#220: Our Hands Aren't Tied (But We Move as Though They Are)

[sweetestjongin]

Title: Our hands aren't tied (but we move as though they are)
Pairing(s): Jongin/Sehun
Rating: R
Length: 31,000
Warning(s): Alcohol and drug references
Summary: Jongin drinks too much, too often.
Author's Note: To my wonderful beta Han – thank you for being so patient and friendly. And to Amy – thank you for figuratively holding my hand and literally buying me snacks to encourage me to finish this story. The title is from Josh Pyke's Lines on Palms, and the song playing in the coffee shop is Missy Higgins' Scar. Comment if you can spot other song references (or if you know why Sehun always sets up and packs away the chairs).




"Happy New Year!"

Champagne flutes were lifted into the air as men in Armani suits and women in diamonds heralded the coming of the new year. Jongin stood in a semicircle around the bar with the other sons and daughters of the company's directors, enthusiastically swallowing glass after glass of liquor. For this round someone had requested champagne, and Jongin made sure every flute was overflowing. The champagne was icy cold as it ran down the back of this throat, but the bubbles died somewhere in his bloodstream. Bubbles. Bubbles. Jongin was sure that he could fit more bubbles in his head.

Baekhyun stepped towards the bar and swiped an unopened bottle of champagne from behind the counter. He turned around, waving it in front of Jongin like a pendulum.

"Just one more?" Baekhyun's lips curled back to reveal a wicked smile. At the challenge Jongin stepped up next to him and grabbed another from the bar.

"One each."

"Well, now you’re just being a show-off," Baekhyun deadpanned in response. Jongin grinned and followed his friend to one of the empty tables. Red wine and soft drink stains littered the white tablecloth, and several of the tea lights had already burnt out. Jongin had no idea where his father was, but he could see his stepmother across the room, nodding in agreement with whatever it was the company president’s wife was saying. A teenage girl stood with them, playing with her necklace and staring sadly at the bottom of her empty glass.

"Here, Jongin." Baekhyun had twisted open the wire cover on both champagne bottles and was holding one out to him.

"On the count of three." Jongin winked at Baekhyun.

"One… THREE!" The champagne burst open and the two boys hurried to fill their glasses. The first glass was cold and delicious. The second glass was cold and somewhat sweeter. Jongin and Baekhyun were just about to toast their third glass when Minseok approached carrying a bowl of bright red strawberries. He caught Jongin at a moment when he was laughing and popped a strawberry in his mouth. Then he took away the champagne glass to place it on the table and handed him the bowl in replacement. Jongin attempted to protest, but Minseok spoke over the top of him.

"Not that it will make much difference now. But you, young one, haven't eaten all night." Jongin gave him a sour look and swallowed the strawberry before he'd chewed it properly.

"Just because you're already a Corporal doesn't mean you can..." Here Jongin ran out of breath and began to cough. Baekhyun came to kneel beside him and whacked him on the back in what was probably supposed to be a helpful manner, but to Jongin just felt painful.

"Yes, I'm a Corporal, which means I know how to drink, and have fun, and still be sober enough to work the next day."

Jongin retorted, "I don't have to work."

"Your dad told me you are working for a dance company now. You were in China for three weeks of performances in November."

"You, dear hyung, are behind the times. I'm injured." Jongin sniffed loudly.

Exasperated, Minseok looked from Jongin to Baekhyun, who didn't seem ready to get up from where he was still kneeling on the floor. The back-whacking had stopped, and now Baekhyun was arranging strawberries around the rim of his champagne glass.

"Don't you think," Jongin began, suddenly very lucid. "Don't you think it's kind of pathetic? How we are celebrating the Earth finishing another lap around the sun? We celebrate something we don't even have any control over. It's not like we achieved going around the sun."

Minseok rolled his eyes. "Just what this night needs, the insights of an inebriated twenty-one-year-old." He pulled a chair over to sit down properly next to Jongin.

Jongin suddenly felt like lashing out at Minseok, champagne bottle in one hand and glass in the other, but he chose to do something a little less violent and stuck out his tongue at his hyung instead. With eyes closed, Jongin pulled a boneless Baekhyun off the plush carpet and onto his lap, coaxing him into taking turns, sharing his drink with every other mouthful. At the last sip, Baekhyun started to protest.

"Okay, Jongin, you win. You win. Actually, I'm kind of..." With that, and while curling into Jongin's body, Baekhyun fell sound asleep. Jongin smiled, noticing the way Baekhyun's eyeliner had smudged during the course of the night. He also noticed that the glass with the strawberries around it was still full. Jongin carefully picked the champagne flute from the floor, ate one of the strawberries from the rim, and downed the champagne. That glass worked.

"Poor Baekhyunnie. All partied out. Good night, sleep tight. Have sweet, sweet dreams." Jongin talked quietly to his friend while Minseok looked on, seeming equal parts nervous and concerned.

"Jongin-ah. How about we..." Minseok didn't get to finish his sentence. Jongin rose, handed the sleeping young man over to his hyung, and ran back to the bar with his bottle of champagne. The night was still young, wasn't it?



Jongin rubbed his eyes and wiped the drool from his mouth with the back of his hand. He woke slowly, stretching his arms above his head, and his legs... It seemed that his feet were hanging off the end of the bed. With one arm he felt around on the floor for his dress trousers and slid his phone out of the pocket. He checked the time - 17:05. That was very bad news. He recognised the room, thank goodness, as Minseok's spare bedroom. Although there was only the faintest throbbing at his temples, Jongin was ravenously thirsty. He found Minseok's number in his contacts and pressed the call button. The phone fell back to the floor. He could hear the ringtone as the sound carried through the walls, and in walked Minseok with a glass of water and a phone that was loudly chanting "DAE HAN MIN GUK MAN SE!"

Jongin cringed, curling up into a tangled mess with the quilt. "Please, hyung. The volume is..."

"Welcome back," Minseok said as he sat at the end of the bed. Jongin sat up quickly and gulped down the glass of water offered. He wheezed out a "thank you" as Minseok raised one eyebrow. Then he remembered the situation he was in.

"I have to call my parents. Make up something quickly." Jongin ran his hand through his hair, forwards and backwards, trying to kick-start his brain.

"You don't have to. I've already sent your stepmother a text from your phone. We are catching up and playing FIFA 07."

Jongin reached forward and hugged his hyung tightly. The sudden movement made his head spin a little, but he spoke with measured words.

"Thanks, hyung. I appreciate it." He pulled back, holding himself steady by holding Minseok by the shoulders. "Did you have a good time last night? Back in the real world?"

"Well, it was certainly a trip down memory lane. Baekhyun falling asleep. You taking your shirt off..." At this, Jongin had the presence of mind to blush.

"When do you have to report back?"

"Tomorrow. I have to be up north by 8 a.m. But Jongin," Minseok hesitated, and to Jongin, it seemed like his hyung was going to start an elaborate retelling of all Jongin's drunken misdeeds the previous night. He could sense a lesson about to be taught. He put his hands under the quilt and brought his knees to his chin - a defensive pose - and as Jongin finished assembling his face in his practised contrite expression, Minseok said something far simpler:

"Jongin, are you okay? Apart from the dance injury, are you okay?"

Jongin might have answered Minseok truthfully. He might have, if he hadn't been so very dehydrated, and if the pain in his temples had been decreasing instead of increasing. He might have answered, if he had felt like there was time to explain properly, and if Minseok had time to listen, and if anything he said had even the remotest possibility of being changed for the better. On another version of this morning, Jongin might have taken a breath and told Minseok of the emptiness in his heart. But the wall had already been put in place.

"Um, yeah I'm okay." Jongin made a point of looking at his arms and torso for cuts or bruises. "No battle scars, hyung," he replied, smiling.

"Jongin, just..." Minseok tried again. "Is your stepmother still hassling you?"

Jongin mumbled in a non-committal way, picking at the sleep that had crusted and gathered in the corner of his eye.

"Does Jina come by often? I know she's married now, but..."

"Sometimes. Sometimes she visits." Jongin tried to concentrate on the civil conversation at hand and not the rush of angry, aggressive feelings that had risen from the primal parts of his brain. He didn't want to be rude to his hyung, but he also wished more than anything that Minseok would just instinctively know right now to simply offer another glass of water and let him be.

"Jongin-ah."

"Yes, hyung?"

"You know you can call me. Any time." Minseok attempted a smile. "It's boring as up there on base."

*

By mid January, Jongin's injured back was healing. It had taken almost a month, but after hours of sports massages, swimming sessions and a little acupuncture, Jongin found he could move freely again. The hours he was allowed to practice for at the studio increased, and when he watched himself dance in the mirror, his body seemed to follow what his brain had asked.

The snowfall was faint, but visible; it was the kind of snow that melted almost as soon as it touched your skin. Jongin climbed the last few stairs that led from the studio up to ground level and took in the sight of early morning Seoul in winter. Employees arriving at their respective workplaces walked past the glass doors in homogenising black padded jackets, and Jongin sent out a silent wish that the effort of those commuters might be recognised and appreciated by their superiors... for today at least. Then Jongin's stomach growled, asking for attention. He pulled the hood of his jacket over his head and, hands in his pockets, ran with shoulders swaying down to the convenience store at the end of the street.

"Welcome." The person behind the counter spoke without looking up from their phone. Jongin mouthed a "good morning" as he walked to the refrigerated section and took a two-pack of bananas and a glass bottle of black soy bean milk from the shelves. His eyes raked over the green bottles of soju and he vaguely wondered if he should buy some to have on hand just in case. In case what? His rational mind answered. You came here to buy breakfast. So buy breakfast and then you can go sit and eat in the warm studio. Something in Jongin still wanted to buy the soju. But he didn't.

"Four thousand eight hundred won."

Jongin swiped his bank card.

"Thank you."

When he arrived back in the studio, the clock on the wall showed 8:04. One other dancer had arrived during his absence, and although Jongin couldn't tell exactly who that dancer was (they were lying face down on the floorboards) only one name sprang to mind.

"Yixing?" A man's face turned towards him.

"Hello, Jongin. Feeling alright today?"

"Fine thanks, Yixing, and yourself?"

"I'm fine."

Jongin's curiosity about exactly what the young Chinese man was doing sat on the tip of his tongue. Although they'd gone out drinking together on multiple occasions, and although Yixing had been with the dance company for two months now, Jongin didn't feel they were on quite familial terms yet in the workplace. Jongin sat with his back to the mirror as he ate his breakfast, watching Yixing as he curled his limbs under his body, rolled onto his back, stretched out again, and began a series of isotonic warm-up exercises that could only be kindly described as 'modern'. And, of course, Jongin wanted to be right there next to him, learning those movements, in that sequence.

Jongin's phone beeped - the tone that indicated he'd received a new email. As he read it, he could feel his pulse at the ends of his fingertips.

"Yixing, I'm medically cleared! The physiotherapist says I can practice fully as of today."

Yixing craned his neck to look over at Jongin, his body contorted into an unusual shape. "That's great news, Jongin."

Jongin bounded over to throw the remains of his breakfast in the vicinity of his duffel bag and lay face down next to Yixing.

"Okay, whatever it is this is, please teach me."



Jongin practised well that morning, moving without hindrance and astutely taking directions from the choreographer. The company had scheduled for the summer both full and abridged versions of The Firebird. The full length performances would be held in the theatre space, upstairs from the main studio, and the abridged version would tour several kindergartens and elementary schools. When the director, Mr Cho, arrived at the studio during lunch, Jongin abandoned his food for the second time that day and personally showed him the email from the physiotherapist. Mr Cho pushed his frameless glasses up his nose and muttered something about "equal numbers for the Infernal Dance minions." Jongin smiled and promised to the director (and to himself) that he would practice conscientiously in preparation for casting.

Jongin went back to sit with Taemin again, and his friend gave him a high five.

"A bit of healthy competition? No worries," he said, grinning widely. "Also, have you heard that Mr Cho is thinking of splitting the firebird role into two - for male and female? I mean, it's just a rumour, but still... May the best man win, hey?"

Jongin picked up his water bottle, and Taemin met him half-way in salute. After draining it, Jongin crushed the plastic easily and threw it towards the recycling bins. The bottle flew in a perfect arc and landed exactly where it was supposed to.

"Want to go out after practice and celebrate my recovery?"

Taemin drew in a breath in, the air making a hissing sound as it passed through his teeth. "Your version of celebration is more hardcore than what I'm used to on an average Tuesday night."

"Come on, I'm sure Yixing will be up for it too. Just some samgyeopsal. I don't think I've eaten a vegetable since New Years. Help me out, please?"

Taemin picked at the bread that was stuck between his front teeth. "Fine, but you're paying."



After work, Jongin, Yixing and Taemin donned thick jackets and black beanies and stepped carefully out onto the curb. They headed towards the bright lights of a nearby restaurant district, snow crunching underfoot. Taemin was busy texting an invitation to his other friends who worked in the area to join them, and Yixing barely managed to save him from tripping over several filled garbage bags on the side of the road. Jongin breathed in the cold night air, remembering the winters he spent with family in the countryside. Thoughts of chilled makgeolli and steaming hot kimchi pancakes made Jongin start to skip ahead.

"Come on! I will positively die without makgeolli!"

"But Taemin is still inviting..." Here, Yixing was cut off by Jongin's hurried words.

"I'm cold, so I'll run ahead and order for us. End of the street and turn right. The restaurant with the wooden door and a cardboard cut-out of the Gumiho actress out front. Okay?"

Jongin ran down the street - slipping, recovering, slipping, recovering - bag swinging from side to side. Arriving at the restaurant, he pushed the door open and announced everything in one breath.

"Hello. Table for five - or so. Just samgyeopsal. And one bottle of the makgeolli on the second shelf in that fridge. And soju, er, two bottles please." Jongin said all this while removing his hat, and scarf, and jacket, smiling at the middle-aged lady with ordering paper in hand. She pointed him to a table on the right, where he unceremoniously dumped all his layers next to him onto the vinyl booth seat.

When Taemin and Yixing arrived, Jongin was already half-way through the makgeolli (not that you could tell; the makgeolli bottle was opaque) and turning over thinly sliced cloves of garlic on the grill. The three settled in to the warm atmosphere, picking up on the usual conversation topics of dance, gaming and sport. Jongin finished the makgeolli bottle and ordered another, and by the time the meat was ready, Taemin's friends had arrived. The pork and steamed egg warmed Jongin's body, and the good company relaxed his mind. Jongin felt so comfortable around his friends, and now friends-of-friends that had joined, that he didn't hesitate in requesting another few bottles of soju and refills of the side dishes.

Later in the night, Jongin was ordering refills for just himself and one of Taemin's friends who remained (the one sporting blue hair). Jongin was insisting that Hot Potato was the greatest band in Korean music history and the other man - Wonshik? - was saying something that Jongin couldn't quite understand. Jongin gestured to him to move closer, and he felt the dip in the vinyl seat as WonHyuk sat down next to him. Jongin carefully poured another round for himself and his new friend, appreciating the familiar, homely clink of glass-against-glass. As WonGyu began to talk again, Jongin imagined that his words were born deep in his chest, aged like fine wine in the cool of his lungs, before being pushed out between full lips and straight teeth. Jongin thought he could listen to this man's voice forever, and his words and opinions became perfectly intelligible and utterly captivating to him from then on.

*

An unfamiliar rap verse stirred Jongin from his slumber. He tried to turn away from the direction of the sound, burrowing further under the sheets until his forearms and knees were pressed up against warm skin.

Realising he wasn't alone, Jongin instinctively held his breath. Blood pounded in his ears and reverberated against the pillow. Then, the person in front of him leaned over to shut off the alarm. A masculine groan and the smell of alcohol hung in the air above Jongin's head.

"Sorry 'f it woke you." The voice was a cross between a man and a garbage truck.

Jongin went to speak, but his mouth was dry and his tongue refused to follow instructions from his brain. Then a more familiar song started playing - Jongin's own alarm. He crawled off the mattress and across the floor to his phone to turn it off. Apparently he'd missed a call from Taemin and there were a few unread Kakao messages, but none from his father or stepmother. It was a weeknight, Jongin reminded himself. On weeknights if he didn't come home, they assumed he was sleeping at the studio. It was on weekends that Jongin had to account for his whereabouts at night.

Jongin felt the quilt, warm and soft, fall over his naked form. He poked his head out to see the man with blue hair (and beautiful, straight collarbones) crouch next to him and smile.

"I'm going to have a shower. You're welcome to join."

Jongin just stared back, lips parted and his phone lying forgotten on the floor.

"Or you can make some coffee."

Jongin's brain seemed to kick-start at the mention of coffee. He leaned forward to peck the other man on the cheek, and then on the lips.

"Thanks. Though, from memory, we took quite a few showers last night." He stood up straight, letting the quilt fall from his shoulders and onto a stack of discarded notebooks. "I really should go. Another day at the office." Jongin gathered his clothes and began to dress, his eyes falling on discarded condom wrappers and an almost-empty bottle of lubricant. Pieces of memory began to fit together in his mind - kisses on his neck, sweat-slicked skin under his fingernails, alternating sounds of grunting and squelching. Memories of pleasure.

Jongin followed the other man into the bathroom, where he stood waiting for the water to heat up, and held his phone out. "Here," he said. "If you want to go on a proper date sometime." He saw a flicker of hesitation in the other man's eyes. A look of distrust. But as the steam rose from the shower, the other man took the phone, entered his details, and handed it back to Jongin. He glanced down at the new Kakao contact.

"Ravi?"

“Well.” He ran one hand through his blue hair. "It sounds a bit more 21st century than Wonshik, no?"

Jongin kissed him again, and though he was unsure whether Wonshik was being kind in mentioning his real name again, or whether it was unintentional, the tension Jongin didn't realise he had been holding in his chest untangled and fell away.

"I'll call you."

Jongin put on the last of his clothes, not noticing as Wonshik's cool facade washed away with soap and water in the next room.



It was well below zero that morning. The clouds that accompanied yesterday's snow had dispersed and now a clear blue sky stretched over Seoul. Jongin thought vaguely that the clouds might have moved over to the East Sea, and he suddenly had a craving for soy-marinated crab and soju. An older man approached the bus stop where Jongin was sitting, holding a radio up to his ear with one hand and using a walking stick with the other. Jongin stood up and moved to the side.

"Please, sit down," he said, gesturing with both hands. The elderly man smiled gratefully at him. Just then, Jongin's phone buzzed in his pocket. The caller ID showed it was Taemin.

"Hey, Taemin."

"Yeah. Hey. Where are you?"

