racing pulse. “You scared the shit out of me. When did you get back?”

“This evening,” Jeongguk mumbles, scrubbing his face with the hem of his baggy T-shirt. “While you guys were out at dinner. I’ve just been laying down.”

Laying down, maybe, but he looks like he was recently hit by a truck. His hair is tangled, his clothing rumpled, eyes puffy and cheeks flushed as if he’s been crying. 

Hoseok’s heart softens with a series of flutters in his chest, and he cocks his head to the side. “How are you?”

Jeongguk opens his mouth, mouthing soundlessly against invisible words for a moment, fishing for something that isn’t the truth. Hoseok knows the look Jeongguk gives right before he lies. All these years and he hasn’t changed one bit. 

“Don’t,” Hoseok interjects softly, cutting off Jeongguk’s false reply before he can even begin. “Don’t just say you’re fine. How are you actually? Because you look like shit,” he adds, tacking that onto the end for good measure in case the moment gets altogether too sincere without it. 

Jeongguk’s shoulders drop, his mouth wilting into a dejected pout, and he shakes his head. “Fine, I’m awful. Really bad. Is that what you want to hear?”

“Of course not,” Hoseok protests. Frankly, he’s hurt that Jeongguk would think for a second that Hoseok is asking out of vindication. Sure, they have their history, but never, ever has Hoseok wanted Jeongguk to suffer in any measure of the word. 

“I’m asking because a lot of shit happened really quickly,  and I figured it would all be hitting you pretty hard. Do you actually think I want you to be miserable, Jeongguk?”

“No,” Jeongguk murmurs, running his hands through his already thoroughly disarrayed hair. He looks a little guilty, and a lot unsettled. He must be wearing blockers, because otherwise Hoseok is sure the scent of displeased alpha would practically be embedding itself in the walls. “Sorry, I’m just—it’s been kind of a bad day. I feel like I can’t—“ he pauses, dragging his palms up and down his arms like he’s defrosting himself, barely contained anxiety rolling off of him in waves. “ Calm down,” he finishes with a shudder. 

Jeongguk’s ruts have always been a kind of whirlwind for him. There’s the classic desperate, horny period, sure, but then he gets smacked across the face with this emotional cyclone that Hoseok remembers would tear through him to the point of him being nearly inconsolable. He sort of assumed it was the kind of thing that would fade with age, but if he isn’t very much mistaken looking at Jeongguk right now, Hoseok would hazard a guess that it all stuck around. 

“Hyung,” Jeongguk begins suddenly, mouth doing that thing again where he opens, then shuts it, then opens it again, clearly trying to decide if he should or shouldn’t say what’s on the tip of his tongue. Then, his shoulders fall, and his gaze drops down to the floor, and he gets much quieter. “Nothing,” he shakes his head. “Nevermind, sorry. It isn’t your problem.”

“No, tell me,” Hoseok replies. He surprises himself when the words leave him, not waiting a second. It’s impulsivity at its finest, curiosity needing the satiation of knowing if Jeongguk is about to ask what Hoseok thinks he’s about to ask. 

Jeongguk sucks a breath in between his teeth. His hands find one another and link together to knead nervous rhythms. “You know I wouldn’t ask unless I felt like I needed it.”

“Jeongguk, you haven’t even asked yet.”

Jeongguk sighs and tips his head back, staring at the ceiling instead of at Hoseok. “Can I—would you let me sit next to you?”

“Next to me?” Hoseok prompts, knowing full well that when they dated and Jeongguk got like this “ next to him” was an understatement. 

“Really close,” Jeongguk amends, still avoiding his gaze. “Like, right next to you.”

The way Hoseok sees it, he has two options right now: say no, get up, and walk away, and pat himself on the back for winning the breakup, for getting the last laugh, and deciding that Jeongguk always needed him more than Hoseok needed him back. Or he could say yes. 

Well, the way Hoseok actually sees it is that saying no was never an option. 

He scoots into the corner of the couch, making plenty of room for Jeongguk, and nods wordlessly, patting the space beside him. Jeongguk folds like a line of tension has been cut, letting him fall loose for the first time in days, and he barely even makes it to the cushions before he’s sinking into them, finding the heat of Hoseok’s body and curling against him. But Hoseok has already given into one thing, what does it matter if he pushes it a little further? If they have this one night between the two of them, with no one else needing to know?

“Lay down,” he murmurs, taking Jeongguk by the arm and inching him forwards and down so that he can rest his head and shoulders in Hoseok’s lap the way he used to like back when they were, well, them . Together. A pair. 

Jeongguk goes where Hoseok moves him, coming to rest a little stiffly, and flicking a worried glance up at Hoseok. “We don’t have to,” he murmurs, body rigid again with the weight of not allowing himself to relax. “If you don’t want to.”

“ You want to,” Hoseok tells him, pushing Jeongguk’s shoulders back so he has no choice but to let his full body weight melt into the cushions, and Hoseok’s lap. “You need this.”

You need this. It’s just biology, you need this. 

Because that’s so much easier than to allow himself to think for even a moment that he might need this. That biology is a two-way street, and Jeongguk’s rut might have triggered some sort of response in Hoseok, even if he doesn’t want to admit it or talk about it. That it’s been a long fucking time since he had an alpha next to him, this close and this comfortable, without being asked for sex.

It’s hard to say out loud, isn’t it? That when you leave someone who was in your life for so long, you don’t miss the romance most of all, you miss the plain, reliable companionship. The sheer idea of having someone just for yourself, someone who answers your calls first, someone who is always excited by the sight of you. The simple, safe domesticity of being able to share personal space with one another.

And it’s not like Hoseok has no one , he dated around once he started his new job and got back on his feet. There were a few alphas, for a few weeks, or even a few months, but every time Hoseok started to get close to them, the same thing would happen over and over. He would grow tired by them. Not even them, just the idea of them. Of having to learn all their little quirks, and sense of humor, their friends, and their goals, and aspirations, of having to read their scent, and memorize an entire human being’s worth of flaws and intricacies. It was exhausting to even think about. And most of them were kind enough that Hoseok felt guilty leading them on, pretending to be enthusiastic about something he wasn’t, so he’d get cold feet and cut things off every time before they got good. Because he didn’t want them to get good.

Because he didn’t want them .

He wanted something familiar, and predictable, and known. He wanted something that didn’t belong to him anymore.

But denial is a hell of a tool, and Hoseok learned that if he focused enough on work, and his friends, and building a new life for himself that he didn’t need a lover, he could get by happy enough that he could convince himself he was totally and completely fulfilled by his reality. He was a smart, hot, modern omega. He was doing it on his own . Because who needs an alpha, right? Biology is outdated, and archaic, and–

And it has Hoseok in an utter chokehold at this very moment.

“What’s wrong?”

Hoseok glances down, startled out of his thoughts. Jeongguk is gazing up at him, his wide eyes glassy and relaxed by the comfort he must be getting by being allowed to lay here, nestling against Hoseok like a pup.

“Nothing,” Hoseok says quickly, shaking his head. “I’m fine.”

“Your scent,” Jeongguk says, his brow creased, his mouth turning into a concentrated pout, like he’s trying to sniff something out. “It got all…” he trails off, waving a vague hand, as if to say weird without saying as much at all.

“I’m wearing blockers,” Hoseok replies, voice tight all of the sudden, though he knows what Jeongguk’s response is going to be the second he sees his fact soften almost sympathetically.

“Hyung,” he says quietly, “I can still smell you, you know that, right? The blockers don’t really do anything.”

Yeah. Hoseok suspected as much. Partially because Jeongguk has always had an astoundingly sharp sense of smell, and partially because the longer you spend with someone, the more you imprint on their scent, and the two of them spent years in each other’s presences. Hoseok tried to talk himself out of it, but the truth is that, even dosed up with clinical grade blockers and suppressants the other day, Hoseok could smell him too.

If he hadn’t been in such denial over it, he probably could have smelled Jeongguk’s rut approaching out of nowhere too, but he was so determined to convince himself that their bodies did not remember each other, that years apart would be enough to wipe the slate clean. He refused to look at what was right in front of him. 

“Sorry,” Jeongguk whispers, turning inward slightly so he’s facing Hoseok’s stomach. “I don’t know if that’s, like–violating for you. I’m not trying to scent you, I just can . I can’t really stop it.”

“It’s fine,” Hoseok tells him. He isn’t sure yet if it is, but he supposes it’s something he’ll have to adjust two. They’re not getting rid of each other, the two of them. Jeongguk’s temporary absence seems to have proved that without a shadow of a doubt - Jiyeon knows him and needs him. Already in the short time they’ve had one another, he’s become a crucial fixture in her life, and if Hoseok is going to be too, then he’s going to need to carve out a Jeongguk-sized vacancy in his life and let him live there.

“Jiyeon missed you,” he says softly, breaking the silence before it can stretch taut between them. “She’s been looking around and whining for you this whole time.”

“Really?” Jeongguk’s expression melts, and he tilts to send a look that’s brimming with emotion up to Hoseok. “She wanted me?”

“Had to put her in your bed this morning just to get her to calm down,” Hoseok shrugs, lifting one shoulder as if to say what can you do ? “She knows exactly who you are, and she knows that you’re supposed to be around more often than you have been the last couple of days.”

“That’s really sweet,” Jeongguk breathes, blinking rapidly a few times to clear what Hoseok is sure is the glossy sheen of tears that glazed over his eyes for a moment. “I didn’t know she liked me that much, I sort of thought she preferred you. Don’t pups usually cling to their dams the first few years?”

“I’m not her dam, Jeongguk,” Hoseok remarks quietly. “I’m just…someone taking care of her.”

Even as Hoseok says it, the words feel like some sort of betrayal of himself that he didn’t realize. Is he something more to Jiyeon than he had thought? She didn’t seem to cry much for her mother when she was first brought to them. Maybe, tragically, her mother wasn’t a figure she longed for. Maybe she hadn’t known yet what to long for, and now that she’s in their care, fed and warmed and coddled all day every day, she’s finally found something worth crying out for in the two of them.

That’s what the whole point of this was, wasn’t it? And yet, when Hoseok thinks of them - him and Jeongguk - as parents , it cracks disbelief wide open inside of him. Parents? The two of them? Co-parents with the same Jeon Jeongguk that he didn’t see for years ? It’s wondrous and strange the way that fate always seems to have its own set of plans, plans that drag now-strangers back to one another whether they like it or not.

“Don’t say that, hyung.” Jeongguk lifts his hand curiously, wondering, and lets it rest somewhere on Hoseok’s shoulder, not quite touching his neck, and not quite not . “You put everything in your life on hold to make sure she had a good home. You’re everything to her.”

“We,” Hoseok corrects, his voice is a little wobbly. “ We are everything to her.”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk sighs, and his body seems to grow heavier where it’s sinking into Hoseok, like he’s letting himself come to rest completely. “I guess we are.”

A lull settles again, but this time it feels welcome. Like a silence that can’t swallow them, because they’re both too at peace with the moment to try and fight it off. Hoseok’s hand is so near Jeongguk’s trailing locks spread loosely over his lap, and he wants so badly to be allowed to dip his hand in and tug through it, just to feel those once-familiar strands run through his fingertips once more. 

After a moment, Jeongguk sighs and blinks up at him, a little trepidation creeping into his expression. “No one told me if I placed.”

“ No one?” Hoseok asks, incredulous. Surely Seokjin, or Yoongi–? No, he supposes it wouldn’t have been a good idea, interrupting a rutting alpha for something that he could do nothing about. But Jesus, Hoseok can’t imagine spending days on end not knowing his standing in a competition. 

“Why didn’t you ask?”

Jeongguk gives a helpless little half shrug. “Not sure I actually wanted to know. I know I wasn’t… good .”

“You were good,” Hoseok informs him, and this time his hand seems to move of its own accord and sinks into Jeongguk’s thick hair, nails coming to scratch ever so lightly over his scalp. It’s muscle memory stepping up, still keenly attuned to all the things Jeongguk once liked. “You were great, actually, given the situation.”

“ Given the situation doesn’t exactly get taken into account by the judging panel,” Jeongguk huffs, but his head twitches involuntarily a little once Hoseok starts rubbing it, unable to conceal his content. 

“Jeongguk, you were fine . You placed third. Everyone was impressed. It was completely, perfectly acceptable.”

“Acceptable isn’t usually what I strive for.”

Hoseok tightens his hand, pinching a strand of Jeongguk’s hair between his thumb and forefinger and giving it an antagonistic tug to punctuate his point. “You should have been in bed . As far as I’m concerned, even just completing that routine without falling on your face is a feat to be celebrated. So, don’t go moping about this. We have Japan up next, make your undefeated return then.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Jeongguk murmurs. 

Hoseok pushes his hair off of his forehead, sweeping it back with the palm of his hand smoothly. He’s a little terrified at how easily it’s coming back to him, touching all over Jeongguk. It’s like he never stopped. 

But Jeongguk’s little frown remains etched into his face. Hoseok thumbs over the corners of his mouth. 

“Don’t look at me like that, I didn’t send you into an early rut. “

A beat of silence. Jeongguk’s gaze flicks up to him for a half second, then snaps away just as quickly, staring very resolutely at the ceiling while his Adam’s apple bobs. It feels like some sort of Freudian slip, somehow. Like Hoseok caught the edge of a tiny, betraying look that he was never meant to see. 

He leans back suddenly, startled. “Jeongguk. I didn’t send you into an early rut.”

He means it like a statement. It comes out sounding a whole lot more like a question. 

In his lap, Jeongguk winces. “I know you didn’t. On purpose.”

“I didn’t at all . I didn’t do anything!” Hoseok insists, but already he’s running their every interaction back over in his head for instant reply, analyzing anything he might have said or done that would have set off Jeongguk’s alpha. “Did I?”

“Hyung,” Jeongguk squirms, looking a little put on the spot. “It’s just one of those things that can’t be helped. I mean, we used to be—I was just reacting. It’s natural. It’s not your fault.”

Oh. Oh . That’s—

That’s… interesting. It’s bringing a lot of things to light that Hoseok isn’t sure he’s wants to know, much less actually think about. Namely, if Jeongguk is reacting like this to being reunited with Hoseok after so long apart, that almost definitely means that he still recognizes Hoseok as his omega, on some primal level. 

Which means…he must still want Hoseok. Even if only in the physical, carnal way. 

“Right,” he nods, his mouth drier than a desert under the baking sun. “Natural. We don’t have to do anything about it.”

“Of course,” Jeongguk says quickly, nodding right along with Hoseok. He pauses for a second, his expression morphing into something that he seems to be well aware is hazardous. Then he chances another look up at Hoseok. 

“Unless you wanted to.”

“ Jeongguk.”  

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” Jeongguk whines, and to his credit, he looks it. His body twists a little, like he’s fighting within himself, and he balls his fists at his side. “I’m trying to be normal about this.”

But what is normal in their circumstance? What part of this whole, wild situation could ever be considered even marginally normal?

“It’s fine,” Hoseok tells, albeit a little aimlessly. His fingers are still laced so delicately in Jeongguk’s hair, and despite the fragility of the moment, neither of them have pulled away in the slightest. If anything, Hoseok swears they’ve moved closer. “It’s all fine.”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk agrees. His pupils are blown wider than Hoseok has seen them in a long time. “It’s all good. We’ll figure it out.”

The silence that follows hardly lasts a second. Hoseok isn’t sure if he moved first, or if Jeongguk did, or if something pulled them to one another at the same time. All he knows is that before he has a chance to think better of it, he’s leaning down, and Jeongguk is pushing upward, and they’re meeting in the middle with a kiss that doesn’t shy away from what it is for a single moment. 

There’s no timid will we or won’t we? No pause to feel things out. They’re apart, and then they’re maddeningly, wildly together, tongues sliding over teeth, hands carding through hair. Somehow, amidst it, Jeongguk sits up, sliding around so he’s tucked beside Hoseok, then maneuvers him onto his lap in an impressive feat of ability and strength that reminds Hoseok (with an electric shiver of delight) that Jeongguk could, and would lift him over his head when they were together. On ice. While spinning . 

Hoseok sinks back down in the new position Jeongguk has chosen for him, thighs straddling Jeongguk’s legs, and he likes it because on Jeongguk’s lap he has all the leverage to tilt Jeongguk’s head back and set the pace of their kiss, and Jeongguk just follows where Hoseok leads them. No questions. No hesitation. They could do anything, go anywhere with this, and with Jeongguk in this state, they probably will . Would Hoseok stop him, or would he let it happen? Would he–

Something crackles, and the two of them startle apart. Soft, crunchy static splits the quiet, and Hoseok glances over his shoulder at the baby monitor propped on the coffee table. In the grainy, black and white feed, he can see Jiyeon has begun to turn unhappily in her bassinet, soft whines rolling into cries that become restless wails.

And…yeah, there it is. The wake-up call reminding them that carefree hookups are a thing of the past for the foreseeable future. They don’t have the leisure to do anything, a needy baby, dirty diapers, and midnight feedings, and all of the countless other limitations that come with being responsible for a tiny, loud human being. 

Jeongguk speaks first. His hands come to Hoseok’s waist, delicate and sweet despite the heat still burning off of the moment, and he lifts him carefully away. “I’ll get her,” he says softly. His cheeks are pink, and he won’t meet Hoseok’s eyes, and Hoseok can’t escape this gripping feeling that they weren’t finished .

He needed them not to be finished. 

“It’s fine,” Hoseok clears his throat, adjusting his sweatpants and getting to his feet. “She’s in my room, I’ll settle her.”

“No, it’s okay. I want her tonight, if you don’t mind. I think…she’ll be glad to see me.”

