It's not fine.

The celebratory dinner is in one of the warehouses that holds the sets. There are several the studio has rented out, some housing recreations of period-accurate streets, some that look like individual rooms, one that is just a huge tank for them to shoot an underwater scene. Someone's hung some fairy lights from the tall ceiling and there's some peppy music going, but most of the people in the room are strangers to Beomgyu. He hangs around Taehyung and Jimin, being introduced to film industry folks whose names he can't remember, letting Jimin unconsciously feed him every starter plate that comes their way.

"Beomgyu-ah, try this," Jimin keeps saying, and Beomgyu wonders if he's nervous too. They're young, after all, entrepreneurs still working their way up the system, and this is their first big television project. Everyone that shows up at this gathering outside of the ones whose names will be on the credits are industry big-wigs, and they're all sizing them up.

Taehyung is close-lipped about the status of the pilot and how the whole thing is coming together, but Beomgyu thinks he looks positive. He shows this by dropping everything he holds at some point and talking very fast. When Jimin leaves to chat with one of their producers, Taehyung grabs hold of Beomgyu's arm.

"Don't leave me here alone," he says, eyes scanning the crowd. "That American guy who's attached to the big networks is looking around. I don't want to talk to him right now. He's too scary. What if he hates everything? What if he hates me?"

"How can he? You worked so hard on this project, hyung."

"We did," Taehyung says, waving an arm. He looks at Beomgyu and a fond smile spreads on his face. "You did great, Beommie, everything looks perfect."

"That's more Yeonjun hyung than me. Do you know how many times he made Roseanne and I work on aging the clothes to fit the mood of the set? I thought I'd go insane at one point."

"But he's amazing, isn't he? Have you seen that rotating set? I thought we were going to need CGI for that part, was all set to pay a visual effects team, and then he just said, Taehyung hyung, we'll build it. I nearly lost my shit," Taehyung shakes his head, marveling. "And then it turned out so much better than any CGI. That man has an eye."

Beomgyu hums. "It's like poetry."

He doesn't tell Taehyung what else about Yeonjun he thinks is poetic. The gruff chivalry that surfaces in him on occasion. The soft smile he gets when he's watching Kai, sometimes. The wide, gummy grin variety shows put on his face.

And the way he kisses.

Taehyung's watching him, that distant, perceptive look on his face. "Yes! You admired him before, Beommie. Did you learn well?"

There's a little pang in Beomgyu's chest, but his smile is sincere when he turns to Taehyung. "I did, hyung. It's because of you. Thank you for pulling me in."

Taehyung ruffles his hair. "I'm glad," he says. "Oh! There's Yeonjun now. We should go talk."

"Gimme a minute," Beomgyu says, ducking out from beneath the arm that Taehyung tries to drape around his shoulder. "I'm just going to go grab a drink."

He isn't. He wanders through the crowd instead, oddly listless, hiding in a group when he spots Kai, evading Jimin. Yeonjun is wearing what looks like a black silk suit, and his hair color seems re-touched: it's bright again, silver, brings out the delicateness in his features. Opposite his suave coolness, so in vogue with this crowd, the Versace prints that Beomgyu is wearing feels loud, childish. Chalk and cheese. He watches Yeonjun speak gravely and quietly to some expensive looking people in equally expensive looking suits, a flute of champagne held between his fingers, gaze intense as he discusses whatever it is that smart, adult businessmen in this industry discuss. Beomgyu wouldn't know what to say to them. He feels like a child in a playground again, clueless and small and alone, watching and wanting to be someone else.

All the people here look hungry to him somehow, words measured and smiles pointed, and he's relieved when he spots Taehyun and Soobin, newly arrived and looking just as lost as he does.

"What even is this drama about?" Soobin asks, wide-eyed as he stares at the tank.

"It's this whole historical thing about the war, western troops in Korea, and trot," Beomgyu says, joining them. "So some parts are going to be filmed in America if this gets picked up. Looks pretty cool, right?"

"Yeah. Have you seen Kai ?"

"Saw him way over at the other side," Beomgyu says. He purposely avoids looking at Yeonjun. "Talking to Taehyung hyung."

Taehyun grabs Beomgyu's arm and starts pulling him along. "Why are we here then? Let's go talk to them!"

Beomgyu sighs, deeply. "Do we have to?"

Taehyun shakes his head. "What do you-oh, come on, Beommie."