"Er... waiting for the bus to go to work."

"Where?"

Jongin knew what Taemin meant. Did you stay at Wonshik's? Did you sleep with Wonshik? It was early in the morning, he hadn't eaten breakfast yet, and Jongin decided he really didn't feel like swallowing a big dose of judgement. Deflect. Distract.

"Did you get home okay last night, Tae? My body feels so thankful for being fed all those sesame and lettuce leaves."

Taemin was silent, so Jongin started talking again.

"Oh, hey, here's my bus. See you at the studio soon, okay? Bye." Jongin slipped the phone into his pocket along with his guilt. When the bus did arrive a few minutes later, Jongin was so wrapped up in his own, suddenly very negative thoughts that he almost walked right into the back of the elderly man. The other passengers glared at him, and Jongin added embarrassment to the guilt in his head.



Taemin didn't talk to Jongin at all during warm-up or practice, and he left the studio as soon as lunch break was announced. Yixing was still being friendly enough to him, so the two walked to the shop on the corner for kimbap.

"Did I... did I do something weird last night?" Jongin candidly asked. "Or did I say something really offensive?"

Yixing shook his head. "No, nothing too weird. Just stripping down to your singlet - like usual." He smiled. "But I was getting ready to leave at about one-thirty and tried to convince Taemin to come with me. You were making goo-goo eyes at Wonshik. It was pretty obvious you liked each other."

Jongin mumbled something about nice collarbones as he pulled open the door to the kimbap shop and let Yixing enter first.

"But I went to the bathroom, and when I came back to say goodbye properly, Taemin had already left."

Jongin sat down at one of the tables and absentmindedly put vertical lines next to three kinds of kimbap. Yixing twisted his neck to read the ordering pad upside down.

"I can't eat cheese, you'll have to eat that one by yourself."

"Oh, right. Sorry. I'll change it anyway." Jongin scribbled out one of the orders and marked a serve of ddeokbokki instead.

While they waited for the food, the conversation turned to more professional matters - the auditions for principal dancers for The Firebird would be held in just two weeks. Jongin knew that Yixing's ballet skills weren't quite as refined as some of the other cast members, so he suggested that they meet for some extra dance practice together later in the week. The plates of brightly coloured kimbap were put on the table in front of them and as they ate, Jongin checked the studio availability on his phone.

"Hey Yixing, have you been to the old studio in Hapjeong? The company's main theatre spaces are all reserved, even after hours. But they've listed here that the old studio, Maru, has some times available."

"I haven't been there."

"We can practice there on Thursday - so, tomorrow night - and again on Saturday afternoon."

Yixing nodded, consenting, and kept eating. Jongin checked the times and location again, and then filled in the form to reserve the space. Just as he pressed the confirmation button, Jongin noticed Taemin walking past the shop. He thought about leaving Yixing to finish the food, and then thought better of it. He needed to start eating proper meals. Focus on the audition, Jongin said to himself. Eat well, practice hard. Focus.

The advice was simple enough. Following it was an entirely different matter.



After practice that afternoon, Jongin gathered all the clothes that had accumulated from the last few days in his locker to take home. He would sleep at home tonight and he would come back tomorrow refreshed and ready to impress the director.

As he was slinging his bag over his shoulder, Taemin emerged from the showers. Jongin smiled, hoping that Taemin's bad mood had lifted, but he just received a scowl in reply.

"Taemin... Look, whatever I did last night, I'm sorry. I know I get a bit loose sometimes and..." Taemin cut him off.

"You fucked Wonshik, didn't you?" Jongin could almost feel the venom in his words. Taemin stepped closer. "You batted your eyelashes, drew him in with your meagre knowledge of indie music, and went home and fucked him, didn't you?"

Under Taemin's furious stare Jongin felt as if he'd been thrown forcefully into an ice bath. He laid his palms out in front of him in surrender, but he had no more words. He wasn't going to apologise for having sex with another consenting adult. If he overstepped some line that really wasn't obvious between Taemin and Wonshik then... Was Jongin and Taemin's friendship ruined? Was it a betrayal that warranted this much anger?

Taemin looked at him, but Jongin, deferentially, stayed quiet.

"I guess, I mean it isn't any of your business, but Wonshik has been through a really tough time recently with everything, particularly with his girlfriend." Taemin did not blink, and Jongin clearly understood the gravity of that word.

"Also, he will be enlisting in the army next week. That was one of the reasons why I wanted to invite him. It would be his last time out for a while."

Taemin's anger had dissipated somewhat, and Jongin politely looked at his feet while Taemin dried himself with the towel from around his waist.

"Look, while I'm being horrible to you... yes, I know I'm taking out a lot of my anger about other shit on you now, so just, while I'm being horrible, let me say this. Jongin, you were really drunk that night. What if Wonshik wasn't a nice guy? What if the guy you decided to go home with was violent or forceful? Like, your life choices are yours to make and live with, but..." Taemin trailed off. What was left unsaid was how much Taemin actually worried about Jongin and how powerless he felt as a colleague and friend to do anything that might help him.

"I get it, Taemin. I do. Thanks for being honest. I think, no, I will take your words to heart." Jongin took a deep breath in and out, but the bone-crushing weight of loneliness did not subside one iota. Taemin had finished dressing in his tracksuit. He pulled his beanie out of the locker, and put on his winter jacket ready to leave.

"See you tomorrow, Jongin. Yeah? New day?"

Jongin nodded. "Yeah," he said, quietly.



At 2a.m. Jongin lay on his soft bed in his family's quiet apartment, wide awake. Three empty wine bottles lay sideways on the floor, and in his head an unbroken loop of soft-spoken words played.

It sounds more 21st century, no?

*

When Jongin's alarm went off, he ignored it. When his dogs, Monggu and Janggu, whined loudly outside the door to his bedroom, he pulled his pillow over his head and ears. It was only when the daylight hours had come to an end that Jongin found the strength to get out of bed in search of water. His dogs ran in circles around his feet, sitting down obediently next to him as he opened the refrigerator and sat down in front of it. The irony of him sweating in bed when it was the middle of winter was lost on him. His stepmother didn't seem to be home, which was a relief. He'd have to replace the wine bottles before she noticed them missing. Go buy wine, shower, sleep. Pull yourself the fuck together. The voice was faint, but it got louder as Jongin downed glass after glass of water. The dogs began to shiver from the cold, and they moved to sit behind him. As Jongin went to fetch his wallet and keys, his phone screen lit up with an incoming call.

"Yixing, hi." Jongin's voice broke. "Sorry I wasn't at practice today, I got some weird food poisoning." It was a lie, but, in Jongin's experience, usually an effective one.

"That sounds awful. I hope you are okay..." Yixing hesitated, and Jongin could just imagine him searching for just the right Korean phrase in his head. "I hope you will be a hundred percent better soon. I guess food poisoning means you can't do the extra ballet practice tonight..."

Jongin's face drained of all colour.

"Oh Yixing, I'm so sorry! I should have at least called you today. Tonight is just... not possible. But Saturday I will definitely be there. 2 p.m. we booked for, right?"

"Yes, that's right. But don't feel obligated, Jongin. I am just grateful for any help."

Jongin thought there could not be a kinder soul than Zhang Yixing.

"I will be there. Even if I'm not at work tomorrow, I'll see you Saturday. Bye."

I'm not going to work tomorrow.

Twenty minutes later Jongin had bought and carefully put away the replacement wine, and now, back in his dark, humid bedroom, he loaded an old Zelda game on his Playstation. Jongin crushed the cans of lemonade as he battled through the enemies, and as the hours passed, he lined up soju bottles, one by one, empty on the floor.



"Jongin? Hey, you're awake."

Jongin couldn't focus on the voice. He tried to bring his hand up to rub his dry lips, but he felt the slightest resistance.

"Jongin, try not to move. There is an IV drip in your hand. You were very dehydrated this morning."

Jina. It was his older sister's voice. She sat on a chair next to his bed. But then Jongin realised it wasn't his bed, but a hospital bed. Jongin turned to look at her.

"Hey, sis. Long time no see." He forced a smile. "Come to visit us in the big city?"

"Daegu isn't exactly a country town," she said, raising one eyebrow at his weak joke.

"Is there some water, somewhere?" Jongin turned his head further to the right, his eyes falling on a baby blue humidifier and a glass of water on the bedside table. Jina helped him steady his hand as he drank.

"Thanks."

"Sure. It's not often my baby brother is this much like a baby."

"Ha. Ha," Jongin said in a flat tone. Jina smiled and took the empty glass from him.

"You should start thinking about your story for when, or if dad questions the family insurance statement."

"Food poisoning," Jongin said immediately. He smiled, but Jina didn't.

"Jongin." She reached over to take her younger brother's hand in hers - the hand without the bulky IV needle sticking out of it. "Jongin, your blood alcohol level was 0.12. They measured it in the ambulance this morning." She squeezed his hand tighter, and Jongin imagined, hoping against hope, that she was squeezing the stupidity out of him. She went on.

"I came to Seoul today to surprise you - to bring you some more side dishes and maybe take you out to lunch. Instead," Jina's voice wavered, "the dogs were pining at your bedroom door, so I went in, and oh Jongin, you were slumped over your desk, hardly breathing and..." Her voice was barely a whisper.

"I'm sorry," Jongin apologised. "I'm sorry for making you worry. I'm sorry you had to see me like this. It's just been a rough week, and I..." Jina interrupted him.

"Jongin. Please, never ever do that again. Please, never ever drink that much again." Her eyes bore into his, and Jongin had never felt more ashamed. "When I found you like that, I swear my heart stopped for a moment. I was so scared. I didn't know what had happened to you." Jina let go of his hand and moved to straighten the blanket around his torso. "And anyway, these days I'm allowed to be a bit more selfish with my health and stress levels. I'm pregnant."

The fast change of topic caught Jongin by surprise, and the words of congratulations he wanted to say came out only as two high-pitched squeaks.

"Gee, thanks," Jina said sarcastically, as Jongin tried to clear his throat.

"Jina, wow. Congratulations! That's great news. Have you told dad yet? What about your in-laws?"

"Yes, well, we told their side of the family yesterday. I'm three months along so it's all becoming very real. There's a lot to organise, but Joonmyun still works late most days." Jina leaned over to pat her brother on his thigh. "Anyway, from now on, I'm the one with the right to be in hospital at a moment's notice. Not you. Okay?"

"Understood." Jongin couldn't meet her eyes, but her words didn't fall on deaf ears either.

"The doctors said you should be out of here by six. I'll just go and check that's still the plan."

Jongin sat upright in bed, now alone in the sterile, white-walled room. He resisted the urge to scratch at the tape holding the needle in place on the back of his hand, and instead grabbed the remote from beside his bed and began mindlessly flicking through the channels. Home shopping, miracle cream, historical drama, modern drama, Hollywood movie, Hollywood movie, basketball. Nothing to interest him. He flicked through the channels again, and then pushed the power button to turn the television off.

The second hand on the Ikea clock on the wall loudly documented the time passing. Maybe he could call someone. Maybe he could call Minseok.

Jongin rummaged for his phone in the drawer on his bedside table, but he found only two paper items inside - a sick bag, and a playing card. He turned it over, revealing the ace of spades.

The black spades on the card brought to mind the matte leather of black dance shoes. Deep in Jongin's subconscious, something clicked. Black shoes. Ballet. Happiness. Freedom.



On Saturday afternoon Jongin was at the old studio in Hapjeong, Yixing with him, following each of the five arabesque positions. First position at the barre - heels together, toes out, shoulders back. Second position next to the barre - heels apart, toes out, arms out to the side. Jongin leaned forward to bring Yixing's elbows a little lower.

"You're the first dancer I've seen with such hyperflexibility," Jongin said, watching as the trapezius muscles in Yixing's back shifted with the small adjustment. "It's hard enough to keep your arms out as long as some choreographies require, so don't strain yourself in making the basics look dramatic."

"Okay, Jongin."

Third position. Fourth position. Fifth position.

"Very nice, Yixing. You've got this."

They continued to practice, sometimes side-by-side facing the mirror, sometimes dance-running the length of the room. The part of Prince Ivan (one of the audition sequences) wasn't one of the most spectacular male roles in classical ballet, but he did have to do a lot of running around the stage.

As Yixing was running to stage left while chasing an imaginary firebird, he nearly ran right into the young man that had just entered the room. Yixing managed to sidestep just in time, putting his arms out to brace himself against the impact of hitting the wall.

"Oh, I'm sorry I didn't see you. The door is... Anyway, are you okay?" the stranger enquired of Yixing.

"Yes. I'm okay. I'm quite bouncy." Yixing smiled widely like he hadn't almost suffered a head injury, and the young man blinked a few times in disbelief.

"Yixing, I just noticed that our time is almost up," Jongin said, running over and pointing at the clock on the wall. He dipped his head in greeting to the newcomer. "Hello, are you from the Aye Aye group? You have a booking for six o'clock?"

"Yes..." He responded in a careful manner. Jongin thought he was perhaps a little shy.

"I'm Jongin, and this is Yixing. We're dancers with the ballet company that rents out this space."

The young man still looked uncomfortable. Jongin was just about to signal to Yixing that they should leave, when in his peripheral vision he saw a hand extend towards him.

"I'm Sehun. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too."

They shook hands, then Sehun stepped back and started walking across the room to drop his bag in the opposite corner. Jongin and Yixing took it as their cue to pack up. As they put on layers of clothing, Sehun was unpacking chairs and lining them up in rows facing the back of the room. While Jongin was waiting for Yixing to find his transport card (he was systematically checking every pocket in his clothes and his bag) he decided to try one last attempt at friendliness.

"Do you want any help?"

"No, thank you. I've almost finished."

"Are you doing some kind of performance? These chairs are for audience members, right?"

"It's... I guess the opposite of a performance." Sehun smiled, and it was the first time Jongin thought he'd seen anyone actually smile enigmatically.

"Sorry that took a while. Ready to go, Jongin?" Yixing stood a few feet away, holding up his black and yellow transport card triumphantly.

"I should..." Jongin used his thumb to indicate he should follow.

"Yeah. My group will be here soon."

"Choir group?"

Sehun put his hands in his pockets and said nothing.

*

Saturday melted into Sunday, and that afternoon Jongin accompanied his sister to the train station. He promised to not use any easy excuse to drink (and particularly that he wouldn't drink on a weekday) and that he would send photos when he had finished the food she'd brought for him. Jina hugged him goodbye, and though Jongin had never been one for physical affection, he felt a kind of familial love that he didn't realise he'd been missing.

The next week passed quickly. Dance sessions, administration work, regular hours at the gym and pool. Jongin kept his word and didn't suggest any drinking outings, and his colleagues were so focused on practising for the auditions - to be held the following Monday - that they didn't suggest any outings either. On Friday night Jongin was stretching, performing his usual cool-down routine, when Taemin came in to the studio.

"Hello, friend,” he said to Jongin's reflection.

"Hello... and good bye," Jongin replied, looking Taemin up and down. "Do you have a date or something? What's with the shiny lace ups?"

"Yeah, my high school friend arranged for me to meet his sister. Apparently she was hanging over his shoulder and saw my Kakao photo." Taemin shrugged.

"Your Kakao photo is just you eating snow."

"So?"

Jongin smiled and shook his head in bemusement as he continued his cool-down routine.

"Anyway," Taemin continued. "Yixing invited me to your practice at Maru on Saturday. It is cool that I join, right?"

Jongin waved his free hand in the air (the one that wasn't holding his ankle in a quad stretch) dismissing Taemin's apparent concern. Their confrontation last week had not soured their friendship in any significant way, but Jongin was careful not to mention or ask about Wonshik. Wonshik was Taemin's friend. Wonshik had a girlfriend, and Wonshik was, by now, probably at an army base out in Wonju or Gangneung, or somewhere equally remote. Jongin tried not to think about him as much as possible.

Taemin saluted him as a goodbye and walked out of the studio.

Every swear word in every language Jongin could remember suddenly came to mind. Anger, black and demanding fell over him like a veil. At least, to Jongin, it seemed like anger. He was angry he was alone. He was angry at Wonshik for not being upfront about not being single. He was angry that straight people could just set up dates on a whim.

Jongin put his hands to his face, covering his expression entirely. He wasn't going to cry, but it felt like he might scream, or vomit, or both, without some physical resistance. He had practised so hard all week, and with no alcohol at all.

The realisation that he had gone seven days without a drink made Jongin think he now deserved one. To help him unwind. To dull the negative thoughts that went round and round in his mind.

RPG games and soju. Just for tonight. Then he heard his phone ring.

"Jongin-ah, whatcha doing?" The distinctive voice of Kim Minseok travelled down the phone line.

"Hi, hyung. I'm still at the studio. Last one here. Pretty sad for a Friday night, really."

"Sad? You're talking to a man who is spending Friday night playing Clash of Clans for his commanding officer while he is off on a mission. And right now I'm supposed to be on break."

"They really make you do that?"

Minseok sighed heavily, and Jongin's respect for his hyung's infinite patience went up another notch.

"Please tell me you are having something more interesting for dinner than packet ramen. I need to live vicariously through you or else the boredom here will kill me."

"Before the things that are actually dangerous, like shells and bullets, will kill you?"

"Way before."

Jongin fell into easy conversation with his hyung as he gathered his things together and left the studio. They chatted all the way to a small Japanese restaurant, where he ordered a simple bowl of udong. Jongin also placed a hard-boiled egg on his tray, for protein, and he almost accidentally hung up on Minseok as he tried to juggle his food, bag and wallet when paying at the counter. Worlds apart, the two friends sat down to their respective dinners, sharing stories about their last few weeks. Minseok told him how he had become so fit he had basically turned into Rain, and Jongin told Minseok about meeting a tall, shy boy called Sehun after dance practice.

"He might be there again tomorrow, after our scheduled practice."

"You like him?"

Jongin thought for a moment. "I like his hair. I can't actually remember his face, but I remember his black hair."

"Good things will come of this, I think."

"You sound like Yoda."

Minseok laughed, excused himself while he went to get a drink, then came back to pick up the phone.

"Oh, before I called you I was talking to Chanyeol. He was at work, but he said he didn't have plans tonight. Did he text you?" Jongin had seen that he had a few unread messages.

"Yeah I think so. Hey hyung, how come you're still so involved in our lives when you're supposed to be, you know, defending the nation?"

"North Korea won't crack anytime soon. Especially not with the pop music we are blaring at them across the border."