Well, Jeongguk has that right. And Hoseok supposes he wouldn’t hate a full night of sleep to himself to recover from the last few days. Jiyeon will be happy with Jeongguk. He can rest knowing that, so he doesn’t protest when Jeongguk skirts away down the dark hallway to pick her up. And he doesn’t say anything when he catches a glimpse of the two of them walking across the penthouse to Jeongguk’s room together, Jiyeon still swaddled in her blankets, and Jeongguk’s lips pursed as he coos at her like the world revolves solely for her joy. 

He doesn’t say anything, but there’s a warmth in his chest that stays long after he’s retreated to his bed and curled up there, alone once again in the dark. 

Chapter Text

Hoseok wakes to a silent apartment, and a text waiting on his phone. 

JK: at the rink. Jiji with me. No rush to pick her up, enjoy your morning. 

Hoseok finds himself looking at it for a moment, trying to decipher if the general undertone is come find us when you’re ready! or please give me some space. 

Very likely, knowing Jeongguk, it’s entirely up to Hoseok to interpret as he sees fit. 

Hoseok tells himself he’ll lay in bed awhile and snooze out a full morning, but it takes all of about five full minutes before the thought of not knowing exactly where he stands with Jeongguk is beginning to eat through his brain, and he has to get up. He showers, and dresses, and maybe he takes a little more care with his outfit and hair than he usually would. Maybe he tosses on some lip gloss, and some perfume that smells like brown sugar and compliments his natural scent. 

Maybe he gives himself a final once-over in the mirror and makes sure he looks just fine before calling his cab and taking it down through the city and straight to the rink. It’s closed to the public for private practices, but the staff must recognize Hoseok because they allow him through without questioning him. 

The stands are dark when he pushes open the door into the rink, letting that familiar rush of frigid air wash over him. Only the spotlights are shining on the ice, illuminating it in a white glow. In the center of it; Jeongguk. The star of the moment, flowing as easily as running water, bending, folding, jumping, twisting like he’s made of elastic. No other skater seems to be around, which means no crowd to soften any awkwardness that might arise between Hoseok and Jeongguk. 

No, that won’t happen. They’re grown, they can be mature about this. They both made their choices, they wanted it, neither of them can hold that against one another. 

At least Yoongi and Seokjin are here. Hoseok can see Seokjin’s head bobbing around in the coach box, calling out pointers to Jeongguk, and Yoongi is beside him with a bundle in his arms that can only be Jiyeon. Hoseok cuts across the bleachers and makes a beeline for them.

“Hoseok-ah!” Yoongi turns to him, spinning Jiyeon around too and waving her little hand as if she were greeting Hoseok herself. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Hoseok murmurs, scooping Jiyeon up and kissing her on her rosy cheek. She’s cute as a plum in her little cap and sweater, bundled up against the biting air and looking simply delighted about it. “How has she been?”

“Joyful,” Yoongi supplies simply. “She was up and smiling first thing this morning, Jeongguk wanted to bring her along to practice so you could sleep in,  and you know she’s loves watching him. She’s just peachy.”

“That’s great,” Hoseok smiles, giving her a little bounce. “Are you peachy?” He asks, tipping his head to look at her sparkling eyes. “Is Jiyeon-ie a peach?”

“ Puh!” she offers, shaking her round fist to emphasize. 

“Puh it is.”

He settles into the stands and chats with Yoongi, rocking Jiyeon back and forth and bouncing her around while she roots for Jeongguk, babbling away nonsensically in his lap. Occasionally, Jeongguk skates a wide loop around the rink and waves at her as he passes, and Hoseok can’t help but note that he - somewhat pointedly - doesn’t cast even half a glance in Hoseok’s direction.

Which doesn’t bode well.

It’s not until Jeongguk signals to Seokjin for a break and steps off the ice that Hoseok hops up.

“Here, will you take her for a second?” He asks, already shoving Jiyeon into Yoongi’s arms and squeezing past them. He barely catches Yoongi’s mild sure before he’s slipping into the aisle and taking the steps two at a time to catch Jeongguk ducking into the locker room.

“Jeongguk!” he calls, and watches Jeongguk’s shoulders jump, clearly not expecting to have been tailed into the lockers. He whips around, startled, and his eyes widen briefly.

“Oh, hyung,” he murmurs, ducking his head low under the guise of sinking onto one of the many benches and undoing his skates. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Hoseok replies, casting a cautionary glance over his shoulder to make sure a third person didn’t follow them in. There’s no one. They’re in the clear. He lifts his chin up and stares down Jeongguk shamelessly. “Are you ignoring me?”

“ What ?” Jeongguk looks up again sharply, fingers fumbling on the many laces. “No! No–of course not. Why would you think that?”

“Well, because you’re… literally ignoring me.”

“Not true,” Jeongguk murmurs, going back to his skates and shaking the left one off, looking somewhat in a hurry about it, like he doesn’t want to subject himself to this conversation a moment longer than he has to.

Hoseok sighs. “Look, now isn’t the time to be getting all bashful about stuff.”

“I’m not bashful,” Jeongguk replies, behind a mask of flaming hot cheeks. “Who says bashful anyway?”

“ Me , because that’s what you’re doing! So, we kissed! Grow up! I mean–” Hoseok shakes his head, almost moved to laugh at the general absurdity of the situation, in spite of everything. “You used to fuck me. Without a condom, mind you, and now you’re clamming up because we kissed for, what, thirty seconds? Don’t you think it’s a little late for that?”

Jeongguk tugs his other skate off, sets them to the side, and stands. He’s pink and glowing, partially from embarrassment, and partially from his grueling workout, and it looks infuriatingly good on him. Embarrassed, sweaty people shouldn’t be allowed to look this good. He exhales, long and labored, and combs a hand through his damp hair. 

“It’s not that I’m shy cause we kissed, hyung,” he shakes his head, looking a little burdened by the whole ordeal, and it makes Hoseok’s heart twinge. “It’s that I don’t want to fuck this up, because we just started being friends again, and we have a lot on the line here. I mean, Jiyeon ? She has to come first, we both know that. Anything that’s risky for us is risky for her, so we have to approach it all in a way that we never have before. Cause we’re not–we’re not reckless kids anymore. We have to be the grown ups.”

That’s–

Well, it’s an astute observation, Hoseok has to hand it to him. It’s surprisingly introspective and situationally aware. But then again, it’s really not surprising, because Jeongguk has always been this way, and that’s one of the things that made him so easy to love.

Back when Hoseok did love him.

“Right,” Hoseok nods. He takes a step closer to Jeongguk, only to keep their conversation contained to the little bubble they’ve created in front of his locker. At this distance, he smells sweet, slightly spiced, and a little wired from rehearsing, and no doubt, this conversation. “No, you’re absolutely right, we have to think of everything here. Maybe we should pump the breaks.”

“Maybe we should,” Jeongguk echoes. His lips are pink, and plump, and Hoseok can’t shake the memory of the way they felt to kiss again after so many years apart. The way nothing had changed between them.

“Because…we have to be adults.”

“We do,” Jeongguk nods. His gaze isn’t on Hoseok’s, it’s staring pointedly at his mouth. Hoseok knows this. Jeongguk knows this. And here they are, standing still, doing nothing about it.

Hoseok swallows, his mouth a little dry. “Maybe we should talk more about this la–”

“Jeongguk-ah!” Seokjin skids around the corner, slapping the watch on his wrist and throwing his hands in the air. “You said water break , not hiatus! What’s the hold-up?”

Hoseok takes a startled, almost guilty step back from Jeongguk and dips his head, avoiding Seokjin as if the man could see right through his skill and reas the thoughts emblazoned on his brain.

I am willfully and recklessly thinking about kissing Jeon Jeongguk again even though we both just established it’s a really bad idea. And the worst part is that I’m pretty sure he was thinking the same thing. 

Chemical attraction. It’s chemical attraction, they don’t really want each other, it’s just that old habits die hard, and old relationships die even harder. 

“Sorry, hyung,” Jeongguk says quickly, scooping his skates right back up and ducking around Hoseok without risking another glance. “Just needed to stretch my feet, I’m ready now.”

“Good, cause you have an interview at 2, so we need to wrap this up within the next half hour, and that triple Salchow lead-in after the foot sequence still needs work, so lets polish it up.” He grabs Jeognguk by the wrist and hauls him back out, leaving Hoseok alone, and stewing somewhat guiltily with his thoughts. 

Jeongguk is out well into the evening. He has some sort of press junket loop to do, back to back speed interviews, then a meeting with an Amercan brand interested in naming him ambassador, or something or other. Yoongi tells him about it while they waited in the stands, but Hoseok was only half listening. He was too busy watching Jeongguk float across the ice as if he were born to be there, too busy thinking about the two of them on a couch, alone, tasting one another like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He can’t get it out of his head, but the problem is that if he doesn’t, it’s surely going to drive him insane.

He returns to the penthouse alone, save for Taehyung, who escorts him to his door before returning to his own room until someone inevitably needs him for something. Hoseok reflexively walks through his usual routine of getting Jiyeon bathed, changed, then rocking her while they warm her bottle, and curling up with her in his bedroom to feed it to her, and since she’s been in a fine mood and had a busy day, she falls asleep easily, and he transfers her to her bassinet smooth as butter.

And just like that, the remainder of the evening is his. 

He slips out of the room, latching the door silently behind him, and shuffles back down the hallway. The penthouse is so quiet, all he can hear is the static white noise softly emitting from the baby monitor on the living room table, and clink—

Hoseok looks up, startled for the second time in two nights to see Jeongguk standing in front of him. He’s leaning on the granite countertop of their little kitchen island in the corner, a half glass of red in his hand, swirling it aimlessly.

“When did you get back?” Hoseok asks, glancing down the hall at the door. He didn’t even hear Jeongguk come in. 

“Few minutes ago,” Jeongguk shrugs, taking a sip of his wine. He must have showered at the rink, if his damp hair, sweatpants, and the vague scent of cheap soap permeating the air around him is anything to go by. “I figured you were putting Jiyeon to bed so I kept it down. Was she alright tonight?”

“Fine,” Hoseok lifts a nonchalant shoulder. “She had a busy day, so I think she was ready for bedtime.”

It feels like a dance of avoidance, talking about Jiyeon when he knows the only thoughts in their heads are of themselves. The two of them. What they did, and what they might have done again if Seokjin hadn't inadvertently intervened. 

“It’s fantasy, hyung,” Jeongguk speaks suddenly, unprompted. He’s looking at Hoseok over the rim of his glass with a serious, almost contemplative expression. 

Hoseok tips his head, cautiously quizzical. “What’s a fantasy?”

“The whole idea, of us I mean. The three of us, you, me, and her. I think—we’ve all been so close together here, practically walking on one another’s toes, that I think there’s this instinct element to it, don’t you? The draw of…being a family I guess.” Jeongguk sighs, shaking his head, and gives his glass another lithe twirl, just to have something to occupy his hands. “It sounds corny when I put it that way, I know. But I think that’s all it is, that’s why it feels so strong all the sudden. Like…” 

He trails off, flicking an almost apprehensive glance at Hoseok “…like we can’t stay away from each other.”

Is that…true? Is it nothing more than simple biology propelling them towards one another? The way heats and ruts compel them to mate and breed, there’s something more subtle, but almost equally as strong, urging them to stick together. It’s like primal instinct is hollering you have your young! You have each other! What more could be holding you back?

Fuck, if only life were that straightforward. Instinct doesn't seem to be taking into account the fact that Hoseok and Jeongguk tried one another already, and it didn’t work. Instinct isn’t considering the fact that when all of this comes to an end, they live wildly different lives. Jeongguk’s in the public eye, and Hoseok’s very much not. It will be hard enough to work out a custody arrangement and a schedule between the two of them when they return home, bringing romance into it does nothing more than add an additional, completely  unnecessary level of complexity that neither of them has the capacity to navigate. Not between work, and travel, and looking after Jiyeon. It wouldn’t be smart. 

And really, Hoseok thinks, they don’t want it. It’s just biology playing sneaky tricks on their minds. 

And yet—

“So maybe we let it have what it wants.”

Jeongguk’s eyes widen, almost matching the size of the mouth of his glass, and Hoseok pushes onward quickly. 

“Just while we’re doing this. Living with each other, I mean. Maybe if we just get it out of our systems it’ll be easier than tiptoeing around something we’re clearly both feeling. We’re both adults,” Hoseok shrugs, perhaps desperately trying to justify this for them both. Why can’t either of them just say I want to fuck you one more time just to remember the feeling ?

“We have… needs . And it’s probably better that we’re not hooking up all over the place. One, because neither of us really have free time to ourselves on the road, and two, we shouldn’t be bringing strangers around Jiyeon. At least we trust one another, there’s no risk there.”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk concedes. He sets his wine class on the counter with a little click and runs his newly freed hand through his hair, deep in thought. “I haven’t really been seeing people since I started getting so much media attention, because it’s such a hassle to navigate the whole NDA thing, so…” he exhaled a long, loaded breath, “I could use the outlet.”

Hoseok knows the feeling. For entirely different reasons, but still. It’s been a humiliatingly long time for an omega of his age to not have had good sex. 

And with Jeongguk, there’s no question about it. It will be good. 

“No one can know,” Hoseok says firmly. “Not even Yoongi-hyung, or Jimin, or the others. When we’re around others, nothing changes between us.”

“Right,” Jeongguk nods vehemently. “Keep it private, keep it quiet. It’s only to take the pressure off, there’s no reason to tell anyone else.”

“Definitely,” Hoseok nods. His mouth seems to be dry, and watering at the same time in an odd conundrum of oral sensation. He watches the column of Jeongguk’s neck flex when he lifts his glass to his mouth and chugs the rest of his ruby liquid in one smooth drink. 

He tips his chin at Hoseok. “Wine?”

Hoseok shakes his head. He’s acutely and unavoidably aware of the way his teeth feel in his gums, and the sudden urge to sink them into something. He swallows, despite the tight feeling in the back of his throat. “You.”

“What?”

“You,” Hoseok repeats. The thud of his heart is the loudest thing in the room, so much so that he’s sure Jeongguk must be able to hear it even with the space between them. “I’d rather have you.”

“Jesus,” Jeongguk ducks his head, his soft fringe falling into his eyes like twin curtains, but not before Hoseok catches the wry smile on his face. 

Hoseok, for his part, at least has the grace to look sheepish. That’s the draw, he supposes, of going back to Jeongguk for this; they can skip past all of the stiff, cautious, egg-shell walking that comes with being strangers, and go right to the sort of comfort that only comes with time. “Too soon?”

“Definitely not.” Jeongguk straightens up and sets his glass down with a firm clink. “I’ve only been dying for this all week. ”

Hoseok shrugs, feigning a nonchalance that he absolutely does not feel as Jeongguk skirts around the island and crosses toward him with pure intent growing in his eyes. “Should’ve asked sooner then.”

“Would you have said yes?” Jeongguk asks, coming to a stop mere inches away. So close that Hoseok can’t smell his scent so much as he can feel it radiating off of his skin in warm waves. 

“To you?” Hoseok asks. The words on the tip of tongue feel hot, and reckless, but he isn’t sure at this very moment that he has the power to stop them from coming out. “Probably. I always did like it when you begged.”

Jeongguk’s exhale is short and sharp, his cheeks going as red as the wine he just drank, but Hoseok can tell it’s from arousal more than embarrassment. “Fuck. Hyung. ” 

And what more can either of them say besides that, when everything else they want to communicate to one another in this moment can only be done with their bodies? 

They meet in the middle the way they did the last time, only this time they know exactly where they’re going. Their mouths meet in a hungered display of heat and tongue, both swapping heavy breaths panted into the other. Jeongguk walks them backward, Hoseok’s ass hitting the couch armrest located some distant point away from the counter, and he sinks down onto it. The leverage gives them the most delicious change of angle, Jeongguk suddenly having the height to tip Hoseok’s head back and kiss him like time is a precious commodity that they’re beginning to run out of. He tastes like honey, and spice, and everything else Hoseok remembers him by, and the soft familiarity makes him want to suck the flavor right off of Jeongguk’s teeth and keep it all for himself. 

“Bedroom,” Hoseok mumbles breathlessly when he gets the will to pull away from Jeongguk, even if only by an inch, and speak onto his lips. “The couch—unless we want be silent—don’t want to wake Jiyeon. Your bedroom is—“

“Better,” Jeongguk agrees, nodding in a way that brushes his ticklish hair over Hoseok’s forehead. “Much better.”

It’s with an effortless strength that makes Hoseok’s stomach pool with heat that Jeongguk hooks his arms beneath him an scoops Hoseok up as if he weighs nothing. Hoseok winds his legs around Jeongguk’s waist to help support himself, but Jeongguk doesn't need it. He could probably carry two Hoseoks if he tried. 

He’s the perfect alpha, a whiny voice in Hoseok’s head pitches in to remind him, almost desperate in tone. The perfect mate. Look how strong he is. How sturdy. 

No, Hoseok groans back, engaging reluctantly in the useless internal dispute. That’s not what this is. We aren’t cut out for that, but that doesn’t mean we can’t still enjoy each other. 

Jeongguk walks them down the pitch dark hall and into his bedroom, bringing Hoseok right up to the edge of the bed before lowering him carefully and parting his legs with the oh-so-appealing confidence of someone who has done it many times before. Because he has. 

He leans over Hoseok’s body, finding both of his hands and lacing their together in a weigh that uses his weight to pin Hoseok to the mattress beneath him. He kisses up Hoseok’s throat and stops by his ear, biting softly into the lobe and whispering. 

“What do you want? Tell me, I’ll give it to you.”

Mmm, that. That little thing that Jeongguk does, his keen, unwavering  interest in serving his partners. Or, well, partner. When they were together, Hoseok was the only person he had dated. He doesn’t want to ask now how many others there have been, even if only fleeting, but it’s clear that Jeongguk hasn’t lost that charm of his. 

Most alphas have, at least in Hoseok’s experience. Every other bed mate he's had has been more self-interested than fulfilling, which is fine, sort of, at least for a one-night stand, but Hoseok has particular desires that have too long run unsatisfied in Jeongguk’s absence. 

