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keep it together, han jisung

In one hour, Jisung's ex-boyfriend is going to marry someone else. And Jisung has not cried even once.

Twisted himself into knots, sure. Rubbed his temples in disbelief, definitely. But not a tear. He's rather proud.

Right now he's preoccupied with his clothes. He found ink stains on his suit, freaked out, got it dry-cleaned, yet still the stains persevered — and now he's staring in the mirror at his new suit. He bought a brand new suit for this. He'll never forgive himself.

At least he looks decent. His black jacket is crisp, the white shirt underneath is basically glowing, pristine. (Never, ever forgive himself.) His dark hair is swept back with an appropriate amount of product. His face... could use some work. He has a stress-wrinkle cut across his forehead and his mouth is warped into a grimace.

Minho texts him once he's outside the apartment building. (Yes they exchanged numbers. No it wasn't a thing. Maybe Jisung saved his contact as a dancing emoji and a red heart.) He takes the stairs to the lobby and sees Minho waiting on the sidewalk.

This... this, Jisung has not seen before. Minho, dressed up in silver-buckled shoes and a midnight blue pinstripe suit, buttoned up to follow his slight waist. No tie, collar open. His hair is parted, loose waves falling around his face. He looks... overwhelming. (And taller. Could he have insoles? Maybe it's the stripes.)

Jisung walks out onto the sidewalk. Minho takes a look at him and smiles. Jisung smiles back.

"You look good," they say at the same time, harmonizing.

"Okay," Jisung says, rubbing the back of his head. "Bus?"

They ride the bus standing between a sobbing baby and a man with a backward hairpiece. Jisung feels a mix of emotions. Taking the bus all dressed up throws him back to prom night, to clammy palms and drunken excitement. The dread in his stomach makes him feel like he's on his way to get a tooth pulled with no anesthesia.

Minho by his side makes him feel like he's under a spotlight, about to do something terrifying and amazing.

At the moment, Minho is playing peekaboo with the baby. Jisung watches, delighted, till Minho catches him.

"Pretty cute," Minho says.

"Yep. Very."

Minho's eyebrows furrow. He reaches over and tugs on the back of Jisung's collar.

"Is this a tag...?"

Jisung barely stops himself from swearing. "I might have bought a new suit for today."

"Are you serious?"

"There was! A stain!"

Minho smirks and gives the tag a pull. "Rip it? Or is this part of the plan?"

"Plan?"

"To seem successful and emotionally stable?"

Jisung thumps his arm. "Just rip it."

Minho rips it and tucks the tag into his pocket. "I was expecting more of a production. You know, to sell it."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Hickeys."

Jisung laughs. It sounds like a shriek. "Hickeys?"

"They're easy to fake, you just need an empty water bottle and, you know, initiative."

"Nope, not doing that."

"It might make him jealous. Your ex."

"That's not... the point of this."

"What is then?"

Jisung shrugs. "Ask me later?"

They make funny faces at the baby for the rest of the ride.

The venue is a community centre nestled between a college campus and an urban forest. The flowers are perky and the grass is green. There are streamers hung from the eaves and white rose petals sprinkled on the sidewalk. Jisung has never gotten hung up on details like wedding venues or decor. But with a pinprick in his chest, he realizes this is exactly what he would want — if he were the one getting married.

"I dunno," says Minho. "I'm getting weird vibes. Seems like a better place for a wake."

Jisung points at the board that reads Welcome to the wedding of Kim Sangkyu and Jo Soobin. "The ceremony is out back."

When they peek around the building, there's a field surrounded by shaggy trees where pews, an aisle and altar have been decorated with white flowers and golden ribbon. The sun is shining down and a gentle breeze rustles the leaves.

"Okay," Minho murmurs, "I was trying to make you feel better, but... damn."

"You don't need to make me feel better. I'm fine. I haven't cried even once today."

Minho smiles sympathetically, like that's a sad thing to brag about. Which it is. "All right. Remember posture." He pokes Jisung's back, then takes his hand, lacing their fingers together. "Hold on tight" — he winks — "sweetheart."

Jisung swallows and squeezes Minho's hand.

The guests are filing into the pews. Jisung sees Sangkyu's mother, so he and Minho shuffle in on that side of the aisle.

Everyone is excited and whispering. Jisung can't stop messing with his hair and shooting his cuffs. He feels so out of place, a jittery, brooding anomaly. He hopes he won't weigh down the atmosphere. Maybe he'll even be able to turn his own mood around.

Then, as an ambient wedding march rises in the breeze, the crowd turns. Jisung does too. And his heart plunges into his stomach.

Sangkyu and his fiancé walk up the aisle in matching suits. He looks the same. He hasn't changed at all. Yet he's here, he's getting married, and he looks... happy.

Everything surfaces, everything Jisung has been trying to suppress. The past and the hurt and the tongue-tying world-consuming emotions. It's a time machine. He's back in second year college, at a party with his friends, meeting a guy with a loud, charming presence.

Jisung remembers the thought. I'm going to ask him out. And he remembers the thought becoming something real.

It was easy. It made sense. They would talk about school and walk at sunset and watch movies hand-in-hand, the same way people who loved each other did. They did everything right. It was enough.

Jisung always wanted to get married. That was the next step for him. It just made sense. Why do anything if it doesn't grow or get better? What's the point?

That's what he said to Sangkyu. He doesn't remember how it came up. Maybe coincidence. Maybe Heineken.

Sangkyu seemed to mull it over, and then — with the casual tone that made Jisung question everything — he said, "I don't see myself getting married."

"Never?"

"Never."

"Not even to me?"

Sangkyu looked at him then with a crinkle in his forehead. Like he was trying to picture it. Like he was trying to want it.

"I'd marry you," said Jisung. Because he would have. He wanted rings and a house and certainty. He wanted someone to lean on. He wanted someone who wanted him, even though he could be a burden — he wanted someone who shouldered it. Willingly. Gladly.

Someone. Anyone.

He should have known, really. When he pictured himself standing at the altar, the one beside him was never Sangkyu. Even years into their relationship. The person beside him was always someone else, a person who loved Jisung enough to say yes, a person who didn't exist.

Sangkyu just shook his head. And they fell apart all too easily.

Jisung survived. Soon the absence healed, and he felt lighter somehow, waiting for a pain that didn't come. Relief. He was relieved.

Then he got an invitation in the mail.

Now, Sangkyu is looking his groom in the eyes, saying his vows. Everything in his voice says Yes, I'm certain. Jisung feels like he's floating outside of his body, numb.

Someone blows a party popper. Everyone is standing, clapping, cheering. Sangkyu and his fiancé — husband — come back down the aisle, shaking confetti out of their hair.

For a split second, his eyes meet Jisung's.

And just as fast, Sangkyu looks past, unaffected, unchanged. As if he saw nothing.

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