Jongin laughed. His belly was full and his bad mood was now a distant memory. Jongin wished his hyung a good weekend working on whatever mission he was doing. He ended the call then checked his messages properly. Chanyeol had invited himself over to his house under the pretext of bringing Monggu and Janggu some organic dog biscuits. Jongin finished his dinner and returned his tray to the counter, but then it occurred to him that a beer would really help to wash down the salty soup of the udong.

But Jongin didn't have time for a beer. Chanyeol would already be on the way to his house. Maybe just a quick beer?

Jongin pressed the button to open the sliding door of the shop, and the cold January wind, sharp as a knife, cut at his exposed features. He decided a beer was, in this case, not worth it.



"Jongin, can't we just stop for a..."

"No, Chanyeol. We're going to be late as it is."

"I'm the one doing you a favour by offering to be your pianist for the afternoon."

"You're using my practice as an excuse to procrastinate."

Jongin took the passageway down to the subway with light, careful footsteps, looking in front of him and not at Chanyeol. The platform was packed with people - families, couples, groups dressed for a day out hiking or bike riding - the usual Saturday morning crowd.

"Geez, who spit in your bean curd," Chanyeol mumbled, loud enough for Jongin to hear. They managed to catch the train just as the doors were closing.

"See, no worries."

At that moment, with those words, something in Jongin snapped.

"Not everything is no fucking worries, Chanyeol!"

Every head in the carriage turned towards them. The words sounded feral, and even Jongin himself was taken aback by his outburst. But he immediately reasoned that it was just due to stress (and perhaps too many consecutive hours with an exhaustively happy Chanyeol). Jongin hitched his backpack further up his back and turned to face his reflection in the door's window, leaving Chanyeol to bow profusely in every direction, apologising to the other commuters for the interruption. One older lady was clicking her tongue against her teeth in disapproval.

Chanyeol didn't talk to him for the rest of the trip.



When the pair arrived at the studio, Taemin and Yixing were already there, stretching in front of the mirrors. Jongin made the introductions and Chanyeol became his friendly, effervescent self again.

"You're a pianist?" Taemin enquired.

"Piano gives me a good reputation - my parents like that I'm studying classical music. But I also play drums for a punk rock group." Chanyeol smiled widely, apparently very proud of his varied interests.

Jongin wanted to say something to join the conversation. Something about how he first met Chanyeol, or about his (terrible) taste in movies. But each time he went to speak, he couldn't think of what to talk about. He couldn't remember any details. Taemin and Chanyeol kept chatting, and Yixing looked like he was half-listening from where he sat stretching on the floor, but though he was standing in amongst them, Jongin felt like he had been separated.

"Jongin, you okay? Are you going to warm up?" Taemin's words cut through his reverie.

"I'm fine," Jongin replied immediately. "I mean, I've warmed up already." Chanyeol looked at him with scepticism, but said nothing. Jongin spoke with more confidence than he felt.

"Shall we start from the Infernal Dance sequence? We'll do the Russian Dancer minions, because they have the longest sequence. Then the Arabian Dancer minions, then the Monster minions."

Once I hear the music, it will be fine. With dance, it's always fine. Everything's fine.

The boys lined up in front of the mirror. Chanyeol sat down at the upright piano in the far corner of the room and placed his tablet on the sheet music ledge. Jongin rolled his head to the left and to the right. He pulled his shoulders back and bent his arms until his elbows touched behind him. Breathe in. Breathe out. Chanyeol began to play, and the notes, warm and rounded, rose from the piano and made minute vibrations in the worn wooden floorboards.

Jongin let himself go with the music. The repetition of the choreography was comfortable, reassuring, and the three boys watched their reflections as they danced, each time becoming a little more synchronised. They danced through each of the minion corps parts, until one of them fell to the floor.

"Jongin! What happened?" Yixing crouched down next to Jongin. Taemin called for Chanyeol to stop playing.

"It's my ankle. I couldn't make the turn in time so... the weight... Fuck, it hurts!" The throbbing pain from his ankle made the rest of his body feel numb by comparison. Taemin brought Jongin his water bottle, and Chanyeol stood next to him looking very worried. Yixing had to pry Jongin's white-tipped fingers from around his ankle to remove his shoe, before checking for any outward signs of injury.

"I don't think you've broken anything. The bones in your toes are all still straight, too."

"Jongin, lean back. Chanyeol, can you help him get to the wall?" Together, Taemin and Chanyeol moved Jongin over to the corner of the room and gave him his jacket to wear. Jongin scrunched his eyes closed tight and resumed holding his ankle.

"If it's not broken, it’s fractured."

Taemin crouched down to be eye level with Jongin. "Look at me and tell me the truth. If you think it's fractured we will go straight to a hospital. We will search for one that's open and go. But the other possibility is that you sprained it, in which case the best thing to do would be to go home and rest, ice, compress and elevate. Whatever you decide, we'll help."

Jongin drew his coat tighter around him and dug his chin into his chest. Everything felt heavy, almost unbearably heavy. The bright lights of the studio suddenly made him long for the opposite - his dark bedroom. If the bones in his ankle had fractured, he wouldn't be able to dance for months. If his ankle was sprained, it would be at least a week or two before he could practice again. The reality was that, either way, he wouldn't be dancing for the auditions on Monday, and he needed time alone to process that fact.

"You're right, Tae. It's probably a sprain. I'm sorry for the drama. Hey Chanyeol," he craned his head back to see his friend standing over him, "sorry about before, too."

His friend gave him a warm smile and Jongin felt reassured. Chanyeol called a taxi to take Jongin and himself back to Jongin's apartment, and five minutes later they were all ready to leave.

Then, Sehun walked in.



Later, in his warm, dark bedroom, Jongin sat upright on his bed, his eyes reflecting the images of an old Woody Allen movie that was playing on his computer. His injured ankle, covered with an ice pack, lay atop a stack of pillows that Chanyeol had pilfered from Jina's old room.

He opened the second bottle of wine (wine he himself had pilfered from his stepmother's stash) while replaying the afternoon's scene in his head once more.

"This is Sehun. He's from the Aye Aye group that meets here."

Chanyeol said, “Hello.”

Yixing smiled and said, "Hello, again."

Taemin nodded several times and said, "Ah, good work. Good group."

Sehun had looked like he wanted to cut out Jongin's heart and throw it into the East Sea.
The film finished and the credits began to flash, name by name, on the screen. Jongin selected the next movie in the list, Crimes and Misdemeanours, and pressed play.

Later, when the second empty bottle rolled off the bed and onto the floor, Jongin didn't stir.

*

"Jongin, this is your second injury since you started with us last year. This is supposed to be your career, and yet you keep turning up to work unable to do what we pay you to do."

Jongin's eyebrows twitched involuntarily at the anger and disappointment evident in Mr Cho's tone. When Jongin had arrived at the studio at lunch, on crutches and holding documents detailing his injury, the choreographer had said nothing but, "The boss wants to see you." Jongin knew they couldn't technically cancel his contract just because of an injury, but a long period without performances would not look good on his resume.

Mr Cho sighed, took his glasses off, and placed them on the desk. They weren't branded, and an unkind thought crossed Jongin's mind - he judged that his boss needed this dance company, this job, this income. But Jongin could rely on his family money, even if all his ballet skills failed him. For the moment, however, Jongin had to play the appropriate social role and show respect for his boss and commitment to his job as a dancer. Jongin linked his fingers together in front of him, then ran his palms over the back of each hand. That was how people showed they were worried about something.

"Jongin, since you are unable to audition, unfortunately I cannot assign any role in our upcoming production to you. Therefore, if you are not required for any performances this season, we will pay you only what is outlined in your contract."

"Wait, sir, what about understudy roles? You are using these auditions to decide understudies too?"

"Yes we are. The Firebird is a complex and expensive production, and I did not make the decision to stage it without a lot of thought. I know what this dance company is capable of, and I believe we can do something truly transformative."

There seemed to be something that Mr Cho was holding back, and Jongin recalled the rumours of a male firebird role. However, it could be more than that. Maybe they would partner with a major orchestra for the performance. Perhaps there had already been interest from international companies like Paris Opera and Bolshoi to come and watch the performance. Jongin took shallow breaths as he considered these, and a million other, possible lost opportunities.

"Get your ankle fixed. Take care of your body. Train for whatever parts of The Firebird appeal to you. As you know, the soloists will have assigned understudies, but the minion groups are flexible with numbers - though you'll have to know the dance inside and out. We'll talk again about your future after the performance season finishes in June. Okay, that's it. Go."

Jongin bowed and slowly hobbled out using his crutches. He didn't know if he should be angry that there would be no chance to audition at a later stage, or grateful that he still had a chance of performing a minor role. Jongin stood in the hallway turning the entire conversation over in his mind. He realised that his injuries and days skipped at work recently had made him seem unprofessional to his co-workers, his choreographer, and now the head of the company.

Jongin's thoughts were spiralling, with negative thought after negative thought competing for his attention. The void inside his heart seemed to be feasting on his hopelessness. Outside the building he hailed a taxi to take him home, trying to drown out his thoughts by blasting American hiphop through his headphones. At his apartment door he put the code in, patted Monggu and Janggu, and made his way slowly to his room. His dogs followed him in, jumping up on his bed and turning in circles until the mattress was just the right amount of flatness. Jongin watched as Monggu yawned widely and Janggu put her head down to rest it on her paws. At that moment, even with all the heaviness and hopelessness he was carrying, he smiled as he watched his dogs drift off to sleep.



The buzzing of Jongin's phone on his bedside table woke him later that night. It was Taemin.

"Hey, Jongin. How's the ankle?"

"Hi, Tae," Jongin said sleepily as he sat up. Janggu, also now awake, curled closer into Jongin's side. "My ankle's okay. I went to the hospital this morning, and they said it's just a sprain. Have to rest it for a while, then I'll hopefully be practising again after a week or so." Jongin had no idea what kind of rumours were circulating at the company about his injury, but he also didn't feel like elaborating. On the other end of the line, Taemin politely hummed in acknowledgement. "Anyway," Jongin continued. "How was the audition?"

"I think it went alright. The director asked us to do both dancing and acting. I guess because Koschei doesn't really dance - he just prowls angrily around the stage a lot." Jongin made a sound approximating laughter. "They'll tell us the parts tomorrow. Are you coming to the studio, or just planning to stay home and rest?"

"Stay home. I want this thing to heal as quickly as possible. Being injured... it messes with my head. I have to just get better and dance again. It doesn't matter if it is in this ballet, or the next." As the words left his mouth, Jongin realised he liked the sound of them. It felt like they came from a more mature place inside him.

"Good work, good plan."

It was with those words that Jongin was reminded of something.

"Hey Taemin, what's Aye Aye? When you said, "good work" to Sehun that time, it was like you were congratulating him, or something. I'm just curious."

Taemin paused, and Jongin heard shuffling. Then Taemin started to speak again, now in a slightly softer voice.

"As far as I know, AA stands for Alcoholics Anonymous. It's a group for people who are addicted to drinking. They meet and talk and try and stay sober."

"But Sehun's only our age!" Jongin said, all trace of maturity gone. "He couldn't be an alcoholic already. I mean, wouldn't it be businessmen who..."

"Jongin, you have no idea what goes on in other people's lives. Everyone has some kind of demon, or demons, and they aren't limited to all you've learned in your grand two decades of life experience."

Jongin looked down at his dogs as they slept, fully taking in what Taemin had said. It was true - he didn't know what went on in other people's lives. It also occurred to him that he actually knew nothing about Taemin's immediate family and very little about his personal life.

"I... I got it. Thanks for telling me. And for telling me straight, and not judging me and my apparent ignorance."

"It's okay. I'll just blame society and your parents."

"Hey, I'll do that too!"

Jongin and Taemin talked a while longer, until it was time for Taemin to catch his train. After he ended the call, Jongin got off his bed and gingerly walked to the kitchen to prepare a new ice pack. Back in his room, he settled his ankle on a stack of One Piece comics, balanced the ice pack on top, then opened a new tab on his laptop. He typed three words into the search bar.

Alcoholics Anonymous Korea

*

By Saturday Jongin's ankle had healed well enough that he was able to walk around comfortably without crutches, and at 5:45 p.m. he found himself standing on the pavement across from the Maru studio. Jongin had, only hours earlier, turned down an invitation for a night out bowling with Baekhyun and Chanyeol in order to travel to the other side of town, for the purpose of... standing out in the freezing cold? That wasn't it, but the truth - that he wanted to apologise to Sehun for his ignorance and indiscretion during their previous run-ins, and maybe also stay for the AA meeting to see what excessive drinking had led to for other people - seemed equally as odd as standing outside, in winter, staring at a random building.

He checked his watch again - it was now five minutes to six.

Jongin raised his hands to his cheeks, the tips of his ring fingers pressing into his temples. Either Sehun wasn't going to the meeting that night, or he had been inside for the last twenty minutes. If Jongin walked in now he wouldn't have much of an opportunity to explain himself to Sehun before the meeting started, and though he was genuinely keen to attend a meeting after everything he'd read about AA on the internet, it might not look that way to Sehun.

One very cold gust of wind sent Jongin hurrying with light footsteps across the road to the space inside the open doorway of the building. Once there, the prospect of warming up inside the studio and listening respectfully to the lives of other people seemed like a good option - or at least it was a better option than turning tail to begin the long journey back to his home on the south side of the river.

Jongin held tightly onto the handrail as he walked up the stairs, one at a time, and before any more objections could be raised in his mind, he pushed the door open. Three men in the room turned to look at him. There was one face he immediately recognised, but it was a well-dressed, bespectacled man with greying hair that reached out his hand to welcome Jongin.

"Hello, I'm Jin. Are you here for the Alcoholics Anonymous meeting?"

Jongin unwittingly glanced over at Sehun, who was for the moment picking at the lint on his sweater. He made eye contact with Jin again.

"Yes, but this is..." Jongin's voice faltered.

"Your first meeting?" Jin supplied, helpfully. Jongin nodded.

"Yes, it's my first meeting so I'd like to mostly listen. If that's okay."

"Not a problem. One of our members, Sehun over there, brought some pastries to share tonight. If you'd like, you can grab one from him and take a seat. We will begin in a few minutes."

Jongin thanked Jin and made his way over to where Sehun was sitting. The young man with shiny black hair watched him as he approached, and just as Jongin was thinking of how to open the conversation, Sehun spoke first.

"Is your leg okay now? I mean, obviously it's better than last week."

"Yeah. I'd just sprained my ankle. Occupational hazard. Kind of. Also, I'm really sorry about what I said last week, and the week before. The way I introduced you and everything. It was really insensitive. I didn't know anything about this group, or what 'AA' meant at the time, so I'm really sorry."

Sehun nodded slowly. "Thank you for coming tonight to say that." Then, as he stood up and extended his hand, he added, "And I'm sorry if I was particularly rude or secretive." His words and tone seemed very formal, but they also seemed sincere. He and Jongin shook hands.

"What you said to Jin, about this being your first meeting..." Sehun's eyes flicked between Jongin and the other two members who were now seated close by.

"I think," Jongin said, sitting down and taking a croissant from the bag on the seat between them, "I think I need to wake up a bit, to my life and life choices. And I think, maybe, AA can help me do that."

*

"Hi Jongin! Whatcha doing today? I'm bored. Can we take the puppies for a walk?"

"Chanyeol, I've just woken up. I had a kind of intense night last night."

"Oh yeah, that's right. How was the Korean traditional dancing class? Meet lots of old people? Old people are so cute."

That had been Jongin's excuse for not going bowling. On the studio website he'd seen that there really was a traditional dance group that used the space, and he'd told Chanyeol that he wanted to spend some of his recovery time studying other forms of dance.

"Yes, the dance group was great. They were all nice people, and one elderly lady even brought pastries to share."

"Oh, that's cool! I don't think my grandparents have ever even been to a bakery. You know, their idea of dessert would be rice cake and yaksik."

Jongin hadn't thought that particular lie through. "Yeah, well..." Distract. "Okay, you said you want to take the dogs for a walk? Be my guest. But not until, say, 11:30. Deal?"

"Great! See you then!"

Jongin casually threw his phone onto his bed and turned to walk towards the bathroom, almost tripping over Monggu and Janggu in the process. He realised they'd heard the word "walk" and now both of them were running laps around Jongin's bare feet.

"Sorry guys, you're going to have to wait." Jongin crouched down and gave them both a smothering hug and three kisses each as consolation. As he gently cleared a pathway to the bathroom so he could shower, it occurred to him that other things too would have to wait - like properly processing and reflecting on all that he'd heard at the meeting last night.



Jongin and Chanyeol took the dogs for an easy, slow walk around his neighbourhood, and Chanyeol regaled him with tales from bowling last night.

"You know how Baekhyun's been going to the gym a lot recently? Well, he's become completely obsessed with lifting. It was all he could talk about! He doesn't run, he doesn't do spin classes, he just goes to the gym and does weight training. Anyway, I was genuinely curious and asked him to do some push-ups. Then he suggested a contest. Jongin," Chanyeol paused for effect, "I stillwon!"

Jongin gave Chanyeol a high five. Baekhyun was a great friend, but his ability to go from entertaining to egotistical could be very annoying sometimes.

"I won," Chanyeol continued, "But then this morning my... my..." Chanyeol hit his upper arm several times, apparently trying to recall the name of the muscle group. Jongin, unhelpfully, just raised his eyebrows and made a circular motion with his hand in mid air (the hand not holding Monggu's leash).

"My arm thighs really hurt?" Chanyeol finished, lamely.

Jongin had never heard anything like it, and he began to laugh so hard and so loud that it became difficult to breathe properly.

"Chanyeol, it's... they're called..." but Jongin couldn't get the words out. He was now doubled over, clutching his stomach. Monggu stopped pulling forward on the leash and instead came back to lick at the tears now running down Jongin's face.

"Some friend you are. Oh, right. Biceps. My biceps hurt."

Jongin managed to calm down and Chanyeol animatedly told him other stories from the night, before reminding Jongin of Baekhyun's birthday party next weekend. At the convenience store they stopped to buy hard-boiled eggs and instant noodles (ramyun for Chanyeol and udong for Jongin), before heading home to eat.

When Jongin opened the door to the apartment, he kicked off his shoes and noticed a pair of shiny red heels that definitely hadn't been there earlier. His stepmother was, apparently, home. While Jongin took his time unhooking the leads from the dogs' collars, Chanyeol went in to greet the lady of the house.

"Mrs Kim, how are you? I love this trench coat. Oh, did you change the furniture here since last weekend? It looks so much more open now."