Jeongguk doesn't need to know that. But it won’t stop Hoseok from thinking it. 

“Kiss me,” Hoseok breathes, “while you touch me.”

Jeongguk lets out a low, keening growl that sounds more like the pathetic whine that Hoseok loves to hear from him, then dives back into Hoseok’s mouth. His hands work in tandem with their lips, moving to a rhythm that they set, and he lifts Hoseok at the waist just long enough to slip his sweatshorts down and off, tossing them somewhere that Hoseok doesn’t care about at all. There are problems for later, and there’s now , and now is the only thing he’s particularly interested (or able) to think about. 

Hoseok knows he’s already warm and wet with slick, he doesn’t need the gentle intrusion of Jeongguk’s fingertips exploring between his legs to tell him, but the sticky sound of it spreading over his skin is hotter than it has any right to be. Jeongguk smudges kisses across Hoseok’s jaw and back toward his ear, breaking into that same whisper, albeit this time strained with a note of want that makes his tone heavier, huskier.

“Do you want me, hyung? Can I touch you here?”

“Yeah,” Hoseok exhales, and lifts his hands to the back of Jeongguk’s tousled hair so he can wind himself into it like an anchor. “ Yeah , I want you. You know how to make me feel good, don’t you? You didn’t forget?”

“Didn’t forget,” Jeongguk replies, breathless, muffled when he sinks his face into the crook of Hoseok’s shoulder. His fingers are doing a tantalizing dance at Hoseok’s entrance, sliding to gather his slick, push it around, tease the idea of dipping inside, only to withdraw again before they even breach him properly. “Thought about it the whole time I was in rut,” he adds, and although Hoseok suspected as much by now, the verbal confirmation still makes a shiver of pleasure run down his spine. 

Six years on, and his body still lives in Jeongguk’s mind like it's paying its monthly dues to be there. If that’s not hot, he doesn’t know what is. 

“Yeah?” he pants, the tips of his nails biting gently into Jeongguk’s scalp, tugging him closer. “What did you think about? Me in your room? In your bed? Would I take care of your knot like I always did, Jeongguk-ah?”

Jeongguk nods so vehemently that Hoseok’s body is jostled by the motion. “Needed that. Needed you .”

“My hands?” Hoseok asks, tipping his head back to give Jeongguk better access to kiss around his throat, while his fingers still teases the idea of filling him up. “My mouth, Jeongguk? Or my cunt, where it’s hot, and wet, and I can keep you– ngh.” Hoseok breaks off when two of Jeongguk’s fingers sliip inside him without warning, gliding in with no resistance and drawing back out again, only to repeat the motion.

Jeongguk makes a soft sound in the back of his throat. “So wet. For me? You wanted me this much, and you didn’t say anything?”

“I didn’t wanna fuck us up,” Hoseok groans. “We kind of had bigger things to worry about than getting laid.”

I still don’t want to fuck us up, but I can’t keep walking around with sexual tension so thick it could be cut into like bread. 

“Yeah, but I think we’ve mostly figured that other stuff out,” Jeongguk replies, his breath warm on Hoseok’s oversensitive skin, “so now we can worry about getting laid.”

“Well, I’m not really worried about it, personally,” Hoseok tells him, and his lips twitch upward when Jeongguk adds another finger and sort of twists around the angle, sending an electric thrill racing its way up Hoseok’s spine, “but I’ll let you speak for yourself.”

“Not even remotely worried,” Jeongguk mumbles, and he uses his free hand to tilt Hoseok’s chin towards him, quieting them both with a sticky-soft kiss.

Hoseok unwinds his own grip from Jeongguk’s hair and migrates downwards, slipping into the narrow space between them and running his fingertips inside the waistband of his sweats, teasing cool fingertips against the warm plane of skin waiting beneath. He pauses before reaching in, taking a beat that doubles as a question and waiting for Jeongguk’s answer. 

Instead of breaking the kiss, Jeongguk replies without sound. He grabs Hoseok’s hand and pushes it into his pants. Unspoken permission to do as he pleases, how he pleases, and Hoseok takes that and runs with it. 

Hoseok likes Jeongguk’s dick. Objectively speaking, it’s anatomically perfect, immaculately groomed, and he knows how to use it. A good shape. A good length. A pretty, blushy color that matches his cheeks and his lips. And when Hoseok wraps his hand around it, he finds that he remembers it all intimately as if his palm were molded to it in muscle memory, and he thinks - because he would never admit it out loud - that he missed this. A nice knot is becoming criminally underrated - nowadays alphas everywhere seem to think they’re God’s gift to omegas worldwide just because they have a functional cock, but there’s a difference between having something that works, and having something you want .

Jeongguk has the kind of dick that people think about for weeks and reminisce on when getting fucked by other people.

Hoseok would know.

“Hyung,” Jeongguk stutters when Hoseok begins stroking him at a languid pace, using the glossy precum coating him to slicken the glide of his palm over warm skin. “Don’t–not to soon.”

Hoseok looks at him a moment, his eyebrows creeping up into his hairline with a mixture of surprise and satisfaction. “That close? Already?”

“Still at the end of my rut,” Jeongguk huffs, but it’s paired with a whimpering sound from deep in the back of his throat. “You can’t blame me.”

“I don’t blame you,” Hoseok replies, giving the head of Jeongguk’s dick one last teasing squeeze before pulling away and drawing him closer by the back of his neck so he can lick into his mouth. “I think it’s hot, and I think you better fuck me before you cream your pants.”

“ Hyung .”

“What? Apparently it’s a real concern,” Hoseok laughs, and tugs at Jeongguk’s hair playfully. The feeling is elating in its own way. It’s been a precious long time since Hoseok had fun during sex. Everyone always seems to want it to be so serious, a choreographed performance, but Hoseok always did like how unpretentious the two of them could be with one another. 

“But seriously,” he twitches his hips slightly the next time his lips meet Jeongguk’s, whispering warm against his mouth, “I’m ready when you are. I want you.”

“Ready,” Jeongguk breathes back, short, choppy with his excitement. “Need you.”

Hoseok parts his legs further, making space for Jeongguk to settle between them and curbing his whine at the loss of fullness when Jeongguk withdraws his fingers and wipes them lazily on the pristine bedspread. 

“Shh,” he pets over Hoseok’s thigh, consoling him while he stretches toward the side table to pull out a condom. Hoseok watches through pleasure-hazed vision as Jeongguk rips it open with his teeth in a practiced motion and rolls it onto himself, wincing at his obvious oversensitivity.

“You brought condoms,” Hoseok hums, arching his back up. “Were you planning on having a sex-crazed world tour in between trading off shifts with your baby?”

“Better to have them and not need them than to need them and not have them?” Jeongguk shrugs, and Hoseok can’t argue with that when he’s presently fairly glad that Jeongguk does, in fact, have them. 

In lieu of a response, he hooks his ankles together at the back of Jeongguk’s waist to tug him closer, and Jeongguk responds by dipping low for a kiss that feels sticky, and ripe, like the juiciest peach on the tree. His hands brace on either one of Hoseok’s thighs, grounding him where he lies, and a moment later Hoseok feels the fat, delicous head of his cock nudging at his entrance. There’s a brief second where Hoseok contracts, his body no doubt momentarily confused at the idea of being fucked after having gone pitifully long without it, but he relaxes almost instantaneously, and Jeongguk slips inside easily with a groan that Hoseok can’t confidently name say if it came from Jeongguk or himself. 

He feels so – right . In a small way, Hoseok knows this is going to terrify him in the morning. The idea that after all this time Jeongguk could still be his ideal partner, like a key perfectly molded to a lock. The fact that he wants him this much after so long apart. But tonight, in the heat of this moment, Hoseok doesn’t have the bandwidth to think of anything except the warmth of Jeongguk’s weight pressing him back into the fine, silken sheets, and the pace he finds pushing in and out of him like it’s a rhythm neither of them had ever stopped dancing.

Jeongguk’s hand moves to his throat, sliding up to his chin and squeezing his jaw lightly. “Wanna hear you,” he breathes hot against Hoseok’s skin. 

“I don’t wanna wake Jiyeon,” Hoseok whines, but already the noises building in his throat are the kind he can’t, and doesn’t want to quell. Not now, not when he’s needed this release for weeks and weeks. Really, with the electric tension traveling between them now, Hoseok doesn’t know how he and Jeongguk even managed to resist this long. 

“Just be loud enough for me,” Jeongguk pleads, his voice going husky. The sweet tempo he’s set has already begun to falter, and Hoseok knows he must be trying to restrain himself from breaking and chasing the finish line. Hoseok wouldn’t mind if he did. He feels as if he’s been roped into some sort of proximity effect of Jeongguk’s rut, and now he’s all slick with sweat, hot, and open, and in desperate need to hit the same high that Jeongguk is chasing, even if they have to get there rough and messy.

“For me, hyung, please.”

Hoseok doesn’t know if it’s the angle Jeongguk hits inside of him, or the way his knot is beginning to swell, stretching Hoseok where he wants to be the fullest, or just the syrupy desperation in his tone, but the moan that punches out of him couldn’t be stopped even if he had wanted to. He tries to keep it low, for the sake of the fact that he’s not sure exactly how soundproof these walls are, and he ends up pulling Jeongguk closer and biting into his shoulder lightly, just enough to muffle his own volume.

After that, Hoseok thinks they run out of words, and the space between them is filled with nothing but heavy breaths and choked off sounds of pleasure. He takes all that Jeongguk gives him and beckons for more until he reaches that sweet tidal wave peak that he’s been desperate for, and his body takes over so his mind can let go and ride it. He’s vaguely aware of Jeongguk pulling out, and though he knows they didn’t negotiate knotting and that Jeongguk is only being considerate by not doing it, Hoseok briefly finds himself wishing he would. 

Because Hoseok knows he shouldn’t ask for it, knows that he won’t, and that the only way he’ll get it is if Jeongguk just takes it without asking. 

But he wouldn’t. Ever. And Hoseok has to settle instead for feeling Jeongguk’s cum splash hot and wet over his stomach as Jeongguk strokes himself to his orgasm. When he finishes, his leans over Hoseok again, bracing himself on one arm while they both catch their breath. He looks so god damn beautiful this way that Hoseok could almost find it in him to gear up for round two, but he knows better than to try. It’s late enough already, and they both have early starts in the morning. Their flight to Japan leaves midday, and that’s one event that they can’t miss. 

Jeongguk straightens up, and brings the band of his sweatpants back to his waist, panting. “I’ll get something to clean you up,” he breathes, using the hand that isn’t sticky with his own cum to push his wily hair back off his face. “Stay there.”

“No, it’s fine, don’t worry about it,” Hoseok tells him, already rolling upright and sliding off the bed. His pants are in here somewhere, he just needs to find them so he can leave. “I’ll go back to my room and shower, it’s not a problem.”

It will be a problem if he stays though, because then he’ll start to get his wires crossed about what this actually is. Hoseok prefers to keep a comfortable distance between himself and his hookups, and that doesn’t include staying the night. 

Besides, Jiyeon shouldn’t be all by herself. 

“Hyung—“

“Really, Jeongguk, I’ll be okay.” Hoseok spots his sweats in the corner and shimmies back into them, then sneaks around Jeongguk toward the door before he can protest. “Get some rest, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Okay,” Jeongguk relents, looking like he’s only reluctantly conceding. “Sleep well.”

Hoseok says nothing. He swings the  door open silently and steps into the shadowed hall, tiptoeing his way back to the room where he finds Jiyeon still blissfully asleep. At that, Hoseok sighs his relief. At least they didn’t wake her. 

He showers, doing his best not to inspect the plethora of marks left by Jeongguk on his body. He decides it’s really all much easier if he doesn’t think about it at all. 

Hoseok isn’t really  sure if he regrets it. He isn’t really sure if he’s supposed to. 

And he can’t help but notice that when he settles into bed, sleep comes easier for him than it has in days. 

Chapter Text

Japan greets them in a whirlwind of snowflakes and picturesque buildings capped with a thick layer of white. This time, their hotel is directly beside the rink where Jeongguk will train, and so Hoseok’s time is spent there with Jiyeon even more than it is at the hotel. The rink owners, an elderly couple who toddle around the place housekeeping and greeting guests every day, take an special shine to Jiyeon’s lively demeanor, and they even root out a pair of skates so tiny that Hoseok can hardly believe they exist. 

They’re still a little loose on Jiji, and she’s barely got enough practice standing to be able to do it on solid ground, much less two blades on a slippery rink, but oh how she gets a kick out of just being held upright on the glossy, chilled expanse that she’s been watching Jeongguk on for so long now. She bounces at the knees, and exclaims with noisy delight, and begins clapping for herself, which makes everyone else clap for her too, and that only multiplies her excitement. 

And Hoseok feels something. A pang of longing right in the center of his chest as he watches Jeongguk grinning and holding Jiyeon in her skates. A sense of misplaced wanting for something that isn’t what it could be. But then he shakes it aside before he can get in his head about it and moves on, refusing to dwell for even a second. 

As for what he and Jeongguk are , well, there isn’t much extra time between Jeongguk’s sessions at the rink, fine-tuning his performance for the first of the Japan tournaments. For the entire first week, they only did have sex once. 

In an impressive - and entirely unsurprising - feat of recovery, Jeongguk makes his stunning comeback after bronze in New York by taking a stunning gold at the competition. And after that? Maybe they have a few drinks back at the hotel. Maybe Jiyeon is fast asleep after the jam-packed day. Maybe they sneak off to Hoseok’s bedroom, left their own free time for once, and let loose the way they’ve so been craving, satisfying one another the way only they can.

The morning after Jeongguk’s win, a few reporters jog after Hoseok, Jiyeon, and Taehyung on their way to the cab, and this time, instead of cowering in the face of them, Hoseok keeps his chin up and offers a short, unelaborative statement informing them that everyone Jeongguk knows is proud of him, and they can’t wait to see him champion the rest of the season. He finds he wasn’t nearly as rattled by it was he was the last time, and Jiyeon seems almost equally unphased. Perhaps Hoseok’s calm is her calm as well.

And the idea of being her shield in the world fills Hoseok with the notion that for the first time in a long time, he has something worth fiercely protecting. 

“Hyung, are you busy?”

Hoseok glances up, bleary-eyed, from his laptop propped on a stack of pillows in front of him. At the side of the bed, Jiyeon is bouncing wildly in her little pack n play, shaking the green jangly rattle that Hoseok picked up for her at a boutique gift shop when the two of them went downtown accompanied by Taehyung and Jimin the other day.

“Um,” Hoseok rubs his face, scrubbing away the blue-light exhaustion. “Not really. Why, what’s up?”

Jeongguk clasps his hands together and rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet. “I decided to take the day off. I thought maybe we could take Jiji out and do something. All together, I mean.”

For one fleeting moment, Hoseok thinks Jeognguk is going to utter the words as a family , but he doesn’t and his sentence ends without it. Still, Hoseok’s heart gives a little quiver of anticipation just from the idea of it. Jeongguk’s rounded face is brimming with the kind of hope that says he expects to be turned down, but hopes he won’t be, and all at once Hoseok wants nothing more than to give him everything he wants on a silver platter.

“Yeah,” he nods quickly, shutting the half-outlined article submission staring at him from his laptop. “Yeah, no, we should definitely go do something.”

“Really?” Jeongguk’s voice pitches upward, then he clears his throat and settles, nodding. “I mean, yeah, great. I’ll get my shoes and a jacket for Jiji.”

They let Taehyung know they’re heading out, but decide not to take him with. There’s some sense of sanctity about the three of them being able to venture out on their own, uninhibited and unworried. Besides, it’s been quiet in the snow-piled sector of the city they’re in ever since they got here. It seems to be a much slower, quieter pace of life here than it was in New York.

They bundle Jiyeon in a thermal bodysuit, it’s hood capped with tiny brown ears that make her look like the world’s most harmless bear, and begin their little jaunt down the snow-banked streets. Jeongguk starts with her tucked in a carrier on his chest, but she soon grows curious and restless to explore, so he unclips her and holds both of her hands while she tries  to walk. She’s not quite able to do it without their help just yet, but she sure does look cute trying. Her nose and cheeks are bright red, and her feet keep slipping on the powdery fine snow, but that doesn’t do much to slow her down.

“ Bah !” she’ll announce every couple of seconds, pointing out a window, or a tram, or a crow pecking its way through a frosty garbage can. “ Bah! Bah!”

Jeongguk takes the time to explain to her the meaning of each thing she shouts out. Why the window is so large. What a tram does, and where it might be going. Why crows pick through trash. Hoseok doubts there’s much - if any of it - that she actually understands, but she looks at Jeongguk with a sort of wonder as he speaks that must make every word worth it, just to capture her awe.

They stop by a little food cart and buy steaming to-go boxes of takoyaki to eat as they walk. Hoseok plucks off tiny pieces and feeds them to Jiyeon, enthralled by the small sounds she makes while trying something new for the first time. She’s an adventurous little thing, so charismatic and energetic already. She reminds Hoseok an awful lot of Jeongguk, and all the things about him that are easiest to love.

“I love Japan,” Jeongguk sighs, popping the last of the steaming dough into his mouth and swallowing with a smack of his lips. “Every time I come here, I always think I should visit more often, then I never do.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok sighs, a little wistful. The last time he was in Japan was to compete, and ultimately…to fall. Literally . The magazine has offered to send him a few times on different investigative trips, but Hoseok always deferred in favor of anyone else. There was something slightly unbearable about the idea of returning back here a changed person, and furthermore without the one companion he had always shared it with at his side. It seems strange, and slightly fateful that he and Jeongguk would be here together again after so many years, and under the wildest possible circumstances. 