Beomgyu doesn't want to go. Everything that side feels oddly sharp to him-the people milling around his hyungs too perfect, the conversations too polite, the hobnobbing too poised. Beomgyu has met a lot of rich people, through auctions and otherwise, but this feels different. Or maybe it's just him, lost in a crowd0 full of unknown faces, feeling small again. Maybe it's just him, drawn again and again to the one face he'd promised himself he wouldn't go back to. While Taehyun and Soobin speak to Kai, Beomgyu and Yeonjun meet gazes without ever locking. They're always quick to look away-Beomgyu with a nervous flush, Yeonjun with what looks like icy disinterest. There's always places to look away, people to look to. Lots and lots of people.

A whole room of people, and it's still like Beomgyu is caught on the edge of a yo-yo string. It's still impossible not to be drawn back to Choi Yeonjun.

Yeonjun, too, seems just as equally caught in the game, his gaze snapping like a rubber-band between Beomgyu and everyone else.

Beomgyu's stomach feels weird. There's this odd pressure in his chest, like something squeezing. Yeonjun meets his gaze and then grimaces, presses his lips into a thin line, and Beomgyu bows his head in the hope that the tightness in his throat would resolve itself.

He'd hoped, maybe. Hoped that he could look at Yeonjun tonight and not feel like this. Like he's walking on eggshells, or something sharper.

"-a sort of thematic show," Taehyun's saying, elbowing Beomgyu gently to get him to participate. "It's the pilot that gave me the idea. Iconic Korean fashions through the ages. There's so much there. Trot and the Kim Sisters. Norah Noh and Kim Lee Cinu. Seo Taiji and the Boys. There's a museum willing to lend us some selections of original hanboks as well. We thought-you know, why not ride the buzz train while it lasts?"

"That's a great idea," Taehyung says. "We'll put out word about it too."

Jimin slaps Beomgyu lightly on the back. "Yah, I better get VIP invites. I worked so hard to get you on board for this, you ungrateful little shits."

"Oh, yes, that worked out great," Beomgyu mutters, unenthusiastically. He sees Taehyun, Soobin and Yeonjun go tense out of the corner of his eye, and even Taehyung raises his eyebrow a little.

"Um," Taehyun says, into the suddenly very suffocating silence that falls in the group. "So. What do you guys say to a set tour after this party? Kai and Beommie have both been talking about it, and we thought it might be fun."

Jimin's gaze is like a vulture, zooming intently on Beomgyu. "Uh...sure," he says, one hand coming to rest on Beomgyu's shoulders. "Sounds good. What do you say, Yeonjun?"

And now everyone's looking at Yeonjun. He goes stiff and cringes at the attention. "Fine," he says, after a pregnant, awkward pause in which he looks everywhere but at Beomgyu. "Don't see why not."

His tone is disturbingly flat, and Beomgyu feels heat flood his face and ears. He doesn't want to go on set tour, he thinks. He doesn't want to go anywhere that's in any way more than what is required of him. He just wants to get through this dinner thing and then head home, and put this whole Yeonjun episode behind him. Come to think of it, he isn't even hungry. This place feels claustrophobic, the cloying sweetness of freshener in the air suffocating. His mouth tastes metallic.

Beomgyu fidgets with the collar of his shirt. "I'm going home," he says. "You guys carry on."

This plunges the group into another thick silence. Taehyun sighs and clicks his tongue. "It'll be fun..." he starts, obviously trying to diffuse the situation, but then Yeonjun clears his throat, cutting him off.

"You don't have to leave on account of me."

His voice is cold. Beomgyu feels it in his chest, like an ice-pick, jamming the blood in his veins. "It's not-not you," Beomgyu lies, through gritted teeth. " I just don't feel like it."

Kai's head bobs comically from him to Yeonjun. Soobin is quieter, arms folded and gaze distant, uncomfortable always when it comes to confrontations. Yeonjun's breath steams a little in the cold of the warehouse as he pins Beomgyu with a hard sneer. "Look," he snaps. "Let's get this conversation over with. Taehyung very clearly expects us to work together again, and I can't work with this between us."

Beomgyu looks sullenly at the ground. "It's f-"

"Don't say it's fine when it clearly isn't," Yeonjun growls. "You're avoiding me. Don't even try to fucking deny it, Beommie, you can't even look me in the eye right now. You said it's just sex, that it doesn't matter. You said we were fine, and that I shouldn't apologize. And now you're the one who has a problem with me. What the hell do you want me to do?"