"Chanyeol, lovely to see you. Yes, I did have the furniture moved around a bit. You're so astute! Far more than this one." Jongin had appeared in the doorway, trying to swallow the offhand insult.

"Hello, mother. Chanyeol and I just took the dogs out for a walk."

"Oh, that's wonderful! Chanyeol, you're such a good friend, checking in on Jongin while he's injured."

It was like this every time - Jongin's stepmother shamelessly swooning over Chanyeol (among all Jongin's friends, he was her favourite) and Chanyeol, just by being himself, absorbing and encouraging the compliments. Chanyeol was, of course, charming and charismatic in his own right, but his father was also one management position higher than Mr Kim. On days he was feeling really low, Jongin thought it was perfectly understandable that his stepmother would prefer Chanyeol to himself. Chanyeol was a little bit taller than Jongin. His voice was a little bit deeper, and his career and talents were not seen to be quite as effeminate as Jongin's.

"We are just going to..." Jongin began to move towards his bedroom, and Chanyeol, perceptively, began to follow.

"Aren't you even going to ask how your sister is? I went to see her in Daegu. Look, she's even made the honeyed anchovies that you like so much." Mrs Kim held up a transparent container of food - one of many, Jongin now noticed, that covered the kitchen counter. "Chanyeol, have you heard that our Jina is pregnant? We are all very excited. You can stay for lunch, can't you? We have so much food now."

Jongin began to protest that they had already eaten and that Chanyeol had other appointments, but his stepmother insisted.

"Look, I even picked up these bottles of wine. They're of very good quality, but of course she can't drink for a while, and I recommended that it would be better if they're not in her house, then she can't be tempted."

Chanyeol was apparently swayed by the home cooking and wine, his eyes wide and eyebrows raised as he looked hopefully at Jongin. So, for the sake of his friend, Jongin silently acquiesced. The three of them sat down to lunch, and while Chanyeol and Mrs Kim gossiped about the other friends in Jongin's circle, Jongin stared at his glass of wine.

Stories from the meeting last night ran through his head - stories about drinking at work events - drinking all of whatever your boss had poured you. But that didn't ring true for Jongin's situation. Here, he couldn't drink to excess, and it was very unlikely his stepmother would open even a second bottle of wine during lunch.

Jongin reasoned that drinking just this glass would be alright. He took his first sip and tried to pay more attention to what his stepmother was saying.

"She's such a talented girl. I was speaking to her at the New Year's party. She's just come back to Korea after studying at Stanford."

Jongin took another, larger, sip of his wine.

"Seulgi, yes! I've only met her a few times, but she now goes to the same music school as my sister."

Jongin realised that they were talking about the president's youngest daughter. The girl he remembered looking very bored at New Years.

"Yes, well, I would love to introduce her to Jongin - they would look so perfect together."

The prospect of an arranged date caught Jongin off guard, and it erased any remaining shred of his earlier good mood. When they'd finished their food (and wine), Jongin walked Chanyeol to the entrance of the building. He said goodbye, waited until Chanyeol had walked around the corner, and then he set off in the opposite direction.

The convenience store was blaring some inane pop song, but all Jongin was aware of was purchasing the three bottles of soju suddenly in his hand. He stood in the back corner of the shop, drinking, looking out the window, drinking, wondering what the fuck the corporate art piece across the road meant, and drinking until he had finished the bottle. The burn in his throat calmed the burning in his mind.

At the sound of his hands cracking open a second bottle, Jongin stopped. His surroundings came back into focus - the microwaves on the counter top, the hum of the refrigerators, a different pop song. He put the bottle down and tried to focus. The convenience shop warmed his skin and the alcohol warmed his chest, but he felt uncomfortable. His clothes, his shoes, his skin felt uncomfortable. Jongin stared at the soju bottles as he backed away, before turning and walking between the aisles of cookies and kimbap until he was outside. He pressed his fingertips to his temples and tried to focus. He didn't know what to focus on.

Just focus, Jongin!

The gravel crunched underfoot as he walked, and, this time, he felt the cold quickly penetrate through to his bones. He couldn't stay outside - he couldn't risk getting sick or making his ankle stiff. But the last thing he wanted to do was be in a house alone with his stepmother. He simply didn't have the energy.

He scrolled through his contacts until the bright screen of his cellphone displayed Sehun's phone number. At the meeting, they had all told him, "If you drink, and then you decide you don't want to drink any more, call someone. You're not alone in this."

Jongin told himself he didn't have a problem. He didn't have a problem with drinking - it was just a bad habit that he decided he wanted to break. Reaching out to the group and to Sehun now would essentially just be him asking for advice. He wasn't an alcoholic, but he also wouldn't let himself become one.

Jongin called the number.



The coffee shop was warm and spacious, the deep brown colours of the wooden tables and chairs making the place seem both rustic and cosy. Jongin sat cross-legged in his seat, and in front of him on the table, his untouched iced vanilla latte sweated through its clear plastic cup. Jongin checked his phone again, confirming that this was the place Sehun said they would meet at. He felt nervous. Sitting silently, watching the other patrons as they talked and ate and drank and studied, familiar voices began to address him in blunt tones.

This is all just a cry for attention, really. You're not an alcoholic, but you think if you were one it would make you special - add a little tragedy to he narrative of Jongin-the-special-snowflake. At the meeting, didn't you notice that the others are alcoholics because they have real, quantifiable problems? Jin is an alcoholic because he lives with crushing financial expectations from his family. The other man, Jeong, is an alcoholic because for years his whole life has been work, meeting work friends, and going to work dinners. And Sehun...

Well, Sehun didn't share much in the meeting last night. Jongin noticed that he'd nodded and supported the other members when they'd been talking, and for his turn Sehun announced that he had been sober for one hundred and fifty seven days. But he hadn't offered any back story or reason for having to commit to being sober.

If Sehun didn't want to talk about his history, that was fine. For tonight anyway, Jongin mostly wanted to talk about himself.

"Have you been waiting long?" Sehun stood behind the table holding a large cup of chocolate ice cream.

"No, no. Not long. Thanks for meeting me."

Sehun sat down, placing his backpack on the seat beside him and the ice cream on the table. From his pocket he pulled out two spoons, still encased in their thin plastic covering.

"I can stay until seven, then I have to go back to work. Here, help yourself."

Jongin nodded and took a spoon from the table. He turned it over in his hands, trying to think of what to say. Where do you start conversations like this? Sehun, again, spoke first.

"What's your poison?"

Jongin replied immediately. "Everything." Sehun smiled, holding his spoon between his teeth.

"Me too."

"Today it started with wine. Just a glass, no, two glasses of wine with lunch. Then I was alone in the convenience store with a bottle of soju in my stomach and another in my hand." Jongin placed the unopened spoon on the table and picked up his latte.

"The thing is, I want to start being more responsible. I want to focus on dance - that's my job, by the way - and I have these dreams of auditioning for Juilliard or a European company, but... Maybe I don't want it as much as I just want to party." Jongin tried to sound light hearted, but the reality of it all was making him feel like crying. Sehun ate his ice cream, watching Jongin.

"I must sound like the most conceited brat. I'm so sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for if you're talking honestly about your life."

Jongin put his hands in his jacket pockets and ran his fingers over a small piece of paper. On it was written the one question he really wanted to ask Sehun. He told himself he would ask, at some point in the night. For the moment, though, he felt encouraged to keep talking.

"The alcohol is also for the times I can't dance, like when my shin splints are acting up or when I get injured. If I can't move how I want to move, and it's my job to dance... I mean, what else is even acceptable to do in this country except work, study and drink?"

It was a rhetorical question, but sometimes Jongin felt that there really was no room to move, no way to step outside the box that Korean society demanded he be inside. Looking down at the table, it was only after a few moments that he realised what he was seeing - an empty bowl.

"Are you a big fan of ice cream?" Jongin asked, raising one eyebrow.

"I'm a big fan of food. It's a bit more expensive than alcohol, but I've learned to like it."

Jongin's eyes widened. He asked, as carefully as he could, "Would you, maybe, tell me what happened to you? About why you're in AA."

The cafe fell silent for a minute - the kind of silence where a lull in all of the conversations of all of the patrons coincides with a break between songs. When the hum of activity started again, Sehun spoke.

"Well, for three years - until last year - I was a guitarist for a band. We all had decided not to graduate, so we just practised all day and lived on ramyun and boxes of tangerines. I was... pretty much... almost constantly drunk, or high, or both. Then we were doing a tour in China and our lead singer sourced some green pills I'd never seen before."

Sehun glanced up. Jongin had abandoned his drink and was completely engrossed in the story.

"That night, while I was in the bathroom trying to wash the centipedes off my body, he thought he could fly, so he jumped out the window." Sehun took a packet of Pepero out of his bag and began to eat. "I haven't touched drugs, or alcohol, or music since."

Jongin hesitated for a moment. "No music?"

"Nope."

Jongin didn't know how to politely say you went through a life of drugs and heavy drinking and your friend died and here you are - all clear skin and shiny hair and mellow and wise beyond your years. Instead he said something a little more friendly.

"If I go buy some green tea ice cream, it is okay? Chocolate is a bit too sweet for me."

Jongin and Sehun talked comfortably over the second dessert - Jongin telling him about the time his sister took him to hospital, and how he had increasingly been drinking until he blacked out. Sehun listened patiently, and Jongin felt like all his problems and worries perhaps weren't so juvenile. An hour had passed, and Sehun apologised, saying he had to leave and go back to work.

"I tutor maths to middle and high school students at the academy upstairs. I'm sorry I can't stay longer today, but it's good that we got to talk like this. See you at the meeting on Saturday. Text me if you want to talk again, or if you need an explanation on polynomials."

Jongin was curious as to how Sehun got a job teaching when he hadn't finished high school. But he figured he could ask next time. He thanked Sehun again and said he would be at the meeting next week.

Back at home, with Monggu next to him and Janggu at his feet, Jongin spent the evening watching The Royal Ballet's production of The Firebird on his laptop and occasionally scrolling through tutorials on polynomial equations.

*

On Monday morning Jongin turned up for work, prepared to watch and learn. Taemin had received the lead role as the firebird (the director had surprised everyone by turning the once female role into an entirely male role), and as Jongin sat doing his remedial stretches in a corner of the room, he admitted to himself that there was, at present, no higher skilled dancer in the company than Taemin. The choreography for the firebird would be entirely new. The steps available to male dancers when their character expressed fear or anger or joy was entirely different to those of female dancers. Taemin, Luhan the understudy, and the choreographer had been working long hours in order to decide on what the final repertoire would be.

On Tuesday, Jongin spent most of his time watching the male corps and learning their respective dances. Yixing had earned the part of the prince, but as the role had no real solos or technically difficult parts, there wasn't a great deal to memorise. The season wouldn't start for another three months, so Jongin told himself to simply focus on learning the music and direction of the ballet, and focus on the steps when he could dance properly again.

It was a curious feeling - having nothing to lose and everything to gain - and as the days went by and Jongin's sprained ankle healed, he gained more confidence in his dancing and himself.



It was Friday night, and Jongin stood in the foyer of the Silla Hotel, staring at a sign that pointed up the stairs to Byun Baekhyun's 22nd Birthday Party. He didn't intend to drink that night. He was going to talk and laugh and dance with his friends, hyped up on sugar and nothing more.

"Jongin, hey! Long time no see."

Jongin turned around, smiled, and embraced his friend Kyungsoo in a bear hug.

"Hey, hyung. I haven't seen you since New Years. How are you?"

"Good, I'm good. Just busy filming this historical drama. I swear, Namyangju has to be at least five degrees colder than Seoul at all times."

"Ah, the drama's why you dyed your hair back to black? It looks good."

Jongin and Kyungsoo entered the ballroom and were immediately confronted with an antique-looking table piled high with presents. Jongin had known Baekhyun long enough that he was sure at least half of those presents Baekhyun had organised to give to himself. After setting down their gifts, they grabbed a drink from the next table. Jongin followed Kyungsoo's lead and walked right past the obvious alcoholic drinks in tall cocktail glasses and took what looked like a soda water and lime from the end of the row.

"Jonginnie, Kyungsoo! You made it!" Baekhyun emerged from the crowd, balanced high on the shoulders of Chanyeol. Jongin and Kyungsoo wished Baekhyun a happy birthday together, then took a sip from their drinks. An unexpected taste hit his tongue.

"Aren't they great? It's called an Absolut Delight - vodka, soda water and lime. Chanyeol invented it for me for my birthday."

As Chanyeol explained how he was super inspired by Simon and Garfunkel, Jongin took another large mouthful, emptying the tumbler. He reasoned, at least he was drinking because he was happy. There would be no more drinking when he was sad, and no more drinking when alone. Baby steps. Jongin grabbed a second Absolut Delight and dragged a weakly protesting Kyungsoo to the dance floor.



That night Jongin danced and talked and laughed with his friends, just as he told himself he would. He drank Absolut Delights. He flirted with Kris, an up-and-coming Chinese fashion designer. And when Kris was leaving, whispering in Jongin's ear, "Are you coming?" Jongin abandoned his common sense and slice of birthday cake, and followed him.

When Jongin opened his eyes again, it was light outside. He turned over, tangling himself in stained navy sheets. He was thirsty, and as he looked around he realised he was alone and in an entirely unfamiliar room. He reached over to grab his phone from the bedside table, but the battery was dead. The air outside the bed felt very cold.

Then Kris came back, and the world was set right again. Kris fed him bananas and chocolate and ran his long fingers through Jongin's hair over and over and over again. They drank together again and slept together again. Jongin lived in the moments where lips and fingertips traced the veins in his neck, and where Kris left soft kisses on future bruises.



He left a card and a bar of soap
And a scrubbing brush next to a note,
It said "Use this, down to your bones."

The smell of coffee and the words of an English language pop song roused Jongin from sleep. He slowly peeled his face off the laquered wooden table, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the halogen lights overhead. A take away cup of coffee sat in front of him, and he gulped half of it down before noticing what it was - black coffee, no sugar, ice cold. Jongin never ordered Americano, so he reasoned that this must be Kris' drink. Or, it must have been Kris' drink. On unsteady legs Jongin went up to the counter to pour himself a glass of water, and as he drank it he tried to piece together what had happened.

Baekhyun's party. Drinking. Leaving with Kris. Piercing blue contact lenses and black jeans and a lot of vodka.

Jongin walked slowly back to the table, searching for his phone in his coat pockets. As he sat down he placed it, and the bright orange battery pack connected to it, on the table. From his other pocket he pulled out his wallet and two scraps of paper.

It seemed that Kris wasn't all bad. True, he had used Jongin, and then left him to sleep off a hangover alone in a public place, but he'd bought him a phone charger.

Jongin turned on his phone and checked the time. Not just the time... But the day. It was 4:25 p.m. On Sunday. Notifications began popping up on his screen - text messages and missed calls from his stepmother, Baekhyun, and Sehun.

I can't deal with this.

Jongin stood up and went over to drink another glass of water. Then he sat down at the table again and stared at his phone.

Just fucking do something.

Jongin felt like replying to the voice in his head with If I go jump off a bridge, does that fit your definition of "doing something"? He entertained the thought of just sitting in this chair, in this coffee shop, forever. He would waste away, then die, and the staff would only notice when his body started to decay and give off a foul smell. But because he'd be dead, he wouldn't feel embarrassed. In his head, this seemed like the most reasonable answer to everything.

Then, Jongin's phone lit up with an incoming call.

"Minseok hyung, hi."

"Oh, good. You're alive. Your rendezvous with a tall man with questionable fashion sense went a little overtime, didn’t it?"

Jongin didn't hear any judgement in Minseok's voice, so his defences didn't immediately go up. "Has Baekhyun told you already?"

"You diverted attention away from him at his own party, apparently. Then later I got a call from Chanyeol saying he might have been a bit slow on the uptake and not covered for you very well when your stepmother called him last night."

It suddenly occurred to Jongin just how long they'd all been friends - Minseok and him and Chanyeol and Baekhyun and Kyungsoo - and how little all his friends really knew about him.

"I fell off the wagon."

"Well, to be fair, you had never really committed to being on the wagon in the first place."

It suddenly seemed like a very good idea to tell Minseok everything. Jongin pushed his fingernail into a crack in the wooden table and said, "I went to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting last week."

Minseok made a squeaking sound. Then he cleared his throat, but said nothing.

"Hyung?"

"I'm listening. I just..." Through the phone line Jongin could hear the sound of shoes dropping to the ground. "Okay, I'm really listening. But can I ask, did you go by yourself?"

"Well." It seemed like an odd question, but Jongin thought he could answer truthfully. "I found the meeting time on the internet, kind of by chance. Then last week, yes. I turned up and walked in and tried to figure out if I was an alcoholic, or not."

Then Minseok said something even more odd.

"That was so brave of you, Jongin."

Talking to Minseok gave Jongin new strength. From both their perspectives, it seemed that Jongin's relationship with alcohol was at least in the unhealthy range, even if he wasn't a stereotypical alcoholic. Jongin posited the idea that he commit to being sober and go to meetings, and pour all his energy into dance.

"I feel like I've wasted so much time, especially when I think about all those hours I could have been practising or studying other forms of dance. Anyway, I'm really glad you called. I miss you, hyung."

"I miss you, too. Be strong, okay? Focus on your goals."

"I will. Let me know when your next break is. I'll take you out for ice cream."

Minseok laughed and said, "Sounds good to me."

Jongin ended the call a few minutes later and placed his phone back on the table next to his charger. Before he could hesitate or overthink his decision, he typed a message to his stepmother.

Very sorry I've been out at night without notice.
I will be home after dinner at eight.

He sent the message, satisfied that he would be able to prepare his real apology after he'd eaten something. Jongin grabbed his wallet, went up to the counter, and after a cursory glance at the menu, ordered a blueberry muffin and a large grapefruit tea. He paid in cash, blindly hoping that the girl serving him hadn't been working the whole time he'd been passed out at the table.

"Would you like the muffin warmed up?"

"Yes, please."

"To eat here, or take away?"

"Eat here."

The girl in the apron handed him his receipt, his change and a buzzer. "You can collect your order when it's ready at the far end of the counter. Thank you." She didn't spare Jongin a second glance as she moved away to start preparing his tea, and Jongin let out a small sigh of relief. Waiting next to the window for his food, he picked up a magazine and flicked through it, glancing at the pictures. Advertisements for Bulgari jewellery, European cars, whiskey...

He kept flicking.