“Jiyeon is lucky,” Jeongguk smiles, glancing down at her with a smile playing on his pink, cold-bitten lips. “She gets to travel the world already. Think of all the places she’ll go in the future!”

With us raising her? Hoseok thinks. She’ll probably be all over. Hoseok travels, at the very least domestically a fair amount for his job, and Jeongguk is a new level entirely. Hoseok remembers all too well the jam packed schedules and nearly overlapping flights at the peak of their competitive seasons. Although this is the first time the three of them are setting off on a global adventure together, Hoseok knows that if this is their new normal, it most certainly won’t be the last. 

He just hopes it’s okay for Jiyeon. To be on the go so often, bouncing from hotel to rink to airport. And further than that, even when they’re home she’ll be tugged between two houses, never quite existing permanently at one or the other, but somewhere in between. Hoseok hopes it isn’t all too much for her, hopes that they manage to care for her enough amidst all of it, hopes that she understands that they’re doing everything that can to make sure that she—

“Appa!”

Hoseok stops in his tracks so suddenly he almost stumbles from it. Beside him, Jungkook also screeches to a stop, both of his hands still clasping Jiyeon’s to keep her upright. He whips his head to Hoseok. 

“Did she just—?”

“Appa!” Jiyeon exclaims again, her knees bending into a little hop that never leaves the ground, but her effervescent energy makes up for it. 

“Appa,” Hoseok echoes. The word is surprisingly sweet in his mouth. Is she– to them ? She’s calling them–?

“She’s calling us appa!” Jeongguk practically crows, and he scoops Jiyeon up high, swinging her up into his arms. “ Hyung. Appa!”

“Appa!” Hoseok repeats again, but this time there’s a smile spreading across his face that he can’t squash. “Who taught her that? Jiyeon-ah, who taught you that?”

“Appa!” Jiyeon announces again. She’s leaning back and forth between Jeongguk and Hoseok, like she isn’t sure which of them she should reach for, but she doesn’t appear dismayed by it. Rather more like she’s pleased to have not one, but two good options on either side.

“Oh, Jiyeon,” Jeongguk sighs and hugs her close, nuzzling his pink cheek against hers and shutting his eyes, blissed out by her presence. When he opens up again, he’s looking directly at Hoseok, faint endearment fluttering over his face, and his nose scrunches in that little bunny smile of his that Hoseok hasn’t seen in so long. “We must be doing something right, hyung.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok agrees. His throat is suddenly tight, but not with distress. He feels like he could cry, but in the way that he could cry after skating particularly well, or taking a metal. Like pure, unbridled pride is coursing him. 

Japan, after so long living in fear of returning, and this is what it gives him. 

“Yeah, we really must be.”

When they get back to the hotel, they order dinner in. They debated taking Jiyeon with them to sit down and dine somewhere, but there was a nosy looking crowd with cameras approaching as they walked the foot traffic bridge across an icy river, and though the group could have been than overzealous tourists, Jeongguk - nor Hoseok, for that matter - wasn’t keen on taking the risk. They pulled their hoods snugly to shadow their faces and ducked down a side street before anyone could approach them, making their way back to the hotel as an early winter dusk settled.

Hoseok doesn’t mind spending the evening inside in the slightest. From their floor, the city below looks like a snowglobe laid out in front of them, and the fat, fluffy flakes dusting down from a purple sky only add to the effect. Hoseok stands at the wide windows, pointing things out to Jiyeon while Jeongguk lays out their meal on the low table so they can sit comfortably and eat. 

Afterward, they play rock paper scissors to decide who will put Jiyeon down for bed, and who will tidy up the place (and after the non-stop sort of week they’ve had, it does need tidying up). Hoseok wins Jiyeon, and decides not to gloat when he sees Jeongguk sulk off to the kitchen, whining he doesn’t want to clean, but he dutifully begins doing it anyway. Jeongguk is a lot of things, but one can never say that he isn’t a good sport. 

Jiyeon, as she has for days now, crashes out fast asleep almost as soon as he’s pulled her from her bath, bunded her in soft pajamas and offered her her bottle. After a rich dinner, she only drinks half of it, which leaves Hoseok pondering the fact that she’s changed so much already just in the short time that they’ve had her. It seems like only a few days ago that they began experimenting with solid foods alongside her steady diet of milk, and now it seems like she very nearly prefers what they eat over her formula.

She’s growing up , Hoseok thinks wistfully as he lays her down on her bassinet. Already, she’s growing up . 

He flips the white noise machine on and slips out in silence, leaving her to her little safe haven of sleep. The flat is quiet, save for the light sound of water running in the kitchenette where Jeongguk must be rinsing up their dishware . There’s something distinctly peaceful about the night, and Hoseok feels it in his chest where a knot of worry would sit. It’s the kind of clenched anxiety that he’s dragged along with him for as long as he’s been sentient - not the kind that overtakes his thoughts, but the slow-simmering variety that never seems to budge. Anxiety for performing, anxiety for work, anxiety for not being good enough, smart enough, accomplished enough. For being on the wrong path, or following the wrong timeline. 

But tonight? Tonight the blanket of snow wrapped around the city seems to muddle the volume of Hoseok’s own thoughts, leaving him with an unusual and pleasant silence. He feels relaxed, and a little warm as he shuffles toward the living area, and for the first time in a long time the sight of Jeongguk endears him instead of stirring up a long ignored pot of emotion. 

He looks sort of sweetly serious the way he’s polishing the glasses they used earlier today, tongue stuck between his teeth as he attacks the sides with a paper towel to ensure their cleanliness. He’s good at keeping house, as good at it as any omega Hoseok knows. Hoseok supposes that’s one of the things that always drew him to Jeongguk; the multitudes he contains. He’s traditionally alpha in the sense that he’s tall, and strong, how protective and assertive he can be when the situation calls for it. But he’s also silly, and shy, and he loves to cook and sing, and he’s as graceful and delicate as they come when he’s put on ice. 

He’s an enigma in his own way, and Hoseok just keeps coming back to him. 

Hoseok sets the baby monitor down on the counter and leans onto with his elbows. “Pretty clean in here,” he murmurs, well aware of Jeongguk’s bashful affinity for being praised. But it’s true, everything from the decorative books on the shelf in the corner, to the cushions on the couch have been straightened so precisely that the whole room  looks as if it’s about to be staged in an interior design catalogue. 

Jeongguk shrugs, but Hoseok can see the pleased little smile playing on his face as he ducks over the sink to scrub his hands. “I had my job and you had yours. Did she go down easily?”

“As pie,” Hoseok replies smoothly, extending his arms and stretching long and lazy. “I think she was tired from her big day.”

Jeongguk reaches for a towel and pats his hands dry. There’s a serene look on his face when he sighs. “I can’t believe she called us appa. I mean she really–we really are her home , aren’t we, hyung?”

“Yeah, we are,” Hoseok replies in a soft voice. He keeps waiting for the great epiphany of it all to hit him in one fell swoop, but he’s beginning to think that the reality of being a parent - her parent - is going to continue hitting him dozens of smaller moments of awe, over and over again until she’s grown. 

Because they will be with her until then, and afterwards. It’s incredible to him, the way he and Jeongguk both have settled into this wild role that life has dealt them, not content with merely tolerating it, but choosing instead to embrace it in the bravest, biggest way they can. 

“Crazy that it’s us, don’t you think?” Jeongguk laughs quietly and comes around the countertop corner, swinging around so he’s standing right in front of Hoseok, so close that his subtle scent catches in the air between them and Hoseok gets divine notes of spice and warmth. “I mean, this is the kind of story that people make movies about, or publish memoirs.”

“Maybe you can write the memoir,” Hoseok lifts his shoulder in a slow shrug, “the life and times of a global ice skating sensation who double-timed it with dad duty.”

“You write it for me,” Jeongguk hums, “you’re the journalist.”

“I’m an editor, actually,” Hoseok exhales, but he’s not really thinking of his job as much as he is of Jeongguk’s soft mouth tauntingly close to his, pink and a little glossy with what must be a swipe of his lip balm. Hoseok can tell by the way it smells faintly of vanilla, the same kind Jeongguk has used as long as Hoseok’s known him. “Senior editor, that is.”

“Oh yeah? Does that mean you get to boss people around?”

“Mostly it means that everyone has one hundred questions for me all of the time, and that I never reach the end of my to-do list. But yeah, I get to boss people around too.”

Jeongguk leans in closer. “And I bet you look good doing it.”

Hoseok’s mouth is suddenly wet with want. “I look good doing everything, Jeongguk.”

Jeognguk doesn’t reply with words, his response comes in the form of pressing his lips to Hoseok’s and diving into a very intent, needy kiss. There’s no hesitant back and forth between the two of them. There’s the time when they aren’t kissing, and the times when they are. And now they most certainly are. Warm, and soft, and slightly exploratory, as if the two of them are digging in to see how deep the other will go. And tonight, Hoseok thinks he would go pretty—

Knock knock knock. 

The two of them startle apart like horny teenagers caught grinding on one another beneath the bleachers. They exchange fleeting looks of guilt, and Hoseok slides his sleeve over his mouth, as if he’s hoping to gather the lingering traces of the kiss and do away with them. 

Jeongguk swallows audibly. “Are you expecting someone?”

“No,” Hoseok replies. He’s a little breathless. “Are you?”

“Nope.”

Puzzled, Hoseok trails after Jeongguk down the hallway to the door. Jeongguk peeks in the peephole, then makes a face of confusion. “Never seen him,” he murmurs, and Hoseok notes that Jeongguk steps firmly between him and the door before he cracks it open just a bit. It’s not enough that Hoseok can see who’s on the other side. 

“Hi. Can I help you?”

“Hi.” A strikingly familiar voice replies. “Is Hoseok-ah here?”

Chapter Text

It's Jeongguk who puts water to boil and starts fixing up a cup of tea for Namjoon, whose lengthy day of traveling has clearly worn him down, but he’s still smiling as Hoseok directs him to the living area to sit. 

“—flight finally took off, but we’re almost four hours behind at this point, so I missed the interview I had scheduled with that Olympic skater who scooped gold two years ago. I tried to patch in to her on the plane but uh, it wasn’t meant to be. Anyways! How are you? ”

“I’m good,” Hoseok blinks a few times. “But—hyung, why are you here? ”

Namjoon tips his head, looking a mixture of amused and exasperated. “Hoseok, you would know if you ever checked your texts. I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for a week and a half now.”

“Have you?” Hoseok asks, casting a guilty glance to his phone where it’s sitting facedown on the coffee table. Admittedly, he hasn’t been the best about correspondence since they’ve been on the road. He keeps up with the undeniably necessary work emails and…that’s about it. 

“Yeah,” Namjoon nods, and reaches out to give Hoseok a jovial shove. Out of the corner of his eye, Hoseok sees Jeongguk look up from the teapot sharply. “I’m here to interview Jeongguk and watch his next competition.”

Glass clinks on the granite countertop. Jeongguk coughs. “Oh, that’s you? And you two,” he lifts a hand, gesturing between the two of them. “Know each other?”

“What?” Hoseok really does reach for his phone this time, whipping it out and scrolling through the dozen or so updates on their digital work board, then clicking into the agenda for this week to see what it is he hasn’t been seeing this whole time. Of course, he doesn’t get tagged in updates and announcements for articles he isn’t writing, he’ll only see them when the finished draft gets slid onto his desk for review. But still, he can’t believe he missed this. 

Sure enough, there it is. A little tab highlighted with Namjoon’s name announcing that he’ll be catching Jeongguk in Japan and doing the profile on him. 

“We’re coworkers,” Namjoon explains cheerfully. If he notices the sort of narrower side eye that Jeongguk is giving him, he doesn’t let on. “I’m a journalist, and Hoseok is—“

“The senior editor, yeah. I know,” Jeongguk replies, and Hoseok can’t help but feel like there’s a trace of coolness in his voice. It wouldn’t stand out, if it weren’t for the fact that Jeongguk is generally kind, and pleased to meet anyone. 

Jeongguk skirts around the kitchen counter, a steaming mug in hand, and sets it down in a curt little motion in front of Namjoon. “Here’s your tea.”

“Thanks!” Namjoon leans forward and picks up, and his familiar scent swoops upward with notes of pine and paper. “I must be crazy dehydrated after today. But hey, forget all that, where’s your baby? Is it too late for me to meet her?”

“She’s asleep,” Hoseok informs him apologetically. “We went out for a long walk today, so she was wiped out. But tomorrow you definitely can.”

“How has it been? Traveling with her?”

“Great!” Hoseok tells him, and he really means it from the bottom of his heart. “I mean, she’s a great kid. Really cheerful, doesn’t cry much, and she’s curious. She loves watching Jeongguk skate, doesn’t she?” Hoseok turns to cast a look over his shoulder at Jeongguk, who is standing a little  too close and a little too rigidly to be considered entirely casual. 

“Right,” Jeongguk nods once. “She’s coming to the rink tomorrow to watch me, we’re leaving pretty early, you might not be able to catch her before we go.”

“Well, I’m going to the rink too,” Hoseok points out, “Namjoon can come and keep me company. He’s doing the profile on you anyway, so he can come watch you practice, can’t he?”

“Sure.” Jeongguk turns away, still clipped and retreats back to the kitchen counter. “I’m gonna head to bed soon since we have an early morning. You two catch up.”

“Oh, no, I’m sorry,” Namjoon gets to his feet, already grabbing for his jacket and bag, “I’m all in your guys’ space, I’ll head out for the night. Um - do you mind if I take this tea and bring the mug back tomorrow?”

“Not a problem,” Jeongguk replies in a tone that gives Hoseok the very distinct idea it might be a problem after all. 

“Okay. Great. I’ll see you guys in the morning then?”

Hoseok nods, though he’s a little preoccupied by the notion that Jeongguk is a few feet away, inexplicably disgruntled all of the sudden. He walks Namjoon to the door and bids him goodnight, and by the time he gets back to the living area, the lights have been flipped off Jeongguk has vacated. The overhead in his bedroom is still on, however. Hoseok can see it spilling out from his half-closed door at the end of the hallway, and he shuffles toward it. 

“Jeongguk.” Hoseok raps softly on the polished wood with his knuckles, but doesn’t wait for an answer before peeking inside. 

Jeongguk is sitting on the end of his bed, furtively swiping through his phone but Hoseok gets the idea that he isn’t really looking at anything on it. He shoots Hoseok a glance. “What?”

“Nothing,” Hoseok shakes his head. He’s a little too tired himself to be digging into this conversation, he thinks that deep down he probably knows better than to try to unpack it tonight, but curiosity often keeps him awake. “Just got the feeling that things were more awkward than they needed to be out there.”

“They weren’t awkward,” Jeongguk says flatly. “They were just interactions. Not everything is sunshine and rainbows all the time, hyung.”

“Okay, yeah, I get that. But Namjoon is my friend, so if you could be cordial to him…that would be great.”

“Right. I’ll be sure to welcome him with open arms.”

“Jeongguk.”

“ What ?”

“I mean it, be nice. He’s important to me.”

Jeongguk tosses his phone down and stands up. “Great, I’m over the moon for you guys. I’m so glad he’s so important to you that he can just show up at our apartment in the middle of the night and expect to hang out, and meet our kid, and be your doting little coworker. And hey, since he’s so important , why doesn’t he just cross my name off the adoption papers and take over with Jiyeon? You know what, while he’s at it, he can skate for me this weekend too. I’ll just grab my things and fly back to Seoul.”

Hoseok laughs. Actually laughs out loud in total disbelief. “That’s what this is? You’re jealous of him? Seriously ? Jeongguk, he’s my friend . We work together.”

“Your objectively super hot alpha friend,” Jeongguk huffs, turning away and pulling his shirt off just to replace it with a softer one. He doesn’t usually sleep with a shirt, and Hoseok wonders if the only purpose of that was merely to give his hands something to do for a second. 

“Didn’t know being hot was a crime,” Hoseok replies coolly, folding his arms over his chest, “as if he can help that.”

If the conversation at hand wasn’t such a nuisance, it would well and truly be comedic. But Jeongguk is fuming, and nothing good comes from him and Hoseok not being in agreement with one another. And yet , Hoseok doesn’t see how he’s supposed to budge on this. Alienate his good friend, really his only good friend, not to mention close colleague, all because…what, he’s an alpha? And Hoseok’s ex said so?

Yeah, not gonna happen. 

“Look, I’m just saying, I’ll do the interview,” Jeongguk informs him, sinking back onto his bed, but looking no happier than he did a minute ago, “he can hang around, whatever, but don’t expect me to be thrilled to see him.”

“I’m not asking for thrilled ,” Hoseok replies in a tight voice, “I’m asking for professional . And speaking of professional…” Hoseok trails off, then draws in a breath. There’s a memory of there kiss from what feels like mere minutes ago sitting like a shadow on his mouth that he can’t shake, but he knows better than to lean into it. “Let's put this on hold while he’s here.”

“ This ?” Jeongguk repeats, his brows shooting upward.

“This. Us. The arrangement. We’ll just call a time out for a second. I mean, he’s incredibly perceptive, he’s a journalist . I don’t want him to get any ideas.”

Jeongguk’s eyes flash darkly. “Oh, so you think he’d write us up and call us out in the little article he’s doing?”

“ No , of course not. But whatever he observes might subconsciously influence the way he writes it, and…I don’t want to start any rumors. That’s all.”

Hoseok doesn’t know if that’s all it really is. He doesn’t know why the idea of Namjoon - or anyone for that matter - knowing about him and Jeongguk suddenly makes him feel intensely naked, and vulnerable for it. Maybe being here, surrounded by people he doesn’t really know, made it all too easy to play pretend, but Namjoon showing up is a stern reminder of the unbudging nature of real life. Real life , where Hoseok is organized, and efficient, and he doesn’t drop things to go travel the world, and most importantly he does not go back to his ex . 