It's an uncharacteristic outburst. Beomgyu steps back in confusion, heart beating hard, his throat dry. He clenches his fist as the blood rushes in his head, the breath catching in his chest. Why were they doing this in front of everyone? Why did Yeonjun have to bring this up now, with Taehyung and Kai looking on in alarm and Soobin cringing into himself? Beomgyu pulls his shoulders inward and watches Taehyun's mouth twist into an indignant pout. Feels Jimin's hand squeeze tighter around his shoulder.

He just wants to escape.

But Yeonjun doesn't look like he wants to give Beomgyu that out. Yeonjun is watching him tensely, brows knit and mouth set in a scowl, arms folded across his chest defensively. And that-the classic victim position-is what ignites Beomgyu's frustration.

"It's not fine," Beomgyu says, voice cracking. "It's not fine, but it doesn't matter, does it? I don't fucking matter. Why do you even care what I do?"

"Because you look at me like I fucking broke your heart or something," Yeonjun sneers. "It's that whole kicked puppy shit you're pulling."

Beomgyu registers, even through the hurt in his chest, that Yeonjun doesn't really meet his gaze. He looks away, distant. His voice wavers. It's stupidly obvious that he isn't saying what he really wants to say. How many times does Yeonjun fall back on the same crutches, the same veneer of fake-coldness?

Beomgyu grits his teeth. "I don't know why this is a big deal to you, hyung. I don't know if you still dislike me, or if you think I'm a little footnote in your life that doesn't even bear thinking about. I don't know if you even believe everything you say or if you're just saying it to push me away. I don't know how to be around you-"

Jimin squeezes his arm. "Beomgyu-ah-"

Yeonjun puts up a hand. "Let him finish," he says, coldly. "I want to know. What did you expect, Beommie?"

"Maybe you two need to discuss this in a calmer setting," Taehyung suggests. "Whatever happened is obviously hurting you, Beommie, and maybe you need to clarify why-"

Yeonjun snorts. "Clarify? Wasn't I clear, from the beginning, on how I felt about relationships? Didn't you spend enough time unsuccessfully trying to get me to change my mind? How did you ever conclude that one night of letting me fuck you is going to change any of that?"

Beomgyu sees Taehyun wince at that, and Soobin takes one step protectively in his direction. He shakes his head. He doesn't need them, right now. Doesn't need a crutch. Because Taehyun is right, and the greatest similarity between him and Yeonjun is the stubborn refusal to lean on someone else.

"I didn't, though," Beomgyu says, with a wavering smile. "I don't know a lot of things, hyung, but I knew you'd run away. That much I knew. I knew you'd leave me there like a coward," he ignores Taehyung's rough inhale of breath at this, ignores the blush of anger spreading almost prettily across Yeonjun's face.

"That's what you are. A fucking coward."

"I'm a coward?" Yeonjun asks, with a sneer. "Bit rich, coming from you."

"I'm not the one who ran away in the night, though," Beomgyu says, syrupy sweet. "You keep telling me I keep people at an arm's distance, but you-you'd never even reach out to try. That's how scared you are."

Yeonjun opens his mouth but nothing comes out. And Beomgyu, with the searing rush of anger burning through him, finds this hilarious. He grins, stepping forward, eliminating the distance between them, and looks right at Yeonjun when he speaks again.

"But you know what's tragic? I see right through you, hyung. All this indifference, all this coldness-it's all just a mask, isn't it? You're just scared. Just afraid to let anyone close. It's sad, is what it is. I don't know who hurt you-"

"Shut up," Yeonjun says, eyes narrowing as he leans towards Beomgyu. "You better shut up right now, Beomgyu-"

"Oh. Sure. Of course," Beomgyu says, shrugging as he turns away. His heart hurts so much he feels lightheaded from it, but the words come out anyway.

"Why not? That's what you're great at. Sweeping things under the rug, and deciding to push everyone away."

Yeonjun's gaze goes hard and steely. "You don't know a fucking thing, Choi Beomgyu," he snaps, and takes a step toward Beomgyu as if to shove him. There's something unsettled and ferocious in his expression. Jimin quickly gets in between them.

"You don't know a thing. So fuck you!"