Ads for an exclusive gym, more jewellery, Mont Blanc pens. Jongin was just putting the magazine carefully back in its place when the buzzer in his pocket began to vibrate. He went to the counter to collect his food, ready to say thank you, but the girl was already seated comfortably behind the display cabinet, head bent and deeply absorbed in whatever was displayed on her phone screen.

Jongin quietly returned to his table and put his tray down. The muffin smelled delicious. He tore off a large piece and ate it with gusto, the moist, buttery texture melting on his tongue. There are so many simple pleasures in life, he thought. Why do we humans, we adults, have to make everything so complicated?. It was as he took another bite of the muffin (this time relishing the tart flavour of the blueberries) that he noticed the tray had knocked to the floor the pieces of paper that he'd pulled out of his pocket earlier.

He first checked the larger one - it was a receipt for green tea ice cream, dated to last week. That meant the second folded piece of scrap paper must be the one with question. That question that he hadn't actually asked yet. Jongin unfolded it slowly, the black letters staring back at him.

"How do you know if you're an alcoholic?" he whispered to no one. There was only one person he trusted to help him answer that.



"Hey, I'm glad you called," Sehun said as he put his coat over the back of the seat. Jongin could feel the alcohol still running through his bloodstream. Sehun would probably be able to tell he had been drinking - if not from his behaviour then probably from the smell of his clothes. "Yeah, well, I'm pretty good at making mistakes, as well as owning up to them. I have no shame left."

"You look pretty good for a shameless guy."

Jongin blushed at the unexpected compliment. Was Sehun being playful? Then Jongin looked at his sleeves - the sleeves to his black pinstripe suit and half-unbuttoned white collared shirt. They were the clothes he'd worn to Baekhyun's birthday party on Friday night.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to tease you. Just, as I said - I'm glad you called."

Hoping that the flush on his cheeks had subsided, Jongin took a sip of his (now cold) grapefruit tea, then when he put the cup down, the floodgates to his brain opened and he started talking rapidly.

"Sehun, is this what it means to be an alcoholic? One too many drinks, every time? One too many times waking up in someone else's bedroom? I wanted to tell you that from today, I'm going to go to AA regularly. I'm going to be sober. But, I still don't know if this is what it means to be an alcoholic. And..." Jongin's voice cracked.

"And?" Sehun enquired, patiently.

"There is no "and". I just lost my train of thought," Jongin said sadly.

Sehun blinked, apparently taking in and turning over Jongin's questions. He put his hands on the table and clasped them together. Jongin noticed Sehun wore no jewellery.

"I can't tell you if you're an alcoholic. Everyone's lives and experiences are different, and only you know what kind of life and what quality of life will make you happy."

Jongin felt overwhelmed, and Sehun seemed to notice that his answer hadn't helped, so he continued.

"But... after a hundred and sixty six days of my own sobriety, here's my theory. If you decide you're an alcoholic, then from that moment on you can also decide on a life of sobriety." Sehun smiled distractedly as he continued. "It's like, when you give yourself a life sentence of being an alcoholic, you are also kind of cured. If you choose to be sober every day, then you choose to be cured every day." Jongin looked at him, trying to sort out the logic in Sehun's words.

"This isn't the official line of AA, by the way. Most people think that you're an alcoholic for life, even if you live sober. But that's too bleak for me. So I look at it from the choice-cure perspective."

"I think I like that - the choice-cure perspective," Jongin said quietly.

Sehun leaned forward in his chair, hands in his pockets, like he was about to stand up, but he didn't stand up. He just sat and stared at Jongin. Like he was staring through him. It made Jongin very self-conscious.

"Want to come grocery shopping?"

"Huh?" Jongin hadn't expected such domesticity from someone as cool as Sehun.

"My roommate is useless, but he does have family money supporting him. He gives
me money, and I buy food for us. So, want to come?"

Jongin drank the last of his tea. His mind was still swirling with unanswered questions. Part of him wanted to stay right where he was, alone in the cafe, eating muffins with little nutritional value and wishing Minseok was around to make him feel warm and valued and tell him how everything would be alright.

But there was only Sehun. Honest, sober Sehun.

"I'll come with you. I just need to be home by eight."



Sehun silently led him around the supermarket, picking out frozen kimchi dumplings, frozen beef dumplings, frozen prawn dumplings, and other essentials like toilet paper and washing powder. Jongin hadn't set foot in a proper supermarket for ages and he was taken aback by the sheer variety of products. When they walked through the snack aisle, Jongin watched with amusement as Sehun selected two boxes of every kind of Pepero. When they came to the checkout, Jongin observed that there were no packets of ramyun or citrus fruit in the basket.

Outside the supermarket, groceries in one hand and toilet paper under his arm, Sehun looked like any regular independent young person. And yet at the same time he seemed... manly? Jongin tried to shake the thought out of his head. This was entirely not the time to be developing a crush on someone. Especially on a someone who may not even like men. Sehun nodded as Jongin pointed that he'd go in the opposite direction.

"Get home safe, Jongin. And next Saturday, you get to become a member of our... very small club." Then, with no change in expression, he said, "The wearing of tailored suits to meetings is optional."

Jongin kept his lips pressed together, fighting a smile. Sehun had noticed his suit was tailored.



Jongin arrived home later that night feeling not exactly happy, but that, somehow, the weight of his problems had lessened a little.

"Hello, mother."

Mrs Kim looked up from the fabric scraps spread out on the kitchen bench top.

"Oh, you're back. Finally."

"I really am sorry for staying out for the past few nights. The house rules..." Here, his stepmother interrupted him.

"The house rules were made by your father, not me. I don't particularly care what you, a twenty-one-year-old, does." Her response came as a surprise to Jongin. He realised that, because he'd never really disobeyed or bent any house rules before (essentially that he'd always had the foresight to coordinate with his friends to make excuses well enough in advance) he didn't know how seriously his stepmother took those rules. Here, apparently, was his answer.

"The curfew rules are not only for your safety, but for you to learn to take some responsibility. It can't always be left up to someone else to feed your precious dogs, you know."

Jongin thought his stepmother was the most selfish person he'd ever had the misfortune to meet. Then again, he thought, he should have expected as much from the woman who married a man only for his company title.

"Also," she continued. "We have some news. Jina will be moving back in with us. Joonmyun is working long hours, and I just don't feel comfortable with her by herself so far away." Mrs Kim had always liked Jina. Everyone liked Jina. Jongin clutched the straps of his backpack a little tighter and stared at the floor.

"That," Jongin took a breath. "That will be nice. To have her stay here."

"It also means this will be an alcohol-free house, understand? I don't want anything jeopardizing the health of that baby."

It was the strangest piece of luck. One one hand, Jina moving back in meant his stepmother would make even more constant comparisons between the siblings, in which Jongin would always come off second best. But it also meant no more alcohol in the house. Mrs Kim never kept on hand a particularly extensive array of wine (which is why Jongin always had to be careful to quickly replace the bottles he'd taken) and he assumed his father, when he was home, would just have his alcohol under lock and key. Jongin answered in a relaxed manner.

"Not a problem. A dry house will be best for Jina."

"Good. Jina will be here on Wednesday. Now, go feed your dogs. I haven't had the time today."

Jongin hastily threw his backpack in his bedroom and went to let the dogs out of their holding area in the laundry. Monggu and Janggu peppered him with wet kisses in welcome, and Jongin hurried to fill their bowls with food from the cupboard. Sitting down on the cold tiles, he watched as they greedily munched on their dinner. It felt like his life was moving at a million miles an hour, and that he was almost being left behind. Mrs Kim suddenly appeared behind him.

"I wish you'd think of someone other than yourself for a change. It's freezing out here and you decide to leave the door open." And without another word, she slammed the sliding door closed.

*

The mid-February mornings were still bitterly cold, but not quite cold enough to create the pretty aesthetic of snow. Jongin went to work and practised at the studio each day, and messaged Minseok each night to tell him mundane little snippets of his life. He knew that to Minseok, though, they were not mundane, and his hyung usually replied almost instantly with some witty observation or question about each story. On Wednesday night Jongin sent him a photo of himself and Jina, explaining in the caption that she'd come back to Seoul to rest before the baby arrived. A few minutes later, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Jongin watched the short video message, smiling wider with each passing second.

"Jina, look what Minseok sent me," he said, getting up to go and stand by the leather armchair she was currently sitting in. Jina leaned closer, and Jongin pressed the play button. In the video, Minseok sat at a desk in a small office with several pieces of paper in front of him. He held the paper up to the camera, allowing enough time for each to be read before showing the next one.

Hi Jina!
Congratulations on the baby!
Question:
Can I get pregnant and come back to rest in Seoul, too?

The camera panned away and a close up of the cameraman's face came into view. "That's Jongdae," Jongin explained. "He's Minseok's direct subordinate." Jongdae looked like he was whistling while his index finger was pointed towards his head and moved in circles - the universal gesture indicating craziness.

"This is what you do when you're defending the nation?" Jina asked, one eyebrow raised.

"I guess so," Jongin answered.

"Ah, poor Minseok. Still, when he gets out and finds an office job, he'll get paid well. I'd go do military service too if it meant I could ask for a higher salary. And don't you..." Jina had seen Jongin open his mouth, ready to retort that her five-foot-nothing presence would make a big difference to national security. "Don't you dare mention my height."

Jongin put his phone back in his pocket and decided to stay silent. At the sound of a tray rattling Jongin and Jina looked up. Mrs Kim entered the room, followed by a woman Jongin had never seen before.

"Jina, Jongin, this is Mrs Seo. She will be our housekeeper for the next few months - as long as her trial week goes well, that is."

Mrs Seo politely said "hello" before setting the tray down and placing portions of fruit onto three small plates.

"Jina, I'm so happy you decided to come and stay with us. Your father hasn't let us have a housekeeper before. He said it wasn't necessary if it was just Jongin and myself at home, so now it's nice to finally have some help."

Jongin deliberately focused on eating his apple pieces and not asking aloud exactly what his stepmother required help with. A cleaner came to their apartment twice a week. Their laundry was all sent out and dry cleaned. The only thing his stepmother had to do was cook for herself (and her husband on the odd occasion he'd be home at dinner), and most of the time she just bought the side dishes from the supermarket.

Jina, on the other hand, liked cooking. And she was good at it. Jongin had a memory of a particular day when he was five or six years old. He was drawing pictures with his favourite crayons at one end of the kitchen bench, while his mother and Jina made dumplings together. The stove was on, and the kitchen was warm. He felt warm and happy.

But then his mother left. And then Jina left for university. After that, Jongin's friends became his family, and drinking became far more interesting than eating.



On Saturday night Jongin arrived at Maru ten minutes before the meeting. He walked in, and as per the previous weeks, Sehun was already there, sitting in one of the chairs arranged in a semicircle.

"Hello, stranger."

"Hi, Sehun." As Jongin walked the length of the room, Sehun held out a large red box. Jongin peered in, and several shiny packets glinted back at him. Choco Pies weren't really his favourite snack - they were too sweet for him - but as evidenced by the empty wrappers on the floor, Sehun was on his third for the night. Jongin just smiled and politely declined the offer.

"Are you expecting more people tonight?" Jongin asked, counting that there were ten seats arranged.

"Not really. Well, anyone could join at any time - these are open meetings. But recently it has just been me, Jin, and Jeong. And now you." With his index finger Sehun wiped the crumbs that had gathered at the corner of his mouth. Shiny Choco Pie wrappers. Shiny lips. Shiny black hair. Jongin tried to calm the butterflies in his stomach by flopping down in a chair in the manliest way he could manage, his bag thrown on the seat between them.

"So is it like, your job to set up the chairs?"

"Yep."

"And you like to put out a few extras, just in case?"

"Yep." Sehun glanced towards the entrance. The two older members had arrived at the same time and entered the studio together. Jeong nodded in greeting to Jongin before he helped himself to a Choco Pie, and Jin greeted Jongin with a firm handshake.

"Jongin, it's nice to see you again."

"It's... Good to be here."

"Would you like to just listen again tonight?"

"Tonight," Jongin started, "I would like to join in. And also join. I mean, join AA, officially. Whatever that entails."

Jin clasped his hands in front of him and nodded several times. "It doesn't entail much, to be honest, just a commitment to being sober and to speaking honestly at meetings. Anyway, let's sit down and I'll explain some more."

When they were all comfortable and Jin had deduced that there would be no more people coming, he stood up and opened the meeting.

"Welcome, everyone. My name is Jin. I am an alcoholic, and I have been sober for more than three years now. I had a rough week, to tell the truth, but each time I felt like drinking, there were these good voices - my brain and my liver - speaking in unison, saying, "Sobriety is your life now. So, live your life." Hopefully our new friend Jongin can also develop his own kind of positive internal voices."

All eyes were on Jongin, but he didn't flinch. It felt just like being on stage. Only... only here he wasn't wearing a costume and he wasn't playing a character.

"Jongin, can you please stand up and tell us, just briefly, what brought you here? Ah. What, besides your own two feet?" Jeong rolled his eyes. Sehun muttered 'lame'.

But Jongin cracked a smile. The plastic chair squeaked against the wooden floorboards as he stood up. He took a deep breath.

"I wanted to come to AA because I drink a lot, I think. I drink with my school friends, and my work friends. And," Jongin shifted on the spot until he was standing with his weight evenly distributed between both feet. "And when I drink, I drink too much. I drink until I either black out or make stupid decisions that," Jongin wanted to say later make me feel like shit but he waited for some less crude words to come to mind. "That damage my sense of self-worth."

Three faces stared back at him. Then Jeong stood up and held out his hand.

"That's almost exactly what I said at my first meeting."

For the next half an hour the other members gently probed Jongin for specifics. Did he drink alone? Did he use drugs? Did he suffer from insomnia? Did he have any other illnesses, physical or psychological? Jin reiterated that everything would be kept absolutely confidential, and that this information just helped the group figure out how to best encourage Jongin to be and stay sober.

"I remember reading something about getting a sponsor..." Jongin said, cautiously.

"Usually sponsorship happens in large groups," Jin replied. "It is supposed to give you a point of contact - someone to reliably talk to if you can't speak up during meetings. But with us, you're basically getting three sponsors."

Jongin's hand clenched around his phone in his pocket - two weeks ago they'd all given him their phone numbers. "Thank you," he said. He really meant it.

"One more thing," Sehun said quietly. "It's a good idea to tell people close to you what you're going through. The more people who know you want to live sober, the more support you'll get if and when you're having a hard time." It was like Sehun was looking right into his head. He was indirectly congratulating Jongin on taking that first step and telling Minseok, but also saying that now he had to be brave, again, and tell his family.

"I will tell my sister. She lives with us now so... telling one person at a time is okay, right?"

Jin smiled kindly. "Of course. Tell the people you think will support you. And if there are any unpleasant reactions - sometimes people don't understand alcohol addiction - then call us."

Jongin nodded, turning everything over in his mind.

"Okay, well, our new friend has a lot to think about, but Jongin, you've also got a great future ahead! A great future with us, and with the snacks Sehun brings every week." Jin's eyes seemed to sparkle behind his glasses, and he seemed much younger than the age told by the deep lines on his face. He asked if anyone else wanted to share stories of their week, and when there was no response, Jin stood up again.

"So, I'd like to end this meeting with a reflection:
May I accept the things I cannot change,
Find the courage to change the things I can.
And have the wisdom to know the difference."

Jongin felt like something in him had shifted. Just slightly. Dance, friends, dreams for the future. Jongin had a life. Now, it was time to start living it.

*

On Monday at the studio Jongin planned to start learning the part of the firebird. He knew there was a minuscule chance that he'd have the opportunity to dance the role on stage, but the finalised choreography looked so challenging that he simply wanted to use it to improve his technical and storytelling skills. That morning he was warming up on the floor with Taemin, telling him about Janggu's new favourite game.

"She finds a piece of furniture - a bed, a table, a chair - and she decides that under it is the perfect place to take a nap. But then at some point a paw or a tail starts to protrude, and my stepmother or I accidentally trip over her." Jongin sat upright, the soles of his feet together and his knees pointing out to the sides. He adjusted his hips so his feet inched closer to his body, stretching his groin.

"The first time it happened I felt so bad. But I've stepped on her four times in the last three days and she hasn't learned that under tables is not a good place to sit!"

Taemin lay back on the floor, moving from a groin stretch to a hamstring stretch. "Our cat does the same thing - sleeps under beds with just her tail sticking out. But if the house is quiet I can easily tell where she is. She snores."

"I didn't know you had a cat," Jongin said. "What's her name?"

"Amy. My sister Hani chose it because she's technically Hani's cat." Taemin pulled a face. "It's a sore subject. Hani got a cat. And I got a goldfish. Amy ate the goldfish."

"Circle of life." Jongin leaned over to pat Taemin on the shoulder.

Taemin stood up, his eyes darting between the pianist and choreographer in the corner, and at the closed studio door. Jongin looked up at the clock - it was after nine.

"I'm so sorry I'm late!" A voice spoke from behind a face mask as a bundle of black clothes hustled through the door.

"Hi, Luhan," Taemin said, staring straight ahead into the mirror and circling his arms. Jongin noticed Taemin didn't look too impressed. As understudy firebird, it had also been decided that Luhan would dance half of the school performances. Jongin wasn't necessarily jealous of Luhan, but he did think it was a bit disrespectful to show up late when you'd been given the chance to dance a leading role.

Jongin's own days missing work entirely in favour of drinking at home suddenly seemed very far away.

After Luhan had shed about five kilograms of clothing he began to warm up at the barre. "Okay, I’ll be ready in a minute. Oh, hey, Jongin! I didn’t see you there on the floor. Are you joining us for practice today?" Luhan giggled as he bent forward, touching the floor with his left hand while his right remained on the barre. "Are you claiming the title of understudy’s understudy?"

"Something like that."

"Gentlemen, can we stop chatting and start dancing, please?" Their choreographer had, it seemed, run out of patience.

Jongin spent the better part of the day watching Taemin and Luhan dance, occasionally performing certain parts himself when there was floor space available. Jongin observed that Taemin had a certain fluidity to his dance, and this was reflected in his ability to move quickly from one position to the next without the tiniest hint of hesitation. The firebird was supposed to be, like most birds were, a fast, agile and nervous creature, so the dancer’s style was supposed to reflect that. But somehow Taemin’s firebird seemed too confident.

"Taemin!" Jongin’s thoughts were interrupted by the choreographer shouting from his place next to the piano. "We talked about this last week. Be nervous. You are a bird that has been hunted all its life. Even when you’re apparently alone in the forest, you are still cautious. Exhibit that air of caution in your dance." Taemin and the choreographer huddled together, talking and dancing individual steps in front of the mirror.