“Fine,” Jeongguk replies waspishly. “Whatever you’d like.”

“Good,” Hoseok replies, equally cool in tone. But it’s not good. All at once, no part of this feels good the way it has for the rest of the week. 

“I’m going to bed then. Goodnight.”

“ Goodnight ,” Jeongguk replies, and it has the air of someone concentratedly hoping that Hoseok does not, in fact, have a good night.

“ Appapapapa! ”

“Yes, that is your appa, do you see him? Look, he’s spinning on the ice,” Namjoon coos, lifting Jiyeon a little higher so she can see Jeongguk’s impeccable triple axel, landing smoothly as if it were nothing more than a bunny hop for him. “You’re right,” Namjoon shakes his head with a smile, like he almost can’t believe what she’s about to say. “She really is perfect baby.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok replies, soft and with a note of pride. For awhile, he thinks he chalked it up to pure luck, and someone else’s work that Jiyeon is as serene and cheerful as she is, but he’s starting to lend some credit where its due to the fact and he and Jeongguk have put in the hard work to keep her comfortable and in good spirits. A regimented routine, no screens, a varied diet, and absolutely no raised voices where she can hear. With that being her worldly experience, why wouldn’t she be a little buttercup?

“Aish, Hoseok, she makes me want kids all the sudden,” Namjoon groans and sits Jiyeon back on his lap, holding her tiny, waving hands in both of his own. “I think I’m obsessed. Is this what people mean when they say baby fever ?”

“Probably,” Hoseok laughs. Namjoon has taken to Jiyeon like butter to toast, and it’s making the bruises on Hoseok’s heart from last night’s frigid conversation with Jeongguk mend over again. Maybe all he really needs is his best friend and his baby, forget dating and partners and all of that. When he needs an extra pair of hands at his place, or a babysitter for the afternoon, he can call Namjoon. 

If Jeongguk ever warms up to the thought of him, that is. Knowing that stubborn, bullheaded boy, he’ll probably cling to his grudges and refuse to let Namjoon fulfill a staple presence in Jiyeon’s life. Hoseok shifts, suddenly a little uncomfortable all over again. 

“Have you gotten to talk to Jeongguk at all?” he asks, hoping his tone sounds entirely casual, and conversational, and not at all like he’s fishing for information. 

“Uh, nope. Not yet. He seemed like he was in a rush to leave this morning, and I didn’t want to get in his way. I talked to his coach, though! Seojkjin-ssi? And his manager, Yoongi. They’re both really nice, interesting people. I had no idea they’re married! What a great situation, don’t you think? Working and traveling together with the love of your life?”

“Yeah,” Hoseok replies, his throat dry all of the sudden. On the ice, Jeongguk is gliding backwards, his arms drawn with all the grace of a swan before whipping into a jump. “Really great.”

“Yeah, I asked them about– oh, shoot, hang on, I have to take this. Sayoung, for some reason,” Namjoon interrupts himself when he lifts his buzzing phone off the bench and glances at the screen. He nudges Jiyeon toward Hoseok apologetically. “Do you mind?”

Hoseok takes her, giving her cheek a little kiss and turning her right way round again so she can watch Jeongguk, but he keeps his own gaze trained vaguely on where Namjoon has slide a few feet away down the benches, one finger plugged over his ear to take the call with a frown etched into his face.

Sayoung is the creative director of their magazine firm, almost all of what she does is above their level, she’s like an unreachable legend floating in the uppermost floors of their office, only ever reaching out or being reached when something significant happens.

“No, definitely not,” Namjoon is saying, “not without talking to them first. No, seriously, let me– I know that– no, but it’s important. Let me talk to him.”

Namjoon’s gaze flicks up for a brief moment, landing on Hoseok’s, and Hoseok swears he sees something like remorse hiding in there.

“I have to go. I’ll call you back. Yes , today. Alright. Okay. Goodbye.” He hangs up and heads back to where Hoseok and Jiyeon are, only this time he seems to be dragging his legs rather than them carrying him.

Hoseok’s stomach turns once or twice, passing a wave of nausea over him. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon replies automatically, baring his teeth into a smile. He’s a shit liar. He doesn’t even last until Hoseok raises a questioning eyebrow at him before he caves, and wilts back down onto the bench at Hoseok’s side. “No, Hoseok. There’s a situation?”

“A situation?” Hoseok repeats tremulously. 

“Yeah.” Namjoon glances left and right, furtive looks over each shoulder to check who might be listening in, then drops his voice even lower, if possible, to hang between the two of them and the two of them alone. “You, uh…you wouldn’t have tipped off any tabloids, would you?”

Hoseok’s stomach clenches. “Tipped off? Why the hell would I do that?”

“Because they—it seems that they—“ Namjoon finally breaks, hanging his head and shaking it with a crestfallen air. “They got photos, Hoseok. Of you and Jeongguk. And these ones are kind of hard to wiggle out of.”

Oh fuck. Again? What did they get their hands on this time? Hoseok’s throat is painfully dry when he speaks. 

“So you saw the first ones?” he asks tightly. 

Namjoon wilts with further sympathy. “We all did,  Hoseok. Sayoung asked if I’d contact you for confirmation and let us write up the exclusive announcement, but I told her I wouldn’t do that based off of a few photos. Cause I thought, you know, I knew the whole situation and it wasn’t like that. But, um…” he trails off and glances down at his phone. “ Is it like that?”

“I don’t know,” Hoseok groans and hugs Jiyeon to his chest like if he just squeezes her hard enough his problems will cease to exist. There’s nothing he wants less than to see the new photos, and yet there’s something excruciating about being in the dark. 

“Are they bad?” he whispers. 

Namjoon, mercifully, shakes his head. “Not really. Not, like, incriminating or anything. They’re pretty tame, and pretty blurry. Someone was definitely trailing you waiting to catch a moment, and that’s the worst part. The two of you are in a sort of…glass elevator, maybe? You have Jiyeon, too. And it’s just a few shots taken across a couple of seconds, only in one of them Jeongguk kisses your cheek, so…” Namjoon pauses to gulp again. “You can imagine that’s what has people going crazy.”

Hoseok says nothing. His fingers have gone rigid, even as he holds Jiyeon. The silence that follows is broken only by the sound of Jeongguk’s skates grating over the ice, slick and sharp. 

Namjoon clears his throat. “Sayoung is asking again if you’ll be willing to let us publish confirmation. If we can include it in Jeongguk’s interview.”

Hoseok shakes his head. “No.”

“I’m not saying you should, but if you did, I’m the one writing the article, you’d get to proofread every word and I’d change anything if you asked me to. Other outlets might no be—“

“Namjoon, no ,” Hoseok cuts over him again in his best attempt to be firm, but his voice is trembling. 

Namjoon sinks. “Okay.” He leans over, slowly, almost timidly, and rests his head on Hoseok’s shoulder. “Okay. I’m sorry I asked.”

Evening at the apartment is a frigid affair. If either Hoseok or Jeongguk softened to their argument overnight, the tension has been kicked back to a hundred following the mass release of their photos, which has people across nations in a chokehold speculating how long they’ve been together, when they had the baby, how long they’ve been keeping all of this a secret, and why. 

Hoseok has felt nauseous about it all day. Yoongi and Jimin pulled him aside to say they’re working on quieting the situation as much as they can, but being quiet themselves is the best possible course of action. In other words keep your mouth shut, and wait it out. 

After Jeongguk finished practicing, he took Jiyeon (with another icy look at Namjoon) and told Hoseok he’d keep her for the rest of the day. Normally, that would free Hoseok up to venture out and do something he wanted to do, just for himself, but today all he did was crawl back to the hotel and hole up in his room. Namjoon had to leave to go conduct another, smaller interview and so Hoseok was left to wallow alone in his own misery, until Jeongguk finally returned around Jiyeon’s usual bedtime and toted her off immediately for a bath and a bottle. 

And now they’re here. Now. Sitting across from one another on the couch, left with nothing to say except to address the elephant in the room, when neither of them wants to. 

“Hyung, it’s fine.”

Those are Jeongguk’s first words. Finally. After all that silence, he opts for it's fine? Basically a politely repacked version of you’re being a little dramatic. 

Who is he to say that it’s fine? What if Hoseok thinks it’s not fine?

“Really?” Hoseok looks up waspishly. His hands are folded so tightly across his chest that he can’t say with confidence he’ll ever be able to unwind them. “That’s all you have to say? It’s fine?”

“I don’t know what else you want me to say,” Jeongguk lifts his shoulder in a hopeless shrug. “Freak out and start yelling? Sue the tabloids posting it? It doesn’t work like that, hyung.” 

“You could admit it’s a problem. A problem that, by the way, you told me wouldn’t happen again,” Hoseok adds, poking an accusatory finger in Jeongguk’s direction. He knows this takes them down a dangerously unstable path of playing the blame game, but he can’t help it. Hoseok craves someone to blame for how his name is being twisted through people’s mouths right now, for the digital evisceration of his entire character, all because he had the audacity to be close to the world’s skating sweetheart. 

“Hyung, don’t. You know I don’t want this, but it’s not like I control them. I do what I can to avoid them, and the rest…” he trails off with a helpless shrug, “it’s out of my hands. But more than that-“ Jeongguk pauses and gulps. He looks like he’s debating very much whether or not he should say the thought that popped into his head, but evidently it gets the better of him, because he straightens up and huffs it out. 

“You know this is my life. To some degree, you knew exactly what we were getting into. I warned you before we even left the country.”

If possible, Hoseok feels his demeanor sour even further. “So you’re saying I should just suck it up?”

“It’s my life, hyung.”

“Exactly. It’s your life. Jiyeon didn’t sign up for this, I didn’t sign up for this, but of course we have to do everything your way for your work, because—because all you ever do is think about your fucking career!”

Hoseok doesn’t mean to spit it out the way he does, with all of the resentment he’s been biting back for years, but the cold truth of his feelings escape him before he can find the power to stop it. 

Jeongguk stiffens. Hoseok watches it happen, how he goes from cool to frigid in the blink of an eye. “So what do you want me to do?” he asks, his voice dangerously quiet, and his gaze dark. “Stop competing? Drop everything because someone we don’t even talk to anymore left a fucking baby on our porch?”

“A fucking baby,” Hoseok breathes back. He feels like Jeongguk just reached across the space between them and struck him across the face. Whatever they’ve built over the last couple months, whatever peace they’ve come to, it’s surely been torn down in a matter of minutes. “That’s all she is to you?”

“No,” Jeongguk’s shoulder wilt, and in a second he goes from angry, to miserable, like a child who has spoken out of line and knows it. “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

“That little girl loves you,” Hoseok says, his voice trembling. He doesn’t know why this hurts so terribly all of the sudden. It feels like a betrayal to the family they’ve somehow built in spite of everything. “She loves everything you do, she’s pretty much your biggest fucking fan. And the only one who really matters.”

“I know, hyung. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Well, you did,” Hoseok shrugs, trying to play it off as if this, all of this, means nothing. As if his heart isn’t practically shaking in his chest. He gets to his feet, shaking his head. “You’ll turn on anything the second your career asks you too. It’s fucking exhausting, Jeongguk.”

“Hyung,” Jeongguk mirrors Hoseok, hopping up after him. “I’m sorry. I am. Can we just talk about this, please? Hyung. Hoseok.”

Hoseok doesn’t answer. He goes straight into the shadowed hallway, melting out of sight and into the room where Jiyeon lays slumbering, not a clue in her head about the chaos around her. 

Chapter Text

“You’re taking it pretty personally considering it’s not a breakup.”

Hoseok looks up and fixes Namjoon with what he can only hope is withering side eye. But the truth is, Namjoon’s cautious expression explains the way he isn’t making the statement in a condescending way, but rather out of pure observation the way he tends to. Namjoon is matter of fact like that. Most of the time it’s a breath of fresh air to never have to guess what his true feelings on something are, but sometimes Hoseok wishes he’d make his observations less blunt.

“It’s complicated,” Hoseok grumbles, turning back to the play mat Jiyeon is sitting on and handing her a new plastic block for her wobbly tower.

“I guess…I just don’t fully understand why this in particular is bothering you so much. Your name is in print in the magazine all of time, sometimes you even make statements for the articles and things. Anyone can google you and search that. Why is this so different?”

Hiseok doesn’t reply immediately. He keeps his gaze fixed downward on the plush material and intricate stitching of the little roads and rivers that make up Jiyeon’s mat. Namjoon must take his silence for anger, because he scoots in a little, softening his voice.

“Sorry, I’m not trying to downplay the situation. It’s okay to be upset. I was just wondering if…if maybe there’s something else here that’s bothering you, and you aren’t saying it.”

Hoseok’s skin feels like it’s tightening.  Oh Namjoon. Frustratingly intuitive and observational Namjoon. There’s nothing he’d like more than to shake his head and brush off that particular statement, but the accuracy behind it can’t be helped. Hoseok hasn’t admitted it to anyone,  barely even himself, but reality is becoming harder and harder to live with. This is Jeongguk’s life, and his now by association, and he’s going to have to suck it up, admit why this feeling burns with shame in his chest, and get over it. 

Or he risks losing what could be a little family in its own right forever.

“It was supposed to be him and I,” Hoseok says quietly.

Namjoon’s head tilts, curiosity and concern deepening. “What was?”

“ Everything ,” Hoseok whispers. He wants to - has to - keep his voice soft so as to avoid disturbing Jiyeon’s peaceful play time. “ All of it, Namjoon. It was supposed to be me and him. We talked about it all the time, how cool it was that we could do it all together, that we’d always be by each other’s sides. That our careers didn’t draw us apart, they knit us together. We had this stupid dream of being, I don’t know, a power couple in the skating world,” Hoseok reminisces, the words bitter in his mouth. “We were so young, and so egotistical, we knew we’d be famous, at least in our little circles. And now-?” 

Hoseok breaks off, dejected. He looks down and finds Jiyeon gazing up at him, not bothered, or worried, but more simply…intent. Her wide eyes wandering his face like she’s looking for something in particular, or maybe waiting for him to notice her. He brushes his hand over her soft hair, and she goes back to her blocks. He can feel Namjoon’s eyes on him, listening in silence the way he does until he’s sure someone’s finished. 

“Now I’m here, in his shadow,” Hoseok says very very quietly. So quiet he’s not even sure Namjoon can hear him. But he’s not sure if he wants him to. “The omega on the side with the baby. But I do love her, you know? I do. It’s just that when I think about it, I don’t feel like I’m good enough for any of it. God knows I’m not a good skater anymore. Maybe I’m not a good dad either.”

“Hoseok,” Namjoon breaks through Hoseok’s self-destructive musings tenderly, “you’re going through the messiest, least predictable time of your life right now, obviously things are going to feel a little touch and go for a while. It doesn’t mean you’re not good enough. And you’re not living in his shadow. Look at you, you have a great career. The magazine needs you, you help make it what it is every day. And Jiyeon? She gets a beautiful, safe, loving life because you chose to step in. You did that. Jeongguk followed you, but you were ready to do it without him, you told me so yourself. That’s a different kind of brave, and it just says that you’re very much your own whole person, with or without him.”

“Maybe,” Hoseok lifts his shoulder into a wilted half shrug.

“No, not maybe. Definitely . I’m telling you something I know is true, so you’d better believe it,” Namjoon tells him firmly. “Right Jiyeon? Isn’t your appa special?”

Jiyeon looks up. “Appa!” she says, and scoots over. She reaches both hands for Hoseok’s sweater and uses it to tug herself to her tiny feet, then leans into his cheek and gives him a very heartfelt, very slobbery kiss. 

Namjoon suggested a healthy amount of space between Hoseok and Jeongguk, which is hard to do when they’re both living and co-parenting together, but Hoseok thinks they’re making it work. If cold silences and short, terse interactions can be defined as making it work.

Hoseok wants to talk to him, just to figure something out to clear the air, but when they move from Osaka to Tokyo for the largest of Jeongguk’s competitions yet, any free time that Jeongguk might have gets eaten up by rigorous rehearsals leading up to the day. 

Namjoon leaves to head back to Seoul, wishing Hoseok the best and leaving him alone with his thoughts, Jiyeon, and one very disgruntled ex-boyfriend. Hoseok swears Jeongguk starts to mope everywhere,  takes his meals in his room when he doesn’t have Jiyeon, and spends a disproportionate amount of time in the shower every night. The sight of him looking so put off is almost, almost enough to push Hoseok to go talk to him. After all, he should be in top condition before a competition. 

But then, that’s the job of Jeongguk’s team to keep him balanced and primed. Hoseok no longer holds the responsibility of Jeongguk’s better half making sure he’s ready for what might come at him. He has an entire body of staff to do that for him now. 

Hoseok, in fact, is not really needed at all. 

The morning of Jeongguk’s next skate dawns bright as a diamond and bitterly cold. Hoseok has to bundle Jiyeon from head to toe just to walk her from the hotel to the car. Forget the rink, the regular old outdoors might be even colder.

They’re walked in flanked by Jimin and Taehyung, Yoongi marching ahead greeting people and shaking hands on Jeongguk’s behalf. Jeongguk, who is already in the locker room with Seokjin no doubt getting in last minute stretches and pep talks. Hoseok wishes, with a stinging feeling, that he had seen Jeongguk this morning for even a minute so he could have wished him well on his skate. As an old friend, if nothing else.

Jiyeon is a little fussy as they settle into their booth, restless even as Hoseok bounces her up and down, turning her attention to the ice which is being Zamboni-ed in a final check before the first skater is up. 

“Look, Jiji. See the ice? Appa is gonna skate soon. Do you want to see him skate?”

“ Appa ,” Jiyeon whines, and Hoseok knows it’s not a sound of excitement, it’s pure disgruntlement. She’s not saying I want to see appa on ice, she’s saying I want appa to hold me, where is he?

The first competitor goes on promptly at the start of the hour, a blond Russian known for his killer footwork, followed by a strikingly handsome African that Hoseok is sure their magazine did a profile on once. He would have liked to stay and watch him skate, but Jiyeon’s fussing has reached a fever peak, and they’re beginning to earn looks of disapproval from other sitting nearby.

“Sorry,” Hoseok whispers, gathering up Jiyeon and the diaper bag as he whispers to Jimin, who’s seated closest. “I need to go walk with her for a moment until she calms down.”

“Okay. Do you want Taehyung to come with?” 

“No, it’s fine, we aren’t going far. Just the hallway, probably.”

Jimin nods, and directs his attention back to the movement on the ice, fiery, drum-heavy music pumping through the speakers to match the skater’s wild, sharp choreography.

The hallway by the locker room is blissfully quieter, and Hoseok takes the silence and isolation as a chance to sink to the ground and settle Jiyeon on his lap. She seems calmer now, away from the noise, but still a little whiny about the whole ordeal. She misses Jeongguk, Hoseok knows this, he knows it like the sky is blue, but it’s too late now to run and find him. Maybe this would have been easier if Jiyeon got some sort of preskate ritual of being allowed into the locker rooms to give him a kiss and send him off. 

Hoseok thinks of the sullen, almost wounded expression Jeongguk has been wearing all week, and his heart sinks. 

Maybe it would be good for Jeongguk to have that too.

Hoseok pulls an apple sauce packet out of his pocket and hands it to Jiyeon, patting her back lightly as she digs into it, two chubby fists crinkling the plastic to squish purée out, and Hoseok just lets her. He’ll do clean up later, for now she’s not crying and that’s all that matters.

Ten minutes pass. Twenty. Hoseok rests his head on the wall behind him, vaguely keeping track of the skaters as they announce them until he grows bored of all the hearing without seeing and his mind wanders to other things with Jiyeon eats. Namjoon’s first draft of the article on Jeongguk that’s sitting in his inbox waiting to be looked over, the three junior journalists he owes a meeting to to go over their internships as they draw to a close, the mock up of their next volume that needs his stamp of approval before being sent off to the director for any final edits. 

“ And now, representing South Korea, Jeon Jeongguk!”

The booming voice over the speakers spills from the rink into the hallway, eliciting raucous applause from the gathered audience, and Hoseok sits up so quickly he gets headrush from it. 

“Jiji! Appa is on! We have to go see him!”

“Appa?” Jiyeon repeats, thankfully allowing herself to be scooped up without fussing. “Appappa? Appa on?”

“Yeah, appa is gonna skate. Let’s go back to the ice, okay?”

Hoseok is already making a jog toward the swinging doors that lead to the stands before Jiyeon gets a chance to nod. When he gets there, the door is blocked by a burly security guard clad in black, hands clasped at his waist. 

“Uh, excuse us,” Hoseok nods his head toward the door, “we’re trying to get back in.”

“Sorry, program in process. You’re going to have to wait until they break again to clean the ice,” the man grunts, short and sharp. 

“What? No, we just left for a second, I had to feed my baby. There was no one here when we walked out.”

“Someone is meant to be stationed at the doors at all times to prevent disorder,” he replies, entirely unhelpfully. 

“You don’t understand,” Hoseok shakes his head, almost laughing at the ludicrous scenario, “We’re with Jeon Jeongguk.”

“Yeah, and I’m with Beyoncé.”

“No, I’m serious,” Hoseok hoists Jiyeon up, showing her off like a badge, “this is his daughter, she wants to see him skate.”

“Skate,” Jiyeon offers a well timed interjection. “Appa.”

“Gonna need to see some proof of that,” the man shrugs. 

“Proof of— what do you want, her birth certificate?” Hoseok demands, aghast. When the guard narrows his eyes dangerously, he realizes that getting mouthy isn’t in his best interest and backs down a step or two. 

“Listen, I don’t even have my ID with me. It’s with my team in the stands, can I at least go in and grab it and come back to show you?”

“No can do. You can wait until the intermission like everyone else.”

Hoseok resists the urge to stomp his foot in pure frustration. “There is no one else out here!”

It’s true. The hallways are empty, everyone else is clearly sitting enraptured by Jeongguk’s performance. The music swelling from the speakers and spilling out even through the closed doors is a sure confirmation of that much. 

There’s a second, smaller door ten or so feet down, with no one standing in front of it. Hoseok is pretty sure it leads to the hallway attached to the locker rooms, but it would inevitably lead them to the stands like any other door would. What are the chances that it would be locked? It’s not guarded by random, overly-inflated security personnel. And more importantly, what are the chances that Hoseok would get thrown out for trying to make a run for it right now?

“If you didn’t want to get shut out of the stands,” the guard begins, an air of annoying creeping into his voice, “then I believe it would have been wise not to have—“

Without warning, a tidal wave of a collective gasp rises above the sound of music, shattering the serenity of a skater on the ice doing what they do best. 

Every hair on the back of Hoseok’s neck stands at attention in an instant. He knows that sound. It’s not an expression of awe and wonder, it’s the muffled cry of fear . 

“Oh my god,” he breathes. He doesn’t even give the guard another fleeting look, he tucks Jiyeon more firmly against his hip and darts a quick left, taking off in the direction of the smaller door. Mercifully, it throws open when he pushes it, and though he can hear the sound of footsteps behind him he pays them no mind as he makes a mad dash down the hallway and to the epicenter of the unrest in the stands. The crowd has broken out into fearful chattering, and Hoseok swears he hears a scream or two punctuate it. 

It’s on instinct alone that Hoseok presses Jiyeon’s face into his shoulder, shielding her view with the palm of her hand. He doesn’t even know he’s doing it. All he knows is when he skids around the corner and pushes onto his tiptoes to see in front of the crowd of heads in front of him, and then there’s nothing but Jeongguk. 

Jeongguk on the ice. 

Not moving. Just lying. Bent, at an awkward angle, the kind of angle no person would purposely contort themselves into. 

And the scarlet smear, smudged and already freezing on the frozen surface he’s come down on. It looks like the scene from a gruesome horror movie. From Hoseok’s worst nightmares. The one he’s lived over and over again, waking up in a cold sweat haunted by the memory forcing itself back into his psyche. 

“ Fuck.” 

The expletive punched out of Hoseok, whose head is going fuzzy. The crowd is getting louder. At the opposite side of the rink, a duo of medics is rushing out, their bags at the ready. 

“ Ladies and gentleman,” the announcer crackles over the loudspeaker. There’s a strained note in his voice too. “ We will be taking an immediate intermission. Please stay calm and stay seated. We will handle this and resume shortly. Thank you .”

The air in emergency unit waiting rooms is infectiously dismal. Even only sitting here, Hoseok feels the psychosomatic chill of sickness seeping into his bones, like being in the presence of the ill and afflicted alone is enough to somehow poison him.

Or maybe that’s just the fear and exhaustion setting in after the day he’s had. Halfheartedly, he lifts his phone and finds a new text waiting for him from Jimin. 

Jiji went down finally. She’s okay, really. No need to rush back .

That, at least, allows Hoseok to breathe a sigh of relief. He was really beginning to contemplate leaving Yoongi here to hold down the fort and collect any updates when Jimin texted and said that Jiji refused a bath and wouldn’t stop crying, but evidently between him and Taehyung they got her sorted out in the end. Hoseok is grateful for them, he wouldn’t be able to sit it out here with her at the hotel if there weren’t two people he trusts able and willing to take over for him in the interim. 

It’s with no warning that the double doors at the head of the sterile, almost nauseatingly white room slide open with a mechanical rattle, and a young doctor with spiky hair and a clipboard comes out, scanning the few weary heads scattered amongst the hard-backed chairs. She blinks around through a pair of lenses so thick it nearly doubles the size of her eyes.

“For Jeon?”

Hoseok stands up so quickly he almost knocks his chair over. “Here.”

“Hi there, I’m Dr. Seo,” she nods, striding forward to shake his hand with a surprisingly firm grip. 

“Hoseok,” Hoseok murmurs faintly. Who cares for introductions at a time like this? He wants to know how Jeongguk is. “Is he okay? Will he be okay?”

“He’ll be fine,” Dr. Seo assures him, blinking her wide eyes again. She looks something like an owl, quiet and wise. “He has a pretty gnarly concussion, but we’ve done scans and a cognitive test, and I don’t expect to see any lasting damage from that. His knee was twisted severely. The surgery pitch was discussed, but he’s decided to opt out, which has about a 50/50 chance split two ways: the surgery would mean we can definitely repair the damage, but he would need six weeks minimum of no physical activity following, and another six of rehab before he’d be able to return to normal activities. No surgery means that if it self-corrects with a brace, he only needs to be off of it for two weeks, but if it doesn’t correct, and he needs surgery later, it will likely be a more invasive procedure, and with less of a chance for a complete recovery. And like I said, he’s decided not to go with the surgery at this time.”

Hoseok blinks rapidly a few times in an attempt to process the onslaught of information hurled at his soggy brain. At his side, Yoongi seems to be doing the same. 

“Is this, um, is this what you would recommend?” Yoongi inquires after a hollow moment of silence. “From a medical perspective I mean.”

“There are pros and cons to both options,” Dr. Seo replies with total diplomacy. “I can see why he would make the choice he did, given his status as an actively competing athlete. There’s no way to determine a correct route here either way, and not my place to say if there was. But he did want me to step out and share what we know so far with you both. He’s speaking with our neuro team again right now, and then he’ll be able to take visitors for another half hour until we close to guests - immediate family only. Thank you for your time.”

Without further ado, Dr. Seo claps Hoseok on the shoulder in a curtly friendly manner and retreats the way she came before either he or Yoongi can get any additional questions in. 

Jeongguk’s room is square, and white, and smells sharply like the clinical grade disinfectant that fills Hoseok’s lungs and flings him back aggressively to some years ago when he found himself in the exact same position as Jeongguk. Only this time the question is will he be ready to skate again in two weeks? 

For Hoseok it was will we be able to see him walk again? Ever? 

Hoseok’s once-shattered hip seems to wince in sympathy of the memory as he approaches Jeongguk’s bed and clears his throat. “Hi,” he whispers, a little hoarse. “How are you?”

Jeongguk shifts, rolling weakly and baring the extent of the damage that Hoseok has yet to see up close. It makes his hands curl and his heart twinge. The side of his face is bruised, and split at two distinct points where he landed on the ice: the puffy side of his lip, and the sharpest point of his cheekbone. That’s where all of the terrifying blood was coming from when he first fell. That part, at least, looked worse than it actually is. Faces bleed a lot, but in this case they’re lucky it was only surface wounds. The kind of things that heal without even a scar left to tell the tale. 

“Hyung,” Jeongguk murmurs, fixing a hazy-eyed look on Hoseok. Or at least, he tries to, but he ends up looking somewhere over Hoseok’s right shoulder. 

Yoongi came in here to speak to him first. Hoseok made him, made him check to see if Jeongguk even wanted to see him at all. When he came back, he told Hoseok they gave him a bunch of painkillers for the night and they were making him a little loopy, but that Hoseok should go check in with him anyway. 

You should go . Not he wants to see you. 

Hoseok almost, almost said no, but he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Jeongguk all on his own in there  

“Where’s Jiyeon?” Jeongguk murmurs, heavy lids falling shut, then lifting again a moment later. 

“At the hotel with Jimin and Taehyung, Seokjin too,” Hoseok replies softly. “I didn’t want to bring her here. But she’s alright, she’s asleep now.”

Jeongguk turns again, a little restlessly, and when he does he tugs at the IV cord taped to his forearm. His free hand comes up, patting at his throat like he’s searching for something. “Hyung. Have you seen my necklace?”

“Your necklace?”

“Yes, my necklace. My silver locket. I woke up and it was gone. Have you seen it?”

“No. No, I…haven’t seen it.” Hoseok remembers seeing it before, that little locket on a chain Jeongguk never seems to take off, but frankly he was too preoccupied to notice it disappeared sometime in the last several hours. 

“I need it,” Jeongguk whines out in a sludgy voice. He looks genuinely troubled by the idea of it being gone, and Hoseok frowns. Maybe he should be asleep right now. Maybe his brain is too tired and in too much pain too process much of a conversation, and Hoseok’s presence is only making it worse. 

He shuffles a little closer to the edge of Jeongguk’s bed and reached for his good hand, giving it a light squeeze. Jeongguk looks at him through clouded eyes. “Jeongguk, I’m gonna go back for the night. Visitor hours are almost over, okay? I’ll bring Jiyeon to see you in the morning. Try…to sleep.”

Easier said than done in a hospital. Hoseok knows this, but he doesn’t want to get Jeongguk’s already broken spirits down. 

“My necklace, hyung,” he mumbles as Hoseok turns away in pursuit of the door he just came through. “Ask them for it.”

Hoseok shuts his eyes briefly. Clearly, for whatever reason, Jeongguk isn’t going to let this go without a promise. He turns back to glance over his shoulder at Jeongguk’s battered up form tucked impossibly small in a rigid, lonely hospital bed. He wants to cry, all of the sudden. 

“Okay,” he whispers. “I’ll ask about it for you.”

Chapter Text

Two weeks pass in dreary silence. Jeongguk’s time on bed rest makes him irritable and withdrawn. Hoseok brings Jiyeon into his room to visit him as much as possible, and those are the only times that Jeongguk seems to perk up even slightly. But given that he’s on doctors orders not to stand or walk, he can’t watch her independently, and so Hoseok has to hang out in the corner trying to blend into the shadows and not infringe on their time together as much as possible. 

He wishes he and Jeongguk could talk, but something has shifted in the air since they argued that night. There’s a canyon between them that continues to widen the longer they neglect to address it. 

It’s a Wednesday night, day ten of Jeongguk’s sorry confinement to his room, and not a particularly enjoyable one. Jiyeon spent half the day wailing for him, but Jeongguk was shut up inside with Seokjin going over rehab and practice plans to enact the second he was allowed back on two feet. Which left Hoseok to pick up the pieces of their cranky child and deal with the fallout. 

It seems to him that in the aftermath of his injury, Jeongguk is more absorbed in his recovery than in being the parent he had agreed to be. And as much as Hoseok wants to turn the other cheek and forget, he grows more frustrated and more isolated each day trying to pretend like it doesn’t bother him. 

He empathizes with Jeongguk, he of all people would, but it can’t be like this. They’re not 20 with no consequences anymore, they have responsibilities. They have something bigger, and more eternal than a career to think about here. 

Once Jiyeon falls into an unwilling sleep long past her usual bedtime, Hoseok shuffles through his usual night time routine of flipping on her white noise machine and making sure the baby monitor is up and running in the living room. He tosses it in his pocket and heads down the hallway, coming to a stop in front of Jeongguk’s sealed door. 

Hoseok knocks once. 

“What is it?”

Jeongguk’s reply isn’t sharp so much as it’s just… short. The sound of someone who has too much on his mind to fathom sparing a moment for a conversation. But unfortunately for both of them, this is a conversation that needs to be had before the tension between them snaps. And not in a good way. 

Not that sort of tension. 

Hoseok pushes the door open and steps inside. Jeongguk is, as he always is, settled in bed, back resting on the mound of pillows shoved against his headboard, the blankets pushed out of the way so he can fit his laptop and three or four notebooks worth of choreography diagrams and scribbling. He and Seokjin both are doing their best to translate his practices into something that can be held off the ice, but there’s little substitute for real rehearsal. 

When he looks up at Hoseok, his eyes are bleary with lack of sleep, and Hoseok can’t help but feel like what’s supposed to be a period of healing is ending up becoming something distinctly restless and increasingly uncomfortable for him. Though the bruising around the side of his face has begun to fade, it hasn’t disappeared entirely; there are still traces of blue that are rapidly fading to a sickly looking yellow as the swelling goes down and his skin starts to repair itself. At least his lip isn’t puffy and bleeding any longer, that was the first thing to get better. It made eating easier, at any rate. 

“What is it?” Jeongguk repeats, turning back to his notes and shuffling through them. 

“Um.” Hoseok starts weakly, then clears his throat and tries again. “Jiyeon was really missing you today.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not the best time for me to have her,” Jeongguk mutters, still feverishly shuffling through his papers. The stupid papers. 

As if they matter. As if they’re everything. 

“I don’t think you get to pick and choose convenient times to be a dad, Jeongguk,” Hoseok replies. He doesn’t mean for it to come out as such a biting remark, but the tone seems to select itself before he can help it. It must surprise Jeongguk too because it spurns him to look up from his notes. 

“Sorry, I’m going through a hard time right now and I thought maybe it wouldn’t be too much to ask for you to step in a little extra in the meantime.”

“I’m fine with stepping in extra. I’m not fine with you doing that thing again where you fixate on work and nothing else matters. You’re supposed to be resting, but instead you’re in here working all of the time.”

“Skating is my life, hyung,” Jeongguk grumbles. “What do you expect me to do?”

“Cope,” Hoseok says coldly, “better than this.”

At this, Jeongguk’s eyes widen in disbelief, like he can’t quite believe the words leaving Hoseok’s mouth. “I’m sorry?”

“All I’m saying,” Hoseok begins, fists balling at his side. He’s aware he’s boiling dangerously close to the territory of voicing things he vouched he wouldn’t hold against Jeongguk any longer when they began this parental endeavor side by side, in order to keep the peace. But today, they’re pressing against his chest and demanding to be spoken. 

“ All I’m saying, is that at least you can skate again.”

“Hyung.” Jeongguk’s eyes darken, flashing with something almost akin to warning. “Don’t.”

“Why? I’m serious, give me one reason why I shouldn’t bring this up. You’re lying here acting like it’s the most miserable thing on earth, like you’re succumbing to a sort of agony that no one on earth has ever experienced before, like it’s the end of the world. You’ll be back in two weeks, Jeongguk. Two weeks! ” Hoseok’s voice wobbles, threatening to split, and he has to muster all of his strength to speak the last words without breaking. “I could never skate again.”