"Having fun?" Luhan asked as he approached Jongin.

"Yeah, actually. I’ve watched so many performances of The Firebird now, but they’ve all had female leads. It’s pretty special that we’re trying to do something so drastically different and do it well." Jongin watched closely as Taemin followed the steps of the choreographer. A turn of the head or flick of the wrist were the kinds of actions that brought the character to life.

"I’ve never done a Russian ballet before so it’s pretty special for me, too…" Luhan trailed off as he glanced up at the clock. Jongin followed his line of sight and saw that it was already 2:40 p.m. Luhan swore under his breath. "Can you tell them I’m just taking a ten-minute break for lunch, please?" Luhan grabbed his coat and raced out the door, shouting, "Sorry, have to go make a call!"

Jongin turned to see the choreographer run his face through the palms of his hands.

"Get out of here, all of you. Come back at three." Jongin and Taemin didn’t need to be told twice. When they arrived at the break room, Jongin took a bunch of bananas out of his bag and broke one off to give to his friend.

"Thanks."

"Is this what it’s like every day?" Jongin asked as he sat cross-legged on the worn sofa. "The choreographer dissecting every part of your performance. The technical aspects, the emotional aspects..."

"So far, yes, that's exactly what we have been doing." Taemin leaned back into his chair, drawing his feet up onto the cushion. "It’s weird. This choreographer will take all the time in the world to help us get the steps right and in perfect time with the music, but he’s really aggressive and picky when it comes to conveying the character properly. Still," Taemin furtively glanced around the room, checking to see whether anyone was in earshot of their conversation. "You know how we have that meet-and-greet with the Russian Embassy on Friday night? Well, I heard that depending on his recommendation, the ambassador might send scouts from the Bolshoi or Mariinsky to our performance." Jongin's eyes widened. "Though," Taemin continued, "it’s not like Luhan particularly seems to care."

"I haven’t seen him around the studio much at all since he was recruited in December. Is he usually late? Like today?" Jongin asked.

"Gets in late. Leaves early. He was telling me he’s still got some responsibilities with the family business in China, even though he’s been based in Seoul since he got this job." Taemin stood up to throw the banana peel in the rubbish bin. "I went to his house after work one day last week. He literally lives one subway stop away from Gimpo airport!"

Jongin leaned back into the sofa. Taemin took out a glass bottle of orange juice from his bag, draining half of it at once. He continued.

"I shouldn’t be so judgemental, I know. But I take my job very seriously, and I want to give a good performance. No, not just good. Spectacular."

"Here, here."

Taemin stood and held a hand out to Jongin. "And it’s been very obvious that you are taking your work much more seriously these days, too."

Jongin’s chest swelled with pride as he took the hand offered and followed Taemin back to the studio.



During the week the weather slowly began to warm up, and the trees lining the street to Jongin’s apartment began to grow new leaves and buds. On Thursday he managed to leave the studio while it was still light out, and he noticed for the first time the warm promise of a new season. With his hands deep in his pockets and his headphones playing H.O.T’s first album, he decided to do that night what he had promised to do at last week’s AA meeting - tell Jina about his decision to live sober.

"I’m home," he said, sliding his shoes off at the entrance way. "Something smells good," he said to himself.

"Hey, Jongin! You’re early. Sorry, I’d hoped to get these ready for you for your dinner, but now you’re just going to have to wait."

"You made pizza!" Jongin commented, a wide grin plastering itself onto his face as he surveyed the flour-strewn bench top and the small bowls of carefully cut tomato pieces, spam, onion, and multi-coloured capsicum. Jina picked up a piece of shredded mozzarella and handed it to Jongin. She then grabbed a handful for herself and began eating it, one strand at a time.

"I love cheese. Joonmyun's lactose intolerant, so I can never cook these kinds of things when I’m at home."

Jongin sat down on one of the blue stools that lined the kitchen bench, picking at the remains of the tomato pieces.

"Is mother not home?" he asked, trying not to sound as hopeful as he felt.

"She's gone. She went to Jeju to spend the weekend with dad. He has to work. Or play golf. I don’t know. Anyway, we get the house to ourselves. Ah! Us and the dogs. Can you let Monggu and Janggu out the laundry? I had to put them in there for a bit because they were knocking me over trying to get to the food."

Ten minutes later, while the dogs were distracted by their own dinner, Jina and Jongin sat down to eat the delicious-smelling, perfectly cooked pizza. As Jongin took the first bite, all his taste buds came alive - the sweetness of the tomatoes and cheese, the sharpness of the chilli and capsicum, and the savoury taste of the spam balanced each other out and combined to make this the best pizza ever. He told Jina this, and she replied by putting another, larger slice on his plate.

"This would go so well with… oh." He couldn’t say it.

"Beer?" Jina said, perceptively.

"Yeah. But…" Jongin sighed. "Yeah, that is exactly what I was thinking."

"Sorry about mother’s no-alcohol-in-the-house rule. Even I think she kind of overreacted with that. But I guess it’s not for that long. Anyway, you can just go out drinking with your friends."

Jongin didn’t know what to say. Actually I’m going to AA meetings now because I always drink too much with my friends and it became a problem because I would miss work and be careless and get injured and then miss more work, so I’m not planning on going out drinking with my friends ever again didn’t quite roll off the tongue. So he stayed quiet, ate all his pizza, and drank two glasses of Coca-Cola. The cold drink really complemented the pizza, but it wasn’t beer. Nothing was as satisfying as beer.

Sobriety is. The voice in his head sounded a lot like Sehun. Jongin went to put his plate in the sink, picking up Monggu as she entered the kitchen, and held her tight as he sat down again.

"Jina, I’m not drinking anymore," he confessed, quietly.

"Huh?" Jina put her pizza down and wiped her mouth with a napkin. "What do you mean by anymore?"

Jongin held Monggu tighter, partly for his own sake and partly to stop her from attempting to eat the pizza on Jina's plate.

"I started going to AA meetings because I have a problem, I think. When I start drinking, I can never find an excuse to stop. I just keep going until… Well, you saw what happened last January." Jongin ran his tongue over the front of his teeth, savouring the lingering flavours.

"You drink that much? Your drinking is that much of a problem?" Jina asked, a look of incredulity on her face.

"When I got my last injury, the sprained ankle, I was having really bad mood swings because I hadn’t had a drink in over a week. Then I turned up to practice angry, didn’t warm up properly and, ta-da. Injury." Jongin wasn’t confident enough to look at Jina. Instead he buried his face in Monggu’s curly fur.

"The day we went to hospital, that wasn’t the first time you drank yourself to sleep?"

"No," Jongin mumbled. "Just the first time anyone’s cared enough to worry that I might have drunk too much."

"Oh, Jongin." Jina reached out to put one hand on his back. "You have great friends, and they do care about you. They probably don’t know how much your drinking is affecting your life. So if drinking this much makes you unhappy, it’s good to stop. But I don’t know what this AA is. Did it start in Korea?"

Jongin and Jina spent the rest of the evening talking about AA and Jongin’s choice to be sober. Jongin hadn’t had a drink in almost two weeks, but he said he wasn’t feeling as angry or jittery as before. Jina posited that it was because he was spending so much time dancing, but she said that whenever the desire to drink came back, he had to fight it, and call her.

"I can call Minseok, too. He knows. And I have the guys from the meeting. They’re all really supportive."

"Good."

"So, overall, I really like that you’re back - dry house and all. Tomorrow night I have this function to go to for work. It’s at the Russian Embassy, so there will probably be some, or lots, of alcohol." Jongin realised that meant he should probably tell Taemin or Yixing about his sobriety, too. He recoiled just thinking about it.

"You could take one of the guys from the meeting. They might have a few tricks to help you avoid drinking at this, and at any future event."

"Thanks, Jina, I might do that." Monggu jumped off his lap and Jongin gave his sister a proper hug.

"If you’re that grateful," Jina said slowly, "be a dear and do the dishes for me? It’s almost time for Music Bank."

Jongin scratched his head, wondering if his sister was actually twelve, and not twenty-six.

*

Friday night after work Jongin was in the changeroom, using the steam iron he'd borrowed from the wardrobe department to get the creases out of his charcoal suit.

"Oh, that's a brilliant idea! Can I use that after you, please?" Yixing was towel drying his hair, making it stick out in all directions.

"Sure, but keep an eye on the time. We should probably leave in fifteen minutes. TAEMIN? DID YOU HEAR THAT?" Jongin yelled the last part in the direction of the showers. A muffled "yes" emerged through the steam coming from the stall at the end. It was supposed to be four of them at the event for the Russian Embassy tonight, but Luhan had pulled out last minute due to a family crisis. They'd all received formal invitations that allowed them a 'plus one', so Taemin had a date meeting him there, Yixing was solo, and Jongin had invited Sehun.

"Do you speak Russian?" Sehun had asked pointedly when Jongin had called him the previous night.

"Well, no."

"Ever been to Russia?"

"No..." Jongin's answer sounded stupidly short to his own ears. "But we were invited because the ballet our company is staging is a Russian ballet - The Firebird originally had a Russian choreographer and Russian composer, and it's based on a mix of Russian fairy tales."

"Oh, I see." Sehun was silent for a while. Jongin held his breath. "Sure, if you want me to go, I'll go. Events can be hard - the liquor is free, after all."

"Thanks, Sehun."

"We'll handle it together."



Twenty minutes later the three boys piled into a taxi, Taemin and Yixing talking excitedly about the food and drinks that might be served at the event, and Jongin trying to sound more excited about caviar than he really was. When the topic turned to vodka, Jongin busied himself with his phone.

Several people were milling around the entrance to the building where the event was being held, and Jongin began searching the crowd for a certain tall young man before he'd even stepped out of the car. His phone vibrated in his hands.

I'm inside. Next to the cloakroom. Too cold to wait outside.

Jongin texted back.

We just arrived. See you in five minutes.

The taxi came to a halt and after some bickering, Jongin managed to win the honour of paying the driver. They clambered out, not paying attention to the cab that had pulled up behind them.

"Taemin!" All three turned around and watched as a thin woman in a navy silk dress gracefully emerged. It was Korea's most famous ballerina, Boa.

"Hey, noona! Perfect timing." Taemin went to her side and offered his arm, while Yixing discreetly mouthed to Jongin noona? Both boys immediately straightened their posture.

"Jongin, Yixing. This is Kwon Boa. She's a principal for the Korean National Ballet." Jongin successfully fought back the urge to say we know. She was also the first Asian dancer to be a principal for the New York Ballet Company. Her Giselle was truly haunting. Instead he smiled widely and shook her hand.

"I wish the Italian Embassy had an event like this when we did Coppelia. But, such is life. It's good I have an old friend to invite me to this." She looked up at Taemin, smoothing back a stray lock of his hair.

"Same ballet school when we were kids," Taemin explained.

Jongin and Yixing nodded politely and then gestured to let Taemin and Boa go on ahead. Yixing said he wanted to look around for any other celebrities that might be attending, and went directly inside the hall.

Jongin tried to focus on his steps and not on the uneasy feeling building inside him. It became more and more apparent that this was not a situation in which he could slip up. His friends weren't here to laugh and make excuses for drunk Jongin, and they weren't here take him home if he passed out. If he happened to get drunk tonight, he would embarrass himself and the company. He could ruin future job opportunities. Jongin took off his heavy overcoat and checked it into the cloakroom, but the weight on his shoulders didn't subside.

Then, there in front of a row of green-and-pink congratulatory wreaths, Jongin saw Sehun waiting patiently. The black suit he wore fitted him well, but the brown boat shoes didn't quite match. Regardless, Jongin felt relieved just knowing Sehun had taken the time to dress as well as he could, and that he had come to support him. For a moment the negative thoughts in his mind quieted, and all he could think was, Sehun is as tall as those wreaths. Sehun is really tall. Sehun spotted Jongin near the desk, and inclined his head with a gesture of acknowledgement, but he didn't move. Jongin approached him.

"Thanks for coming." He tried to sound less nervous than he felt.

"Sure. Fridays I don't have classes after six, so leaving my desk early wasn't a big deal." Jongin and Sehun turned to enter the hall. Jongin suddenly remembered something, and held him back momentarily.

"Oh, can we say I invited you because you're looking at universities in Russia? I figured you being a maths tutor, it makes sense you might be pursuing higher education. Does that make sense?"

Sehun nodded. Then he said something in such a quiet voice Jongin wasn't sure if it was Sehun, or a voice from his own head talking.

"It wouldn't do to have people thinking we are a couple."



The main hall was rectangular in shape, and tables seating ten were spaced out in front of a raised podium. White table cloths and white chairs were accented with blue and red silk ribbons, and on each table in the centre was a set of wooden Babushka dolls. At one table a little girl was playing happily with the dolls, taking them out and lining them up, while her (presumably) Korean mother and Russian father stood by.

The room was filling up and people were taking their assigned seats. Jongin spotted Taemin and Boa, and Jongin and Sehun made their way over. As they sat down Sehun and Boa were formally introduced, and Taemin and Yixing greeted Sehun.

"I'm thinking of studying Mathematics in Russia, so Jongin asked me to come tonight," Sehun said without prompting. Jongin thought it must have looked very transparent that something was being covered up, but everyone cooed politely, commenting on how smart Sehun must be to want to major in such a difficult discipline.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the first course is about to be served. We have a traditional Russian aperitif, or alternatively we have a lemon juice, lime juice and soda water mix." The waiter held the tray up high, waiting for requests.

"Aperitif," Taemin said, though the foreign word came out a little distorted. Yixing didn't even attempt it and instead simply said, "One for me, too". Boa asked for a glass of hot water, and the waiter said he would prepare it and come back. He then turned to Sehun and Jongin, raising his eyebrows and indicating that it was their turn to order. Sehun ignored him and looked at Jongin and said quietly, "I'm okay with soda water."

Jongin could order soda water for both of them. He could do it.

"The soda water. Two please." Two tumblers of sparkling clear liquid were placed in front of them, and the waiter moved away.

It was simple. Jongin just had to remember that it really was that simple. Everyone at the table said, "Cheers!"

Sehun took a sip of his drink, his tongue circling his lips. He leaned in very close to Jongin's ear and said, "Good choice."

The food arrived and the noise in the room dropped to a hum. Jongin didn't care much for the seafood and salad they were presented with, but Yixing and Sehun carried on an easy conversation about how the fish would have been better served piping hot, and how the sauce had just the right cream-to-lemon ratio. Then their plates were cleared away, the second course (red meat with boiled green vegetables) was served, and the speeches began. The first speaker was one of the Korean workers at the embassy, and in his speech he switched between Russian and Korean with relative ease. The next speaker was the Russian Ambassador himself, and he was, unfortunately, much less engaging. The ambassador's entire talk was in Russian, and though he did try to be attentive, Jongin's interest soon started to waver. The light from above caught the sparkle of Yixing's glass and Jongin could almost smell the alcohol.

It could be so easy. He could conspicuously reach over and grab the glass, smile cheekily if Yixing objected, drink it, and immediately order another in compensation. Jongin imagined the aperitif would taste sour and quite strong - like how a drink to wake up the stomach should taste. He imagined the subtle burn as it went down his throat and the warmth that would immediately settle in his blood.

Then Sehun began to fidget beside him, pulling something out of his pocket - a pen and a piece of paper. Sehun slid the paper over until it was in Jongin's line of sight, resting half under his knife. It was a game of Tic-Tac-Toe. A distraction.

Jongin picked up the pen and carefully considered where he should mark. The paper slid quietly back and forth on the table between them, and at one point Jongin caught the eye of the little girl at the other table and they shared a conspiratorial smile.

Sometimes even adults don't pay attention to other adults.

An hour later and dessert was sitting prettily on the tables. Sehun had devoured his and Jongin's, but they were two of the few people still sitting at the tables. In front of them, guests were milling around with a drink in one hand, engaging with other guests with perfect manners and educated small talk.

As Sehun discreetly slid Yixing's unattended dessert to his place, Jongin sat quietly drumming his fingers against his legs under the table, his mind occupied.

Taemin hasn't had a drink since the aperitif. Yixing hasn't stopped drinking since the aperitif, but he doesn't look drunk. Ah, it must be because he grew up on baijiu. Most alcohol pales in comparison to baijiu, so Russian liquor probably doesn't affect him so much. Boa hasn't had anything to drink all night except for her glasses of hot water. And Sehun. Sehun has had the soda, a coke, a lemonade and a hot chocolate. He is still drinking the hot chocolate.

"Jongin, what are you thinking?"

"Nothing."

"Please don't lie. You did promise to be honest with me... and the others."

Jongin snapped back nastily, "We aren't at a meeting. I don't have to tell you anything." Jongin glared at him and Sehun glared right back. Jongin felt like he'd been cornered. He was angry. Sehun slowly finished eating Yixing's cake, then turned to speak to Jongin in a soft voice.

"I have to go to the bathroom. What about you?"

Jongin led the way - he thought it would be easier to yell at Sehun away from everyone.

The men's stalls were empty, and when they entered, Jongin turned to lock the door to the bathroom. He was going to tell Sehun exactly where to go, then he was going to have a drink to settle his churning stomach.

But Sehun stood in front of him, palms up in front of his body. There was no anger, or impatience, or annoyance coming from him.

"Jongin." Sehun looked him directly in the eyes. "You are okay." It wasn't a question, but a statement. Sehun said Jongin was okay, and suddenly Jongin felt... not quite okay, but definitely sober. Sehun's words repeated in his head. Then Sehun said again, "You are okay."

Jongin could keep being sober. No matter the hurricane in his heart or the scorpions in his mind, he was sober, and Sehun supported him. He was okay.

Sehun took one step forward. Then another. Jongin stood still, forgetting that he had a body that was capable of physical movement. Then Sehun was hugging him, and Jongin still didn't move, but he was very aware of Sehun's breath on his ear.

"I'm going to wait outside. Try splashing some water on your face." Sehun leaned back, smiling at Jongin. "Hell, dunk your whole head under the tap. You're sober. So be sober. Be your cool, smart self, then come out and we will do this together."

Jongin heard Sehun unlock the door and leave quietly, and then Jongin was alone in the bathroom.

Sehun says I'm okay. But... I think there's something wrong with me. I know how much everyone has had to drink. Why do I know this? Isn't this a waste of time and energy? Who is this person? Is this alcoholic Jongin?

Jongin's reflection didn't present any answers, and his thoughts swirled about in his stomach as much as they did in his head.

Alcoholic. Choice. Cure.
Choice. Cure.