There it is. Every ounce of resentment that’s been building for half a decade, everything that’s gone unsaid. In fact, Hoseok doesn’t think he’s even spoken the words I could never skate again out loud. It was something the doctors had told him, and he had been too trapped in denial at first to repeat it himself. His coach told the press, and the press told the world, and by the time Hoseok had accepted it enough to utter it himself, it didn’t matter anymore. 

No one saw him as a skater by then anyway. 

Jeongguk’s expression has hardened almost imperceptibly. He shoves his papers aside and sits up as much as a person can while still sitting in bed. 

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Yeah, you couldn’t skate again, but you know what, hyung. That’s not my fault. ”

“Maybe not, but you did fucking abandon me when I needed you most, and that is your fault.”

“ Abandon you?” Jeongguk gapes, wild disbelief filling his eyes. 

“Yes!” Hoseok has to make an effort not to gasp his words as they come to him, like he’s running the home stretch of the world’s worst marathon and every word feels like a sucker punch between the ribs. “I needed you, Jeongguk! I was miserable, I was in so much pain, so fucking depressed I could hardly wake up in the mornings, and you were off in New York on a winning streak, barely thinking about me—“

“I texted you every day, hyung. Called when I could.”

“When you could,” Hoseok barks with a derisive laugh. 

“I was busy .”

“I know you were! You always are. You always—“ Hoseok breaks off and turns away, shoulders shaking. This isn’t getting them anywhere. Isn’t how he wanted this to go, but he can’t take it back. He swipes his palms over his his face to gather the tears he hadn’t realized had begun to fall, and turns back. 

“You always are. Too busy for me. Too busy for Jiji, aren’t you? We’re just being dragged along in the background, holding you from your full potential.”

Following that, Jeongguk is silent for a long time. He stares at the endless pages in front of him, perhaps taking in all of the scribbles scratched over them and realizing they mean nothing. That’s what Hoseok wants, more than anything. For him to wake up. 

To see what’s right in front of him, and realize how good they could have it, and tell Hoseok none of it is true. That he doesn’t like skating more than them, and they’re not holding him back, and that he would choose Jiyeon - maybe Hoseok too - when it all comes down to it. 

But he doesn’t say any of that. He shakes his head, slow and wounded, and looks back up. 

“You hate it here,” he whispers. 

Hoseok’s stomach curls. “I hate following you around and living in your shadow.”

“Then you should leave.”

Although the words aren’t spoken with anger, they hit Hoseok harder than being backhanded across the face would. 

“Take Jiji back to Korea,” Jeongguk says quietly, almost with resignment, “I’ll be back in a couple months at most. Less if I can’t recover in time for the next competition. I’ll have my lawyer draw out a custody plan proposal and send it to you for approval, and when I get home, we won’t have to see each other. We can just focus on Jiyeon.”

“Fine,” Hoseok breathes, taking a tepid step back toward the door. “If you think that’s better.”

Jeongguk shrugs listlessly as if to say what else is there to do?

Hoseok retreats toward the door, stepping one toe out before turning back to glance over his shoulder and deliver the biting line he’s been holding back since he was in a hospital six years ago and Jeongguk was who the fuck knows elsewhere, instead of by his side. 

“I hope you really love skating, Jeongguk,” he exhales shakily. “It’s literally all you have anymore.”

Upon the dawn of the new week, Yoongi books Hoseok, and Jiyeon tickets back to Seoul, as well as Jimin and Taehyung who will be accompanying them. Their flight is set to depart just before noon, which means Hoseok doesn’t necessarily need to be up at first light checking and double checking the mountain of luggage that exists between him and Jiyeon, but he is anyway because he’s been up half the night and he can’t lay in bed another second longer and wallow in the cloud of discontentment that’s threatening to swallow him up. 

By the time Jimin wakes up, he passes Jiyeon off to her so he can drag the suitcases out to where Taehyung will take them to the car when the time comes. Jimin, of course, offers to take the suitcases while Hoseok takes Jiji to say goodbye to Jeongguk, but the truth is that Hoseok can’t bear to be there for it. 

He lingers in the room as long as he possibly can under the pretense of “just checking” last minute things with the luggage, but eventually the clock ticks down far enough that he has no choice but to head out into the living room. He keeps his head tucked down, pretending he can’t see or hear Jeongguk sitting at the kitchen island, rocking Jiyeon close to his chest and murmuring to her in soft tones that split Hoseok’s heart right down the middle. 

“ Appa loves you, Jiji, okay? I’ll be home soon. Don’t forget to think about me. I’ll be skating on TV for you, baby. ”

Hoseok swallows over the lump in his throat. He refuses to let his guilt grow large enough to overtake him. Today is the first day Jeongguk can head back to the rink and start testing his supposedly-recovered ankle, at least that can serve as the distraction he so craves. Because who needs fatherhood, and who needs companionship when there’s an ice rink, right? Isn’t that the whole point?

Isn’t that why Hoseok is leaving?

Jeongguk passes Jiyeon back to Jimin, even as she begins to cry. Jimin shuffles her back to Hoseok, who murmurs something about waiting in the car with Taehyung. 

He turns to the door before he can catch the look on Jeongguk’s face. Mostly because he’s afraid if he did, he wouldn’t be able to leave at all. 

“Passengers of flight 454, please be advised that we are expecting another 50 minute delay. Please standby for boarding, we will announce it swiftly when we are ready. Please speak to the front desk for any additional inquiries. Thank you.”

The intercom clicks as the trim flight attendant in a crisp blue uniform sets down the speaker and turns away, shaking her head to her companion and murmuring something Hoseok can’t hear. Maybe Jesus Christ, can they get on with it already? We’ve only been delayed two hours. 

Every second they push the departure back further and further, Hoseok grows antsier and antsier, his skin itching, his leg jangling where he sits, bitten down nails brought to his mouth for further demolition. 

He’s not a superstitious person, but he can’t help but feel like this is some sort of sign. The universe itself stepping in to demand that he doesn’t leave, for whatever the reasons may be. 

Hoseok hoists Jiyeon’s carrier up into his lap. Thankfully she fell asleep for her routine midday nap an hour ago, so she isn’t fussed by having to wait here. He passes the carrier to Taehyung and nudges his shoulder. “Will you take her a minute? I have to go to the bathroom.”

“No problem,” Taehyung murmurs with a nod and a smile. He and Jimin don’t seem particularly phased by the delay, just bored. Maybe in all the traveling they do at Jeongguk’s side, this is merely par for the course, nothing to bat an eye over. “I’ve got her.”

“Thanks.” Hoseok shoulders his back and takes off in the direction that he swears he saw a bathroom sign somewhere along the crowded concourse. He has to slip through the throngs of people and venture what feels like a half mile down through the terminal before he finally finds a marked door. Every stall, and every sink is vacated and silent, leaving Hoseok standing inside of the hollow feeling that’s reflected in his chest. Although he doesn’t actually need to use it, he lets himself into the first stall and sinks down on the closed toilet, exhaling a breath that he feels as if he’s been holding for hours. 

“Fuck,” he whispers to no one but himself. He feels vaguely ill more than anything, but he’s pretty sure he didn’t pack any snacks in his purse. In fact, he’s pretty sure he didn’t pack much of anything. He hasn’t left the hotel more than a couple of times since Jeongguk’s accident, his purse has been doing nothing more than sitting on the side table by his bed for the last couple of weeks. He barely even remembered to grab it before they left for the airport today. 

With a sigh, he shakes it open in his lap and plunges a lazy hand inside, feeling around the usual compact mirror, lip balm, wallet, hand sanitizer spray, a mini deodorant, and his favorite cinnamon-scented hand cream. No snacks. Not even a measly granola bar. 

He’s just about to withdraw when his pinky finger brushes across a plane of crinkly, unfamiliar plastic. He closes around it and pulls it out, puzzled by the sight of a miniature ziplock bag marked with the name of the hospital Jeongguk was taken to a handful of weeks ago. There’s a single label pasted on it reading “ PERSONAL BELONGINGS OF:” 

and then in a handwritten scrawl, “JEON JEONGGUK 09/01/1997”

The bag is slightly opaque, making it difficult to discern the contents, so Hoseok does the natural thing and tears it open, shaking everything inside into his open hand. Out falls a digital watch flashing a low battery symbol, two tiny silver hoop earrings, one star-shaped stud, and a locket cast in the form of a heart string onto a delicate chain. 

And that’s the only thing that really catches Hoseok’s eye.   

My necklace, hyung. My silver locket. I woke up and it was gone. 

Hoseok had promised to ask about it, but in his distress and his urgency to get home to Jiyeon that night, it slipped his mind entirely. 

He plucks it up by the chain and holds it up to eye level, allowing it to glint in the fluorescent ighting and further puzzle him. What about this specific piece was so important to Jeongguk that it’s all he could think of that night? Even doped up on pain meds, it was still on his mind. 

The one time Hoseok asked about it, Jeongguk played coy and brushed it off. Which probably means Hoseok has no right to turn the locket on his side, slip his fingernails into the crevice and pry it open, but the thing is that Jeongguk isn’t here now, and he needs anything, anything to keep him from making what feels like it could be, and will be, the worst mistake of his life. 

The two metallic sides of the heart part with a click, falling open in his hand without too much effort and revealing one hollow side, and one with the smallest of photographs tucked inside. That’s not the unusual part. Most lockets have a picture inside, that’s sort of the entire point they serve. 

The unusual part is that it’s a picture of them. As in, him and Jeongguk. And Hoseok could tell you the exact day, the exact moment it was taken. 

The first trip alone, as a couple, just the two of them. Not for a competition, or a camp, or a training circuit, just for them. It was hard to scrape up the time off between their identically busy schedules, but so, so worth it. They went to a beachside cottage for the weekend, and spent their last night sitting in the sand until the early hours of the morning discussing everything from their work, to the many possible meanings of the universe and all its creation. 

At the end, as the sun began to split the horizon and cast a dusky glow across the slow-brightening sky, and two of them were cuddled so close they may as well have been tucked into one another’s clothing. But somehow, Jeongguk had managed to pull him closer and whisper 

I want to skate with you forever. 

The picture had been taken not long after that. An uncomposed selca, Jeongguk’s long arm extended to capture them both in the frame, a morning breeze blowing Hoseok’s hair onto his face and identical smiles lighting them both up. 

He remembers it so vividly he can taste it. Salty sea air, Jeongguk’s sweet, buttery lip balm when he had turned to kiss Hoseok right after. That moment had been touching but pure, untouched joy. For years, it’s sat in the back of Hoseok’s mind, a soft memory he couldn’t ever bear to kiss goodbye. 

And for years, Jeongguk has been wearing it around his neck. Kissing it before every match. The whole time. 

The whole time?

A sound something like a sob builds in Hoseok’s throat, and he’s standing before he can think any better of it. He shoves the earrings and watch back into his purse, but it’s the necklace that he keeps clutched tightly in his fist, refusing to let it go. 

He practically runs through the terminal, weaving his way through the crowd and back to the gate where he left Jiyeon with the other two. Taehyung has her carrier in his lap, rocking it gently to keep her nestled in her lull of sleep amidst the voices cracking over the intercom and surrounding chatter. 

Hoseok skids to a stop, breathless when Jimin and Taehyung’s eyes snap to him, widening in alarm. 

“Everything okay, hyung?” Jimin asks, blinking a few concerned times at him. 

“Everything is fine,” Hoseok pants, and straightens his bag on his shoulder. “I just—I think I need to pull a Hallmark movie.”

Jimin frowns. “A what?”

Taehyung, in contrast, brightens like a flower coming back into bloom. “A Hallmark movie! Hyung, are you running back to Jeongguk?”

“Yes. Yeah, I have too—I just need to talk to him. To say a few things. Before we leave. Um, if we leave.”

“ If?” Jimin demands, looking even further bewildered, eyes jumping back and forth between Hoseok and Taehyung as if he’s waiting for some sort of clarification. 

“I don’t know!” Hoseok exclaims, because truly, he doesn’t. All he knows is that he’s said some things he didn’t mean, and he’s misunderstood some others, and most of all he doesn’t think he can take Jiyeon away from Jeongguk when she doesn’t belong to Hoseok. She’s not his to pull away when the situation becomes sour. He and Jeongguk agreed to do this together, so they will . 

“I just—I’ll take Jiyeon, give her. I need to call a cab.”

“Hyung, no one does the Hallmark movie while holding a baby, she’s gonna slow you down! Plus she’ll need a diaper change when she wakes up,” Taehyung says matter of factly, patting her carrier. “We’ll hang back with her and catch up with you at a slower pace. You run.”

Hoseok hesitates for only a second. Jimin must see it on his face, because he stands up and pats Hoseok on the shoulder. 

“I have no idea what you’re doing or why it’s urgent, but trust that we have your kid looked after while you do it, hyung,” he says, shaking his head with a mixture of exasperation and endearment. 

Hoseok exhales a deep breath. “You sure?”

“Positive.”

“Hyung!” Taehyung flaps his hands at Hoseok. “Jeongguk is waiting. Go! ”

Hoseok doesn’t need any more encouragement than that. He casts Jiyeon one last slightly apologetic look for when she’ll inevitably wake and find he’d disappear on her, but he hopes he’ll be making it up to her by ensuring that he and Jeongguk have reached a much more peaceful space by the time she’s back in their arms. 

He nods, and salutes Taehyung and Jimin both as if to say thanks for having my back. Then he turns, and runs. Faster than he ever has since his accident. 

And his hip doesn’t hurt. Not once.  

When Yoongi answers the hotel door after a good fifteen seconds of Hoseok’s frantic knocking, he stares a minute with blank shock evident on his face. 

“Sorry,” Hoseok gasps, breathless from having jogged up three flights to get here. And now his hip is hurting. It was faster than taking the elevator, at any rate. “Don’t have my keycard anymore. Is Jeongguk here?”

Yoongi blinks a few times. “Hoseok, you’re supposed to be on a plane.”

“Got delayed,” Hoseok says simply. 

“Where’s Jiyeon? Where are Jimin and Tae?”

“They’re with Jiji. They’re here somewhere. Or they will be soon, I don’t know. Depending on how quickly they were able to find a cab at the airport. Hyung, is Jeongguk here?”

“ Jagiya, who’s here?” Seokjin’s voice calls from down the hallway, and Hoseok can hear his footsteps approaching. 

If he’s here, Jeongguk must be too. But then—

“He’s at the rink,” Yoongi says after a dubious pause. 

Hoseok falters when Seokjin appears in the doorway, looking equally baffled to Yoongi. 

“He’s at the rink? Without Jin-hyung?” 

“Hoseok,” Seokjin’s mouth is open wide into a perfect circle. “ Why are you here?”

“Forget about that, I’ll explain later!” Hoseok tells them both, exasperated. “Aren’t you supposed to be skating with Jeongguk?”

“I was,” Seokjin frowns, and a troubled air draws around him like curtains. “For awhile. But then he was getting frustrated, and he told me he wanted to practice on his own. Hoseok, are you—“ Seokjin paused and shakes his head. “No. Nevermind.”

“What? Am I what?”

Seokjin hesitates a moment longer, then caves. “Are you going to talk to him? Did you change your mind about leaving? He’s really, and I mean really cut up about it.”

Hoseok swears he feels his heart shrivel to half its size inside his chest, guilt overtaking him like a wave and pulling him under. He’s an idiot, a fucking idiot, for thinking the answer ever lied in running away. 

“I’m gonna go talk to him,” Hoseok replies, his voice thick in his throat. “I don’t think we’ll be going back to Seoul today.”

Naturally, the rink is technically closed for a private practice when Hoseok arrives, but the woman at the desk allows him to go back without question. Perhaps, she knows Jeongguk is the one skating, and perhaps she recognizes Hoseok from the several pictures of the two of them that have been scattered across the internet. Whatever the reason, Hoseok is grateful for it as he slips past her with a quick bow and heads for the locker room that leads to the back entrance onto the ice. No sign of Jeongguk in here, nor in the attached showers. No water running, no telltale sounds of life. Hoseok forges onward, ducking through the hallway that opens up again in an arched mouth that deposits him in a coach booth at the foot of the stands. He has to blink for a moment, eyes adjusting to the disarming dark. The ice is so poorly lit it looks black from even the slightest distance, save for the patch brightening by a single spotlight casting a ghostly glow over it. At the very edge, hiding in the cover of the shadows and slumped against the thick plastic barrier separating the rink from the rubber mats, is Jeongguk. His legs are tucked up to his chest, arms folded atop his knees to create a rest for his head, which is pitched forward, slumped in a position that reeks of defeat. His shoulders are shaking, and it takes Hoseok a moment to realize that the strange, hiccuping sounds echoing around are soft cries coming from his corner. 

Again, he feels that twinge in his heart like a knife twisted, and he steps forward to push the hinged door in the barrier open to step on the ice in his rubber-soled converse. He can only hope the rink managers will forgive this faux pas of him and Zamboni the ice extra well in light of it. The surface is slick and slippery without the familiar grip of a steel blade to guide him, and Hoseok almost loses his balance more times than he wants to admit, but he gets to the edge of Jeongguk’s spotlight in more than one piece eventually. For a moment, he just stands, unsure, and breathing in the unhappy notes of Jeongguk’s scent permeating the air. What is it that he can say now, after everything, to ask for Jeongguk’s grace and offer his own in return?

After a long minute, Hoseok still isn’t sure, but he feels foolish just standing here uselessly, so he clears his throat.

“Jeongguk-ah.”

Jeongguk startles upward instantly, his shoulders jump in surprise at the sound of a voice splitting his obvious misery. “Hyung.” His eyes are bloodshot, nose and cheeks bright pink and damp with tear tracks that he makes a valiant effort to conceal with a quick brush of his jacket sleeve. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be on a plane.”