Jongin turned on the faucet, cupped his hands, and splashed cold, clean water on his face. With a paper towel, he carefully patted his face and hands until they were dry. Jongin tried to smile, carefully watching the face in the mirror. But the face didn't appear as normal as he hoped - his smile was weird, and it looked more like he was just baring his teeth. Jongin covered his face with his palms and breathed in.

Choice. Cure.
Sehun is here. For you.

Jongin put his hand on the door handle, the metal cold under his fingers. When he stepped out, he left all the doubts, troubles and unanswered questions on the damp paper towels he'd thrown in the trash can.

*

The next day at the meeting, Jongin received his first token - seven days. It felt like it meant both nothing and everything. While the others were speaking, he turned the sobriety token over in his hands. One turn, and he felt like he'd really achieved something - he'd had a goal of being sober and focusing on dance, and he'd done it well for that week. Another turn of the token, and he thought he was juvenile and lacking in character - he shouldn't need to come to AA. He should have just tried to have better control over his drinking in the first place. When the meeting had ended, Sehun was packing up the chairs while Jongin sat on the stage, his legs dangling off the edge.
"Tao, go buy them yourself..." Sehun paused, his phone in one hand and a chair in the other. "Seriously? Fine, how many?" After a few moments Sehun put the phone back in his pocket, mumbling complaints under his breath.

"What was that about?" Jongin asked, realising the words came out sounding nosier than he'd intended.

"Zitao, my roommate, is sick. I have to go buy capsicums and chilli so he can make more of his weird family recipe Chinese tea." The displeasure was clear on Sehun's face, but his tone wasn't angry or contemptuous. Jongin was slowly getting to know the colours of Sehun's voice.

"Then, let's go."

Twenty minutes later both boys were in line at the checkout - Sehun with his vegetables and Jongin with a gift for Jina. He'd slept badly after the Embassy event and he'd irritated his sister by refusing to eat breakfast and spending the whole morning curled up in bed with his dogs. By mid-afternoon Monggu and Janggu were getting restless, but Jongin couldn't find the energy to get up and take them for a walk - the internal chatter in his brain was dull, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn't switch it off entirely. It took Jina dropping a cold towel on his face and driving Jongin to the AA meeting to get him to start his day - at 5pm.

Jongin wanted to buy Jina something to apologise for being so useless, and the fancy boxed strawberries he was holding seemed like a good idea. Then, just as Jongin was taking his card back from the cashier, Sehun turned to him with a mischievous smile.

"Hey, do you want to meet Tao?"

"Er, well." Jongin was hesitant. "If he's sick, he probably doesn't want to meet new people."

"Yeah, that's why it will be fun."

Jongin put the strawberries in his bag. When he looked up at Sehun again, he was wearing a mischievous smile of his own.

"You're a bad roommate."



Jongin and Sehun had a quiet ten-minute walk to the apartment. Somehow, it wasn't an awkward silence, but a peaceful one - this silence really did drown out the negative chatter in Jongin's head. Kicking off their shoes at the entrance, they entered, and Sehun gave Jongin a quick tour, pointing out the two bedrooms (one door was bare, the other door had a Chinese martial arts poster on it), the bathroom, the laundry and the balcony. When the two were back in the living room, one door had opened by just a crack.

"Pssst, Sehun!" A voice hissed from the next room.

"Yes, Tao?" Sehun replied, casually.

"Why did you bring guests over? I'm sick." Jongin heard the disembodied voice give a forced cough before continuing. "And I'm in the middle of my three-step pore-cleansing routine!"

"The guest is Jongin."

"Oh, Jongin-the-dancer?"

"Yes, that Jongin."

The door closed and Sehun gave Jongin a thumbs up. Jongin smiled and shook his head in bemusement. It was unusual to see Sehun so at home. He took a seat on the small couch while Sehun busied himself in the kitchen.

"I guess I should apologise for dragging you into these games." Sehun returned holding two glasses of milk, and he gave one to Jongin before grabbing a cushion and sitting cross-legged on the floor. "Tao makes fun of me a lot, saying I'm too quiet, too serious..."

"You forgot too anal."

Tao had emerged dramatically from his room, clad in an ankle-length red silk dressing gown (and, Jongin noticed, slightly pink across the nose). Zitao introduced himself and Jongin shook his hand, aware of Sehun fuming silently and picking at the threads in the cushion. Tao patted the back of Jongin's hand, like a grandparent might do to a beloved grandchild.

"You are all he talks about these days. You and his dear maths." Having properly embarrassed both of them, Tao took his leave and went to the kitchen to make his tea. Jongin tried to find a way to change the subject.

"This is really good," he said, holding up the glass. "It's banana milk, right?"

"It's banana flavoured almond milk. Less sugar than the regular stuff." Jongin looked into his drink, half-expecting to see almond pieces floating in it. In the kitchen, the sound of the kettle was getting louder.

"How do you know Tao?"

"Tao used to date the lead singer of the band." Sehun looked pointedly down into his glass, and Jongin told himself again he should really reign in his nosy questions. Sehun continued, "After... well, afterwards, Tao had to make some choices about his future and he ended up coming to Korea to study."

"You two aren't... I mean, you didn't..." Jongin hoped the end of his sentence would be obvious, but Sehun just stared back blankly. At that moment Tao emerged from the kitchen carrying a large thermos of strange-smelling tea.

"No, we didn't hook up. Sehun is incapable of expressing his potato... ah, not potato, his emotions." Sehun grinned at Tao's mix up of the similar-sounding Korean words, and Jongin knew it would become fodder for jokes later. Tao didn't seem too off-put though, and he continued.

"Sehun needs someone who understands him, someone who is patient, and can accept his moody, brooding ways. He needs a nice boy."

Tao retreated to his bedroom before Sehun could throw a cushion at him.

*

Jongin spent his week training regularly and impressing both the choreographer and the director with his improvement and dedication. The days at the studio were long, but Jongin found he was sleeping better than he ever had. Luhan only attended practice two days a week, and though his dance skills as a soloist were undeniably good, the lack of teamwork was also equally evident. His scenes with Yixing as the prince were ill-timed, and Luhan would get scolded for either not matching with the music, or not matching with his partner. When they practised with the corps for the Infernal Dance scene, both Luhan and Jongin were prone to losing their place on stage and running into the other dancers. The Firebird was turning out to be a more complicated ballet than anyone had imagined.

March turned into April, and one cool Saturday evening Jongin was walking to a meeting - the meeting where he would receive his one month token. His fingers were intertwined tightly around the can of hot coffee he was holding, and in his mind he was turning over the events of the day. Jongin had spent the afternoon bowling with Baekhyun and Chanyeol, and he'd decided that he would tell them both about his choice to live sober. However, that talk had not gone as planned.

As he ascended the stairs to the studio, he heard voices coming from inside - and one voice, though familiar, seemed out of place. He opened the door, and when he saw who owned the familiar voice, he almost dropped his coffee. It was the director, Mr Cho.



"Hi, my name is Jeong - as you all know well by now - and I've been sober for one year." Jeong paused while Jongin, Sehun and Jin applauded, and Sehun presented him (with no real explanation) with a gift box of high quality sesame oil. "I also have my brother, Sang, here to support me tonight." Jeong turned to Mr Cho. "You have always stood by me, and at times it was like you understood this illness better than I did. This is the longest I have been continually sober, and so I want to say - from the bottom of my heart - thank you."

Jeong sat down and Mr Cho put his arm around his brother's shoulder. Side-by-side, Jongin realised they did look similar, but he'd never considered the possibility he might meet someone he knew here. But then, he realised, that was the point - it was anonymous, and alcoholism didn't discriminate by age or career. Jin stood up to address them.

"Jeong, we are very proud of you, and," Jin inclined his head towards Mr Cho, "it is really heartening to know that there are people in the community who accept us as ourselves - warts, flaws, scars and all. We have a second award to give out tonight."

Jongin had desperately wanted to share his story of the afternoon with the group. He felt so alone and confused. But with his boss present, he felt very uncomfortable. Jin continued with the announcement.

"Jongin. Congratulations on one month of sobriety." Jongin stood up and shook Jin's hand as he received the small coloured token. His head was spinning. He felt proud and cowardly. He felt like a success and a failure. He didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything. Sehun, however, was apparently not fooled.

"Jongin, how are you progressing with telling people about your choice to live sober? You said the other week your sister now knows and supports your decision. Have you felt comfortable enough to tell anyone else?"

In the small circle of chairs, Sehun was sitting to Jongin's right, and Jin was sitting almost directly opposite. If Jongin angled his body just slightly to the right, Jeong and Mr Cho on his left would be out of his field of vision. Maybe he could ask for help tonight.

"I..." Jongin turned the new token over one, two, three times. He cleared his throat and started again. "I have a circle of friends from high school. Our parents all work for the same company, too, so we have always been close. So far, I've been able to tell one of those friends, and today I tried to tell two others." Jongin rested his elbows on his knees and bent his head. He spoke to the impartial floorboards.

"They basically didn't believe me. One of my friends, Baekhyun, had this huge misconception. He'd heard of being an alcoholic, but he associated it just with old men with ruined livers. He thought that a drunkard and an alcoholic were one and the same, and he said if I was an alcoholic, then half of all Korean men must be alcoholics."

"That could be very close to the truth. It's awful, but it could be true," Jin said quietly.

"My other friend looked just, kind of stunned," Jongin continued, "I guess he had no idea about alcohol addiction either way. So, in the end..." Jongin didn't want to say it. He really, really didn't want to admit how pathetically he'd behaved. But taking responsibility was a big deal, and the group had told him over and over that acknowledging your mistakes was the surest way to prevent you from repeating those mistakes again. "In the end I backtracked. I said I probably wasn't an alcoholic, and that I planned to just cut down - not cut out - alcohol." Jongin's hands suddenly felt very hot and his feet very cold. "Baekhyun agreed that cutting down on alcohol was more sensible and normal. And then we just kept bowling. And then I came here."

The room was silent.

"Jongin, it's okay," Jin said.

"It's really not okay! My friends are... my friends mean everything to me. They are loyal and patient, and when one of us has a problem, we listen to each other and figure it out. And now suddenly, they're not doing that. I have never argued with Baekhyun, and I don't want to argue with him." Jongin stopped talking. It felt like there were ropes around his chest, tightening with every new acknowledgement of how his friends had failed him. Though expressing his anger just now, with words, had helped a little, all his other emotions stayed bottled up inside.

Sehun leaned over the empty seat between them and put a hand on Jongin's knee. Jeong spoke up. "The fact is, though, you were under pressure - extreme, new, unprepared-for pressure, and you didn't drink. It's a huge deal." Beside him, Jongin saw Mr Cho nod in agreement, and though their eye contact was only momentary, it was not as intimidating as Jongin had expected.

"When you feel ready, there are ways you can approach the topic of sobriety with these friends again, and I can help you practice for that," Jin said, kindly. "But in the mean time, it might be a good option to just limit the time you spend with them. Being busy with work, or saying you just have a specific amount of time to meet are usually effective."

The invisible ropes around Jongin's chest loosened as the evening went on, with the members talking openly about their experiences with difficult people, and also how misconceptions of alcoholism were usually perpetuated, rather than dispelled, by the media. At the end of the meeting, while Jeong was thanking Sehun again for the gift, Mr Cho approached Jongin.

"Congratulations on earning your one month token.”

Jongin's fingers clutched the token in his pocket, and he gave Mr Cho a hesitant smile.

"Actually," the older man began conversationally, "my company owns this space. When Jeong started to show signs of alcohol addiction, I offered this room to AA for meetings." Mr Cho held out his hand to Jongin. "I'm glad that it seems to have helped other people, too."

Jongin shook his hand firmly. Relief washed over him, calming him and relieving the remaining pressure on his chest. He spoke from his heart.

"Thank you for your generosity. These meetings really have helped me, and I know they'll keep helping me through future stressful times."

Mr Cho looked back to see his brother approaching. He quickly leaned in and whispered to Jongin.

"Just by-the-by, tell Kim Jongin to check his email. This afternoon I had to send him some news about work." And with that, Jeong and Sang said goodbye and wished Jongin a happy week ahead.



On the train home, Jongin checked the email notifications he'd received that day. One email was from the local vet, saying it was time for Monggu and Janggu's annual check up. The second email was from the company. Jongin read the email through. He checked the time the email was sent - 12:03p.m. It was sent while he was bowling. Before the AA meeting. Definitely before the meeting. He read the email again.

"...regretfully announce that Luhan has decided to leave the company..."

"...wish him all the best in the future..."

"Kim Jongin is, as of Monday, the new understudy for the part of the firebird."

For the first time in a long time the negative voices inside him offered no comment or opinion, and a new, cool, sober voice spoke to him instead.

Life is full of opportunities.

*

The cherry blossoms were in full bloom in Seoul, and the April breeze sent a near constant stream of light, loose petals floating through the air. Minseok had sent Jongin a photo that showed the flowers just starting to bloom in the northern part of the country, and Kyungsoo had sent him a photo from Jeju of an all-green tree surrounded by a carpet of pink petals. Jongin and the other dancers were putting in longer and longer hours at rehearsal, and the rare pockets of free time were spent either sleeping, attending AA meetings, or at Sehun's apartment. Neither of the boys had openly admitted their feelings, but sometimes, while Sehun scribbled equations on the whiteboards in the living room, Jongin let himself stare openly at the other's (adorable) expression of concentration. Sehun, too, though not the kind of person to easily show his feelings, had never yet been too busy or too tired to meet Jongin, for any occasion. And when Sehun turned up unexpectedly at the studio one Friday, the smile on Jongin's face was wide enough and bright enough to prompt Taemin to whisper, "How do you consistently find men who are even taller than you are?"

While Jongin was showering, Taemin showed Sehun the dance studio and the performance space upstairs, and when Jongin returned with damp hair and wearing his best tracksuit, Taemin suggested they make a night of it and go look at the cherry blossoms. Sehun, in imitation of a six-year-old venturing to speak in class, put his hand up.

"Considering none of us has yet had dinner, we should order fried chicken and Fanta."

"Oh, you think we should?" Taemin replied. Jongin realised that Taemin was probably not used to Sehun's direct way of speaking, but Sehun didn't pick up on the other's sarcasm.

"We can get lemonade if you don't like Fanta."

"How about," Jongin said, slightly louder than the other two. "How about we see if we can find a patch of grass to actually sit down on first, then decide on dinner?" He raised his eyebrows, hoping for agreement. Taemin shrugged and Sehun nodded. As they left the building and walked three abreast in the direction of a nearby park, Sehun reached into his long cardigan pocket and pulled out several small packs of individually wrapped waffles. He offered one to Taemin.

"I'm kind of on a diet."

Taemin may have said, "I've kind of given up showering." Sehun pursed his lips - his distaste for Taemin's lifestyle choices very apparent. Jongin tried to make conversation and find a suitable topic they could all talk about, but each attempt was, from both parties, met with either silence or monosyllabic answers. At the park they were very lucky to walk by a family that was right in the middle of packing up their picnic basket. Jongin spent a few moments lavishing affection on the family's Cavalier King Charles spaniel, before the three sat down to quietly appreciate the end of the cherry blossoms and the blue, pink and navy streaks of the evening sky.

Several minutes later loud voices could be heard coming from around the corner of the path. From his position under the tree, Jongin couldn't yet see who they were, but, from the types of bawdy jokes they were telling, he guessed it was drunk university students.

"Of course! Business is business, and pleasure is..."

Jongin watched the men as they emerged from around the corner. Their ties hung loose around their necks. They were walking distractedly, aimlessly, as if they had all the time in the world and there was no one on the path but them. He counted two older men and three younger. Jongin watched them as they approached. He should have turned away, hidden himself, but he didn't. Sehun, while intently reading a delivery menu on his phone, tapped Jongin on the shoulder. "Jongin, if we order chicken, we will get the..."

"What are you doing here?" One man from the group stepped forward, his index finger pointed rudely at Jongin. Sehun and Taemin both almost suffered whiplash, turning their heads up immediately at the person who informally addressed their friend. Jongin stood up instinctively and bowed low.

"Welcome back to Seoul, father," he said, without emotion. "I'm here with my friends. And welcome back, Mr Park." Jongin bowed to the man he recognised as Chanyeol's father.

"Ah, Jongin. You're looking well. Must be all that exercise," Mr Park said. He then turned to the group and explained, in a patronising tone, "Jongin here is a ballerina."

"Yes, I'm sorry, everyone." Mr Kim also turned his back to Jongin and spoke to the three younger men. "My one-and-only son is still in the dreamer phase. He thinks he's a dancer. An artist." Mr Kim used his finger to make quotation marks in the air and wheezed in an unhealthy imitation of laughter.

Jongin could see the group smiling awkwardly in passive agreement. Mr Park and the company drones each held an identical can of Asahi beer, while his father clutched a black plastic bag from the convenience store. It looked like After Work Drinks. It looked like an Employee Bonding Team Building night. It looked like five rapidly ageing men sweating through their white business shirts. Jongin was embarrassed and disgusted, and apparently he wasn't the only one. Taemin stood up.

"Excuse me, but we're just here to enjoy the cherry blossoms and have a quiet evening, so..."

Mr Kim looked Taemin up and down. "Oh, oh you're pretty. Like Jongin, I bet you haven't done your military service yet either, have you?"

By this time Sehun was also standing. As the tallest of all the men assembled, he made his presence felt by stepping forward, staring at Mr Kim, then immediately ignoring him. Sehun spoke in a hard voice. "Jongin, we are going to buy dinner." He stared down at Mr Kim. "Excuse us."

The junior staffers began to whisper to each other - their boss was being answered back to, and by people half his age as well. Mr Kim had noticed this, too. He took a step around Sehun and grabbed Jongin's hand for what was, ostensibly, a handshake.

"Here, boy. Enjoy the drinks, they'll help your growth." Mr Kim laughed, his gold fillings catching the light. He forced the bag into Jongin's hand, and Jongin could feel the bones and tendons rub painfully against each other under his father's vice-like grip.

"Good night, gentlemen." Mr Park drained the last of his beer and threw the can at Jongin's feet. Five white shirts walked down the path towards the park gates, their voices becoming fainter and fainter.

The sun had almost set, and the apartment buildings and large elm trees had left most of the park in darkness. In daylight what had been a cool spring breeze was now a cold wind. Sehun took his phone out of his pocket, then immediately put it away again.

"It's almost seven. Want to just eat and play XBOX at my house?"

"I'm in," Taemin said without hesitation.

The weight of the beer in the bag seemed like it could bring Jongin to his knees. He had that feeling again where he wanted to scream and vomit at the same time. How could he be made of half the biological material of that man? That man was a selfish, sycophantic, money-hungry corporate player, while Jongin was a person who cherished his friends, rarely followed the crowd, and (though aware of his naivety) never wanted for more than he already had. He thought back to waking up in Wonshik's apartment all those months ago, looking at all the unwashed clothes, the pile of dishes, the rows and rows of glass bottles and cans of energy drinks, but seeing the keyboard, the tattoo-care set, and the stacks of written-in notebooks. He saw passion and commitment and authenticity - the kinds of things he wanted his own life to be about. Jongin picked up the crushed beer can, put it in the bag, and held it away from his body.

"I'm in, too. But can someone empty these and put them in the recycling, please? The smell of the beer is making me feel a bit sick."

Sehun took the bag without a word and walked over to the bins.

"I'm really sorry for the way my dad spoke to you." Jongin said to Taemin. "He's just... from another generation."

"I get it. I mean, I hate it, but I get it. Next time, though," Taemin paused for emphasis, "Please don't make excuses for him. He's him, and you're you, and you have nothing to apologise for." Jongin turned the phrase over in his head. You're you. Sehun returned, his hands free and his tone light.

"The plants enjoyed the drink. Okay, let's go."

Arriving at the apartment, Sehun disappeared into the kitchen, and Taemin and Jongin selected classics from the game shelf - Minecraft, Halo, and Grand Theft Auto. A few minutes later Sehun presented two plates of steamed dumplings, a side of kimchi and a bowl of boiled broccoli with ketchup for their dinner. It was a low-calorie meal prepared in quiet consideration of his health conscious guest. That night the boys ignored the outside world - the world that gave them labels like gay, straight, wealthy, working, skilled, unskilled - and the world that told them to socialise a certain way, work a certain way, live a certain way. Instead they played games and talked about the new Harry Potter movie and when they were tired, they slept. Like humans do.

*

One Saturday at the end of April, Jongin left the house to go to an AA meeting, his backpack much heavier than usual. This week he was the one bringing food.

Jina's pregnancy cravings had resulted in the Kim house having an abundance of random items - peppermint tea, fig baguettes from a certain bakery in Seorae, and frozen mango-on-a-stick, to name but a few. When Joonmyun visited on the previous weekend he brought with him four bags of mango in anticipation of keeping his pregnant wife happy. What he didn't anticipate, however, was Jina's sudden change of cravings. By Sunday night she was sick of mango and instead was desperate for a bag of colourful traditional Korean hard candy. Jongin and Joonmyun had then raced down to the supermarket (literally raced - Jongin won, so Joonmyun had to take an ugly selfie) to buy what she'd asked for. However, this left the family with a freezer full of mango and very few family members to eat it.

"Take it to the meeting," Jina suggested.

"But Sehun usually brings the food. He sets up the chairs and brings the food."

"What, so you can't bring food, too?"

Jongin had forgotten how insistent his sister could be. "Sehun is a bit particular about things. You don't know him." When Jina casually mentioned that it was high time she called Sehun to introduce herself, anyway, Jongin hastily grabbed his phone from the kitchen countertop and declared he would take the mango.

He went to his room for some privacy, and when he opened the messaging program he realised he hadn't talked to Sehun since the last AA meeting. Jongin had been extra busy that week with rehearsals and, in particular, costume fittings. He typed out a message asking Sehun how his week had been, and if perhaps he, Jongin, could bring food to the meeting tonight. Sehun's immediate reply of 'OK', although short, was not out of character.

Two hours later Jongin arrived and immediately began to lighten his backpack by passing out the mango snacks. The meeting began, and Jin awarded Jongin his token for making it two months sober. Jeong talked about the stress he'd been getting at work and how he was trying to combat it with exercise - taekwondo, to be precise. Then Sehun stood up.

"Hello, my name is Sehun, and I have been sober for two hundred and forty-four days now." Sehun's expression didn't change while the others held the mango-on-a-stick between their teeth and gave the obligatory round of applause. "I had a... strange week. I got several pieces of unexpected news, and I started to stress out, but instead of dealing with it on my own I reached out for help." Sehun looked across the circle to Jin, and Jin smiled like a proud parent. "So, I'm still clean and sober."

Sehun did not to go into detail about his week, and when he sat down Jin began to speak about the importance of reaching out when you need support, and patience when you are the one doing the supporting. Jongin ate three pieces of mango without noticing. In his mind, questions arose without warning - questions that made him anxious. What happened to Sehun this week? Why couldn't he talk to me about it? In his eyes, am I less of a friend?

After the meeting, after the two older members had left, Sehun set about packing up the chairs. This time, Jongin didn't offer to help. He just helped.

"Don't worry about it. I'll do it," Sehun said, predictably.

"No, I want to help."

"STOP IT." Sehun raised the chair he was holding then brought it down hard, the feet vibrating against the wooden floor and making a horrible noise. "Please," he said, more calmly, "Please, just let me pack up the chairs."

Jongin wasn't scared by Sehun's outburst, but it did raise more questions. He knew what he wanted to say, but he was also ninety-nine percent sure it would come out the wrong way - that it would sound whiny and desperate. Jongin said it, anyway.

"Why didn't you call me this week?"

Sehun shrugged and said nothing.

"You don't want to answer? Fine. Then, why can't I help you pack up the chairs?" Sehun opened his mouth to reply, but he soon realised that this wasn't a conversation, but a monologue. "Why won't you let me help you?" Jongin continued. "You could have called me if you were having a hard time. I always call you..." Jongin's voice got weaker as he spoke. He leaned back against the stage and pulled the cuffs of his long-sleeved shirt over his hands until just his fingertips were showing - a physical layer that defended him from the cold on the outside, but not something that could protect him from the negativity that came from the inside.

"To answer your first question, I didn't call you because I didn't want to worry you." Sehun stood in the middle of the room, chairs haphazardly scattered between them. "You have your first performances for the schools next month. You said your sister is pregnant and living with you. You've got pressure from your parents..." The embarrassment Jongin felt when reminded of his father's drunken behaviour the other week made him lower his head.

"Hey!" Sehun waved his hand in the air to try and get Jongin's attention back. Jongin looked up, following Sehun with his eyes as he came to stand next to him in front of the stage. Without an initial explanation, Sehun's hand reached into Jongin's shorts pocket and took out a small, circular disc.

"The two month token. This shows that you are committed to living sober. It shows that you are a part of our AA community, and for someone who used to rely on alcohol as much as you did, it is a huge achievement. However it is the next milestone - the one hundred days token - that will really show that you have broken the connection." He held out the token for Jongin to take. Their fingertips touched.

"For one hundred days, you focus on getting your world in order. Then you'll have the strength and conviction to help other people get their world in order. After one hundred days, things change."

Jongin's eyes met Sehun's. Their breathing fell in sync. Jongin's hand was holding the token and Sehun's hand was holding his. The words were more than just encouragement to stay sober - they sounded like a promise. Jongin leaned in closer, his gaze flicking between Sehun's parted lips and his clear bright eyes.

"What about the chairs?" he whispered.

Sehun rolled his eyes and elbowed Jongin in the ribs.

"A hundred days," Jongin said, half smiling and half wincing in pain. "I can wait."

*

Spring passed in a blur of final practice sessions, promotional photo shoots and dress rehearsals. Yixing tripped over a stray lighting cable and tore a hole in the knee of his white performance tights. The costumes for the Monster minions were bulkier than anticipated, and the dancers complained that they would need to reorganise their stage positions. Taemin and Jongin had been measured and fitted for their respective firebird costumes, but the wardrobe department went one step further and insisted on gluing red crystals near the boys’ eyes and on their cheeks. Jongin had an allergic reaction to the glue and spent the next twenty-four hours with soothing gel on his face. Considering these incidents to be merely minor hiccups and fixable errors, Mr Cho would say (at least five times a day), "The show must go on!"

One warm Thursday in May, in a small theatre in Yeoksam, Jongin and Taemin were walking around the stage to calculate, just once more, the size of the performance area.

"How did your shoes feel on these floorboards?" Taemin asked Jongin.

"More grippy than usual. The girls said the same thing." Jongin sat down in the front row, watching as Taemin walked to upstage stage left and started stretching his quads. Jongin looked at his watch. "Last one, then we really should go. I think they’ll be locking the main doors at six." Taemin nodded. He raised his arms, took a step forward, and began to dance the Freedom sequence - the last moments of the firebird exploring the woods before being caught by Prince Ivan. Taemin jumped and turned and bent in time to the ballet score as it played out in his head, and, after all these months of practice, Jongin could hear the music echoing in his ears, too.

It was then he remembered, a long time ago, Sehun saying something about music. I haven't touched drugs, or alcohol, or music since. While Taemin danced, Jongin leaned back into the plush red seats, took off his ballet shoes, and sorted through his memories. He was sure there were no instruments in Sehun's apartment, and on the shelf with the books and games, he couldn't remember seeing any CDs. It occurred to Jongin that he'd never even seen Sehun with headphones on. Perhaps, after those hundred days, music was something he could help Sehun find happiness in again.

"Ooo, comfortable," Taemin said casually as he flopped down in the chair beside Jongin, "Though I bet the luxury is wasted on the seven-year-olds who will be sitting here tomorrow. What are you thinking about?"

"Just... life things."

"Not life-and-death things?" Taemin said, with a concerned, serious look on his face.

Jongin smiled and shook his head. "No, no. And not about my life, either. About other people's lives." Jongin finished lacing up his trainers and put his dance shoes in his duffel bag, and Taemin quickly followed suit. As they left the building, Jongin held the doors open for the cleaners who were just arriving.

"You're a good sort, Kim Jongin." Taemin said, out of the blue.

"How do you figure that?"

"Well, you're nice to strangers, you're committed to your work, you're a good friend and colleague." Taemin adjusted his bag so that it sat higher on his back. "I'm just glad we got to cross paths, you know?"

Jongin sensed that Taemin, for all his positivity, professionalism and serene reflections, was probably harbouring his own doubts and insecurities, too. Like everyone did. Everyday.

"I'm glad we crossed paths, too."



The performances for the children went as smoothly as the company could have hoped for. During one performance, one child began to cry because he was scared of the evil magician Koschei, and then in the next performance, another child began to imitate Koschei, waving her water bottle around in imitation of a magic staff. Jongin had told Minseok of the school performance timetable and the dates he was sure he would be dancing on, but of course it was unknown whether Minseok would be allowed to leave base on any of those days.

At the end of the last school performance, Jongin and the other cast members were arranging themselves on stage, ready to answer questions from the children. As the lights went up and they scanned the audience for the first child with a microphone, Jongin's eyes fell on four very familiar faces. Minseok, Kyungsoo, Chanyeol and Baekhyun had all come to watch, and they were all silently (and manically) waving as they stood in the back row.

For the next twenty minutes, Jongin listened patiently to the children's questions. One child asked, "Why is there no talking in ballet?" In response, Jongin explained about different kinds of storytelling, and how ballet was storytelling through dance. "Also, because ballet has no words, it doesn't need translation. We can dance The Firebird in Korea, or in China, or in Australia, and people will still understand the story." The next question was a little trickier.

"That firebird was cool, but are there any ballets with dinosaurs?" Jongin turned to the other cast members, happy to let someone else answer.

When he finally arrived backstage, Jongin unclipped the ornamental red feathers from his hair while checking his phone messages. Kyungsoo had texted him saying that the four of them would be waiting in the lobby. Jongin hastily changed his clothes and shoes, grabbed a makeup wipe (four came out the box), and hurried upstairs.

"Red is definitely your colour," Minseok said, as he ran towards Jongin and hugged him tightly.

"And you manage to make camouflage green work. How is that even possible?" Jongin stepped back to admire Minseok in his army uniform.

"Congratulations on the performance, Jongin," Kyungsoo said as he handed Jongin a bunch of flowers. Jongin thanked him with a hug that lifted him off the floor.

"I was doing some research," Baekhyun said, stepping forward, "And I found out that dancers usually require a few of these." He presented Jongin with a large gift box. Jongin eyed the box suspiciously, then opened it to reveal eight pairs of tights in four colours, and two white dancebelts.

"That is very thoughtful of you, Baekhyun. You know, you're the first man to buy me underwear."

"We also wanted to say," Chanyeol interjected, "that we are very sorry for the other week. Like Baekhyun said, we have done some research," here Baekhyun fixed Jongin with a stare so gravely serious and contrite it was almost comical, "and we want to support you. From now on, when you think of support," Baekhyun dipped into the box and held up the dancebelt with a big smile on his face, "think of us, yeah?"

Jongin thought there could be no better friends in the world than the people standing in front of him. Minseok licked his thumb and rubbed at the remaining smudges of makeup.

"Okay, you're presentable now. Ice cream, everyone?"

*

On Thursday night in the second week of June, Jongin was sitting in the wings, in costume, watching as the firebird tried to escape from the prince. This was the fourth full-length performance, and so far, there had been no major problems. When the audience members arrived each night, they were presented with a program and a red feather, and in the program was a headshot of all the principal dancers - Jongin's picture among them. He'd had his name in programs before, but this felt different. He'd taken three copies from an open box in the corridor - one for himself, one for Jina, and one for Sehun.

When he thought about Sehun these days, it made his heart strong and his knees weak. It was more than just attraction, but Jongin insisted to himself that it wasn't... the L word. He knew he was still being kept in the dark about many aspects of Sehun's past, and indeed, his present. But the possibility that, in the future, they could talk more openly and help each other was a delicate, flickering flame of hope that Jongin kept under lock and key.

The lights went down and the music stopped - it was the end of Part I. Jongin picked up his chair and moved to sit back against the far wall. The dancers scurried off stage to fix up their makeup and rehydrate, while the stagehands wheeled out a new set piece in preparation for the next scene. Minutes later the lights went up, the dancers entered, and the story continued.

Jongin sat through the performance, with negative thoughts, positive thoughts, irrelevant thoughts all competing for his attention. During the performance he drowned out those voices by focusing on the great and immutable presence of the orchestra. The music wrapped around him, familiar and comforting. He knew the twists and turns, the high notes and the low notes. Now, though, with the performers taking a bow and Taemin receiving flowers, he had no distraction. Before the others left the stage, Jongin raced to the changeroom, hung up his costume, and exited before anyone noticed.

He walked away from the theatre, past the shops and apartment buildings, across the overpass, and he ended up at the Han River. Ahead he saw a set of wide concrete steps leading right down to the water's edge. No one was sitting there - all the families and couples were spread out on picnic rugs on the soft grassy area behind him. He walked over and sat down at exactly halfway, with the bike path above and the ink-black water below. The hum of the traffic, the voices of children and the sighing of the early summer breeze seemed to be running through his veins, like it was a part of him.

You're you.

It wasn't a positive thought, or a negative one. It was simply a truth. Then, for the first time in a very long time, Jongin began to cry. The typhoon of emotions and memories that had lived inside him for so long forced its way out through ragged breaths and heavy, salty tears. Everything that made Kim Jongin who he was - the parts of him that he acknowledged and the parts of him that he didn't want to acknowledge - all gathered in the creases of his palms as he held his face in his hands and cried.

Later that night, when the park had emptied and the rubbish bins filled, Jongin stood up, put his headphones on, and walked away.



"Jongin, are you busy?"

"Not busy, I'm just on my way home now. Why? Are you okay?"

"Maybe you can start to run home?"

Jongin stopped dead in his tracks. "Is it the baby?"

"No, it's the watermelon that's been growing inside me. Yes, the baby!" Jongin began to sprint back to the apartment while still holding the phone to his ear. He arrived completely out of breath and just in time to see Jina stepping out the front doors and a taxi pulling up to the entrance. He picked up the bag next to her and helped her inside. On the way to the hospital Jina explained that their stepmother was out at a dinner in Bundang and would probably arrive back in Seoul soon. She didn't say anything about contacting their father. Jongin held her hand through a contraction and tied her hair back with an elastic from her wrist. It wasn't a very good ponytail, but at least he felt like he was helping.

They arrived at the hospital, Jongin carrying the bag (and half-carrying his sister), and checked in quickly. After he'd helped her climb onto the bed and adjust it to the angle Jina's birthing book recommended, there was not much more he could do.

"This baby is coming soon. I know it," Jina said, clenching her teeth through another contraction. Jongin hoped she was right. He felt very much like a fish out of water and he wished Joonmyun was here so he could feel out of water with someone.

His stepmother finally showed up, and, only minutes later, the baby decided to make its grand entrance into the world. When Jongin was allowed back into the room, he saw Jina crying, his stepmother crying and the baby crying. It was one of the most perfect moments of his life.



Jina had the baby. It's really, really tiny.

Jongin pressed the send button and the message appeared at the bottom of his conversation with Sehun. Below the message it showed the time – 11:58 p.m. It had been a long day, a long week, and already a long year. Physical exhaustion sat heavy on Jongin's shoulders and he considered sleeping at the hospital for a bit before heading home. Then his phone vibrated.

Which hospital are you at? Also, congratulations!

Jongin texted Sehun the name of the hospital, but insisted that he didn't need to send any gifts. Jongin went back into the room and smiled at his sister, now fast asleep. On the bedside table there was a note left by his stepmother saying she went home to change her clothes and that she would be back in the morning. In the far corner he spied a doctor's table that looked like it was just there to be kept out of the way. Perfect for a nap. It felt like Jongin had just closed his eyes when he was being shaken awake again.

"Sehun?"

"In the flesh."

"You didn't have to..."

"You said not to send gifts, so I brought some instead." Sehun took a step back while Jongin sat up on the bed, then slid forward to put his feet on the ground.

"It really wasn't necess..." Jongin looked in the gift bag, then up at Sehun, his eyes half-closed. "You brought food."

"And a bear," Sehun said, looking hurt. "Anyway, this isn't for you." Sehun put the white bear, a card, and a set of Korean honey cakes on the bedside table (inadvertently knocking Mrs Kim's note to the floor) then turned back to Jongin, who was now rubbing his eyes.

"Congratulations to you, too." Sehun put one hand on Jongin's shoulder, and dipped his head a little until they were at the same eye level. Jongin blinked and smiled, thinking Sehun was referring to the ballet performances. Then, the hand on his shoulder began to shake a little. He looked down at it, then up at Sehun's face. Memories of the last six months, like pieces of a jigsaw, assembled in his mind, and half of those pieces were reflected in Sehun's eyes.

"Congratulations on your one hundred days." Sehun pulled him close, and Jongin kissed him with all the passion of his young, sober soul.

*

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