Hoseok shakes his head, both amused and exasperated at how many times he’s heard those exact words in the last half hour. “Got delayed,” he says simply.

“Then–wouldn’t you be at the airport? Who has Jiji?”

“Jimin,” Hoseok tells him quietly, and steps a little closer. “And Taehyung.”

 He waits for Jeongguk to draw away, and when he doesn’t, Hoseok moves closer still, and gestures to the empty space on the ice beside Jeongguk. “I wanted to talk to you. Can I sit?”

“Sure,” Jeongguk sniffs, now looking a little bewildered. He scrubs at his again, clearly trying to clear it of any lingering traces of crying before he turns to Hoseok and looks at him properly. “What is there to talk about it?”

Although he doesn’t say it outright, his tone carries an unspoken sentiment tacked onto it. What is there to talk about when we’ve already decided how this goes?

Hoseok draws in a deep breath. The locket still clutched inside the confines of his closed palm seems to carry a heartbeat of its own, thudding against his skin, but he doesn’t hand it over. Not yet. “You don’t really want us to leave, do you? Me and Jiyeon?”

In spite of Jeongguk’s best efforts to hide his tears, the second Hoseok asks the question, his lower lip begins trembling again like a leaf in the wind, and he turns his head quickly to fixate on the complex laces of his skates rather than continue to meet Hoseok’s eyes. “No,” he whispers, wobbly. “Of course not.”

“Then why did you say we should go?”

“Because I–” Jeongguk breaks off. His shoulders lurch, and he lets out a sound that sounds like a sob, and a whine at the same time. A stretched out, broken noise of someone who can’t contain themselves any longer. He lifts his hands to his hair, winding his fingers into it and tugging as he draws in a rattling breath. “Because I fucked up, hyung. Really badly. And I couldn’t live with it - you - anymore. I thought maybe time would fix things, and then I thought giving into leftover feelings and hooking up would, but it only made it worse. It’s all worse .”

Now, Hoseok lifts his hand and finds Jeongguk’s. For a moment, Jeongguk looks confused to see Hoseok’s fingers prying open his reluctant hand, then his eyes widen when silver glints in the dim light, and the smooth edge of his locket passes from Hoseok’s own palm to his. Hoseok lingers there, pressing the metal into Jeongguk’s skin and holding it there, a million unspoke things sitting between them on the precipice of being unveiled many years too late. 

“I found it,” Hoseok whispers. “In my bag. Someone must have stuck it there after the hospital and forgotten about it. The picture of us, Jeongguk. How long have you worn it?”

When Jeongguk looks up at him, there’s a sheen of tears glittering in his eyes, shame, and fear, and disappointment all mingling where it shows the most. “Since the day you had your accident.”

“Why?” Hoseok’s chest feels as if it could give out from the force of all the emotion pent-up inside it. “Why, when we split? When we stopped talking? When we hadn’t seen each other in years?”

“You don’t get it,” Jeongguk shakes his head and looks away. He lifts the locket to his chest, holding it there as if something precious has been returned to him at least, and despite his trembling words, his scent has softened slightly. “I was never good enough to make you understand.”

“So tell me. Tell me now.”

Jeongguk draws in a breath that lifts his shoulders and dips his head, returning his gaze to the familiarity of the ice rather than looking at Hoseok as he begins to speak. “After your accident, when I left to go skate, I swore to myself that I would win gold to bring back to you. I felt so much pressure to do everything you couldn’t, in your name. Like, I had to be good enough for me and you, you know? I was doing insane things, pulling eighteen hour days training sometimes, barely sleeping, barely eating. I was in the ER overnight three times in one month for dehydration and exhaustion.” Jeongguk’s hand is balled so tightly at his chest that he’s shaking from it. “But I refused to give up, I refused, hyung.” 

Hoseok swallows over the painful lump of remorse forming in his throat. Jeongguk barely spoke to him in those months, Hoseok was so sure it was his way of quietly breaking things off. After all, Hoseok wasn’t shiny, new, and talented anymore, was he? He already felt this deep-rooted sense of guilt, being a few years older than Jeongguk, like he was always slightly behind and ahead at the same time. Never quite as precocious and brilliant as Jeongguk, and too old to ever achieve the unique agility and appeal Jeongguk had - has - always possessed. In pain and alone, halfway crippled in his early 20s, Hoseok spiraled to the darkest of places. He needed Jeongguk by his side, and when he wasn’t, Hoseok had convinced himself of the worst.

How was he supposed to know Jeongguk was out in the world, suffering in his own right, in Hoseok’s name?

“You didn’t tell me,” he breathes, blinking the sudden tears out of his eyes. “That you went to the hospital, or that you were sick. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jeongguk lifts a shoulder in a heavy shrug. “You had enough on your mind,” he says, sparing a teary smile. “I didn’t want to add anything else. But I guess that doesn’t matter. I failed anyway, after everything. I got so caught up in winning for you, that everything else faded away. So yeah,” he swallows forcefully, making his Adam’s apple bob, “I did it. I won. And I got on a plane to bring those medals back to you and…it was too late.”

He doesn’t need to elaborate more than that. They both know what happened the night that Jeongguk returned home to Seoul after the competition circuit that year. The argument. The yelling. The accusations Hoseok hurled. The way that Jeongguk had curled in on himself instead of making his defenses. Hoseok had wanted so badly for him to fight it, to stand up and say obviously they belong together, and he’d do better, they’d be better. That they’d stay by each other’s sides forever, just like they had always talked about.

But he didn’t. Not even once. And that as the only confirmation Hoseok needed to know that Jeongguk had checked out of their relationship as soon as Hoseok hit the ice and shattered his hip on that fateful day.

Or so, he had thought.

Jeongguk tucks his head into his arms again, sniffling through renewed tears. “I just wanted to make you proud, hyung. I couldn’t do it. I failed, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t say that,” Hoseok whispers. He scoots closer and reaches for Jeongguk’s hands, wrapping them inside his own even though they’re smaller than Jeongguk’s and not able to cover his completely. He squeezes, knowing that heart shaped locket is at their center, the quiet catalyst that has drawn them together once again. “Don’t, Jeongguk. I am proud of you.”

“No you’re not,” Jeongguk turns his head from side to side. A lock of his wavy hair falls loose from the knotted ponytail he has it crammed into it brushes against Hoseok’s shoulder. “You’re angry at me for skating, again . I lost you again , and now Jiyeon too. I fucked up everything. Everything .”

“Jeongguk. I didn’t know . I didn’t know any of it. I thought that you were pulling away because you didn’t want to be with me anymore. In those months, I hated myself, I hated everything about me, so I tricked myself into thinking you did too. It was the only thing that made sense to me then. You should have just told me everything the night that we argued instead of letting me break up with you,” Hoseok whispers, and lifts his hand to chuff Jeongguk’s chin, a familiar gesture he used to repeat over and over years ago when the two of them were so soft and comfortable with one another that they could have shared a single body between their two souls. “You never were confrontational enough for your own good.”

Jeongguk chokes out a sound that’s half a laugh, half a sob. “It felt like such a stupid excuse at the time, I couldn’t even bring myself to say it. And by the time I could, my chance was long gone. What was I supposed to do, crawl back to you a year later and beg you to take me back?”

“I might have,” Hoseok shrugs. The tears burning hot in his eyes are creeping into the edge of his lashes, threatening to spill over. “I missed you. So much.”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk hiccups. “I missed you too. Never stopped,” he lifts up the locket, hooking the chain over his thumb and letting it hang, “clearly.”

Hoseok holds his breath for a second, wondering both fearfully and hopefully how they proceed from here.  Finally, his nerve gets the better of him. 

“It’s never too late. ”

He says it so quietly it could hardly be called even a whisper. Jeongguk glances at him, quizzical. 

“What?”

“It’s never too late,” Hoseok repeats, a little firmer. He feels—naive, perhaps. Almost stupidly wishful, but he can’t not say this now that he actually has a chance. After so many years, they have a chance. 

“I mean, is that insane to say? Am I unbelievable for thinking that—that if both of us want it—?”

If both of them want it. 

Jeongguk’s face lifts with an indiscernible emotion, then falters. “But hyung, Jiyeon—“

“Loves us both,” Hoseok interrupts firmly, “and will always be the priority. But Jeongguk, I think I’d regret it for the rest of my life if I didn’t–if we didn’t–we could be happy .”

Hoseok shuts his eyes a moment, allowing a flood of memories to bloom inside his mind, warming him in a way he never let it before, because he was afraid it would mean too much. This trip, these months. Them, Jiyeon, all of the little moments between all of the chaos, the jam packed schedules and filled out rink stands. The first steps she’s begun to take. The way she calls them, appa , appa! The way she adores watching Jeongguk skate. The way her scent is an even mix of the two of their. How Hoseok already sees half of them each in her, and the way those traits will only deepen and grow with time.

How they could be a family. A real one. A good one. 

“I won’t ask,” Hoseok says softly, reopening his eyes, “if you don’t want it.”

“Don’t want it?” Jeongguk repeats, looking somewhat aghast by the accusation. He lifts his locket once again, and this time he pushes it back into Hoseok’s hand, holding it there to remind him of exactly what it means. “Hyung. It’s all I want. I just–”

“What?” Hoseok nudges him. He’s close enough now to look at the pretty collection of angel kisses dotted across Jeongguk’s face that he had missed so much. “You just what?”

“I’m afraid I’m not good enough, still. For you, or for her.”

“Everyone’s afraid they’re not good enough, Jeongguk-ah,” Hoseok breathes, and when he says it, it feels something like a microcosmic epiphany to him too. Everyone does feel that way. Him included. He’s not special, and sometimes that’s blissfully reassuring. “It’s never about being good enough. It’s about trying .”

“I do try,” Jeongguk sniffs. His lower lip is wobbling again, so Hoseok leans in without reigning himself back, and brushes his own against it, soft as a butterfly.

“I know you do. More than anyone else I’ve ever known.”

The moment lingers. The two of them, not even a half inch apart. When Jeongguk draws in a breath, Hoseok feels it ghosting over his own lips. And then, finally , Jeongguk bridges the gap and he kisses him back. Really kisses him. No shame, no hesitation, nothing left unsaid, nor undone. 

Finally.

Hoseok feels at peace.

Finally.

Chapter Text

Paris welcomes them with open arms. It’s been years since Hoseok was last here, he had forgotten the charm of romance laced into the air itself, the way that even the narrowest of cobbled streets in a crooked alley has its quiet appeal. 

Really, he knows that it’s just a city like any other city. Large, polluted, crowded with tourists. But Hoseok thinks it’s the circumstances under which he’s here again that allow him to disregard every pothole, every rambling drunk, every overpriced bottle of water he has to ring up on his card and instead see only the gardens beginning to burst into bloom, the twinkling lights of the tower framed outside their hotel window, and the windows full of flaky, gorgeous pastries just waiting to be bitten into. 

And then there’s the ice. More specifically, Jeongguk on the ice. He’s been practicing again, his doctor gave him a clean bill of health to continue competing, mercifully with no surgery needed. She told him he was incredibly lucky. Jeongguk had nodded his agreement, but he wasn’t looking at the doctor, he was looking at Hoseok. 

The day they landed in Paris, Jeongguk’s training doubled down to make up for lost time. The final competition of his circuit, dubbed by skaters and fans alike as The Lover’s Cup, due to it being hosted annually on Valentine's Day. The irony of them being here together, now of all times isn’t lost on either of them. Although Hoseok thinks he's so content now that it doesn’t even feel like irony so much as it feels like simple poetic romance. 

And speaking of poetic romance–

“Hyung.”

Jeongguk’s hand tightens around Hoseok’s. Jiyeon is in his lip, bouncing fervently with the rattle of his knee, so Hoseok reaches over and pets him, a gentle nudge for him to still himself. For her sake, at least.

“What?”

“I–” Jeongguk opens his mouth to begin whatever it is he wants to say, then stops before he can get there. His large, round eyes are wide, and face a little hollow. Fearful .

“Don’t,” Hoseok says softly, because Jeongguk can forge on with his sentence. “Don’t be nervous, baby. You’ll be okay, you’ll be great.”

It’s true that Jeongguk’s practices have been phenomenal, but he hasn’t skated in an audience larger than their little ensemble since his accident, and Hoseok of all people would know it’s an entirely different game with thousands of eagle-eyed fans and the press watching your every move. The Jeon Jeongguk’s glorious return will make headlines no matter how tonight goes.

“What if I…fail?” Jeongguk whispers, a frail edge in his voice, like he’s worried if he says it too loudly he might speak it into being. 

Hoseok tips his head and smiles. “It’s impossible.”

“Hyung, I’m serious–”

“ So am I . And I mean it. It’s impossible to fail on this day. You might not win, but you sure as hell won’t fail. Look around you, Gguk. Seriously, look.”

“Look!” Jiyeon repeats, sticking a finger out to emphasize her point and gesturing around at the various features in the locker room where they’re waiting. Seokjin is leaning on Yoongi’s shoulder, murmuring softly to him. Jimin and Taehyung are stacked one on top of the other on the far side of the room, peering at Jimin’s phone and monitoring the press situation as it develops. Hoseok and Jeongguk were pictured entering the building with Jiji, so already rumors have begun to build once again, but this time Hoseok can’t find it in him to care.

They are what they are. And they will be what they will be, regardless of a bunch of photographs and dime-a-dozen journalists.

“Appa, look ,” Jiyeon repeats. She’s a little parrot these days, everything they say she has to say back to them as if it’s the most interesting thing humankind has to offer. She bounces all the way up to her feet in Jeongguk’s lap - an easy achievement with legs that short - and wiggles around to cup his face and give him a slobbery kiss. “Hi, appa. Look! ”

Jeongguk’s posture softens for the first time since they arrived here. He runs a hand through Jiyeon’s dark hair, messing up one of the little pigtails Hoseok did up for her. It’s alright, he’ll fix it later. 

“I’m looking, Jiji. Appa is looking.”

He is now. Hoseok can see it. Looking around and taking in everything they’ve found in these tumultuous past months, holding it dear for just a moment and marveling at how lucky he is - they are - to have it all.

“You won’t fail,” Hoseok repeats, and he reaches over and chuffs Jeongguk’s cheek fondly. “Never to me. Never to us.”

“Jeon Jeongguk?” The bespectacled face of a rushed looking intern with a clipboard and a headset pokes around the corner, and she gestures at Jeongguk to follow her. “It’s time for you to move into the competitor box, you’re on next.”

The seven of them gathered there move as one, Hoseok getting to his feet alongside Jeongguk while the others follow suit, and he reaches out to take Jiyeon. “You’ll be amazing,” he murmurs as Seokjin falls into step with them, leading the way back into the maw of the rink. 

As soon as they enter, Hoseok can feel the weight of hundreds of faces swiveling to look at them. Several flashes go off, momentarily breaking the no flash-photography rule in their urgency to grab pictures of Jeongguk - or maybe more specifically, Hoseok and Jiyeon in relation to Jeongguk - in high resolution. Jeongguk nods curtly to the crowd in greeting, his nervousness still palpable even though he’s clearly trying to hide it. He casts a quick glance at Hoseok, his eyes carrying quiet concern. He wants to make sure he’s okay, that the presence of the media here isn’t bothering him.

Hoseok wishes he had taken the time to tell him it doesn’t. Not anymore. 

It doesn’t take long for the ice crew to pluck off all the roses and teddy bears left behind from the last skater and repolish the ice for Jeongguk. Soon the intern is swinging open the barricade and waving Jeongguk over. As he stands, Seokjin claps him on the back. Hoseok stands too, quickly, and captures Jeongguk by the wrist before he can go far.

“Jeongguk, wait a second.”

“ Wait, wait, wait ,” Jiyeon babbles aimlessly in Hoseok’s arm, smacking her little hands lightly against his jacket. 

Jeongguk turns, halfway quizical. “Yeah?”

Hoseok moves his hand from Jeongguk’s sleeve to his face, cupping his cheek and running a thumb just beneath his eye, soft and fond as ever. Jeongguk’s expression widens, open with hesitation.

“Hyung,” he murmurs. “The press–”

“Will know that you’ve won today, no matter what,” Hoseok says quietly. He leans in and presses a kiss right onto Jeongguk’s mouth, and as he does so a muffled sound of collective surprise echoes from the audience. Hoseok can feel Jeongguk’s smile on his lips. 

“I love you,” Hoseok whispers as he pulls away. “I’m so proud of you.”

For a second, Jeongguk looks as if he may cry. Then he lifts his locket from beneath his collar and gives it a kiss, then nods at Hoseok and Jiyeon. “For you,” he says. “Always. I’ll win.”

Hoseok can’t contain his grin. “I know you will.”

Hoseok returns to his seat between Yoongi and Taehyung as Jeongguk steps onto the ice. He unzips his jacket and tucks Jiyeon inside of it for extra warmth, breath held, waiting for the first notes of Jeongguk’s music to unfurl from the speakers. 

“Appa is gonna skate for you,” he murmurs into Jiyeon’s ear where it pokes out from under her knit hat. “Are you excited?”

“Appa!” Jiyeon bounces, rocking forward to point him out. Her delight is something tangible, almost infectious. To watch her watch Jeongguk is joy in itself, a sort of joy about skating that Hoseok had lost touch with some time after his accident. Even in his dedication to working and writing for it, he had forgotten the core of why any of it matters at all: for the sheer love of the sport. For the crisp feeling of frozen air chilling his lungs. For that beautiful clack of blades hitting the rink, and the snow spray they kick up when sliding just right. 

The first notes of the music begin, and Hoseok curls himself to tuck his chin over Jiyeon’s head, pressing her warm little outline to his so he can breathe in her excitement as she feels it, her every ecstatic hop nudging him too. 

They have every reason to be happy, the two of them

For their heart is on the ice, and he’s soaring. 

The End