And now, as if by alchemy, all of his anger is rapidly turning into a hot prickling at his eyes, and Beomgyu needs to get away. A wave of misery crashes through him and he doesn't trust himself to speak anymore. He swallows and swallows, heart hammering in his chest, and he watches the hard line of Yeonjun's mouth falter a little like he might break. Beomgyu breathes out harshly, balls his fists to his side, and strides forward. Don't fucking cry, he thinks, venomously. Don't you dare cry, Beomgyu.

"Enjoy your set tour," he mumbles, hating that his voice comes out quiet and broken. Then he walks away.

***

Beomgyu's not surprised when he doesn't see Yeonjun again for weeks. Why should he be? They're not working together anymore, and he's never been one to hold out hope for a lost cause. If anything, their heated words at the dinner had served as the last nail on the coffin that was their relationship to begin with.

At least, that's what he tells himself.

It doesn't help that he feels a clench in his chest every time he sees that stupid campaign poster of Yeonjun's that he's hung up. Or the dumb Purikura booth selfies that tease him from an envelope at the bottom of his bag. Or every single piece of auction clothing he'd bought from Japan.

It's like some sort of psychological Stockholm Syndrome: Beomgyu trapped in a sort of hate-love, empathy-betrayal cycle with the idea of Yeonjun. He'd be doing something stupid-letting Soobin practice tarot-reading on him, or helping Taehyun with inventory-and his mind would invariably circle back to Yeonjun. To the singular, fragile moment before he'd kissed Beomgyu in that bathroom. To the few instances when the mask had slipped from Yeonjun's face to let his vulnerability show.

Beomgyu can't help but cycle through these moments, can't let them go, and he's tired of Taehyun looking at him like he's a wounded puppy. So he throws himself into distracting himself as much as he can. Their upcoming show proves to be the greatest contribution in this case: Beomgyu spends every bit of his free time obsessing over guest lists, decorations, checklists and fittings for their models. He fiddles with the dress-forms that are to adorn the more fragile pieces of their exhibition until the darts and the draping is as perfect as he can make it. He goes over seating arrangements and helps a carpenter build a makeshift sort of stage in the middle of the store. He helps Soobin design posters and put together videos, spreads the word on vintage blogs, talks a university into sponsoring them.

When Taehyun asks him if it's okay for him to invite Yeonjun along with Kai, Beomgyu is sprawled over a budgeting chart with a pencil in his mouth.

"What?" he asks, sitting up so fast his glasses slide off his face.

Taehyun sighs and looks down at his clipboard. "It...feels weird not to invite him, Beommie. I mean..."

Beomgyu deflates a bit and forces himself to shrug. "Do whatever you want."

"Beommie," Taehyun says, frowning, "If you really don't want to, I won't invite him. But you have to tell me that yourself."

Beomgyu plops back down onto his stomach. "No, no. Call him. This shit is-it's my fault, honestly."

Taehyun leans down to look at his face. "Hey," he says, "It wasn't anyone's fault, okay? Things just spiraled. You two are...you just deal with things in very different ways. And then it sort of blew up in your faces. Maybe, when you both calm down a little over this, you should talk, okay? Do you think you'd like to talk to him?"

Beomgyu sighs and tugs lightly at his hair. "I don't know," he mumbles. "Yes. I guess-yes. Is that stupid, Taehyunie? He doesn't want to talk to me."

"You don't know that," Taehyun says, sternly. "Just give yourself time."

So that's what Beomgyu does. Gives himself time. Hopes that the painful white noise in his head every time he thinks of Yeonjun gets muted with every hour that passes.

But then, backstage on the night of the show, walking through a cloud of hair-spray and perfume and the rustling whispering of clothes, Beomgyu starts to feel antsy. He brushes gently at the front of his fitted tweed jacket, smooths down non-existent stray hairs, spends too much time worrying over a rent in a Nora Noh dress. He worries at his lip and pretends it's nerves, but he knows it for what it is. Why is he so stupid? Whatever he feels for Yeonjun is the mental equivalent of a seagull getting caught in a fishing net.

Every glimpse of fresh blue sky a new attempt at self-strangulation.

Taehyun finds him there even after their first guests have trickled in, distractedly working on one of the dresses from the rebel fashion of Korea's conservative 80s. Rebel, Beomgyu's thinking, while he looks over the model frowning at herself in the mirror in her leather skirt. That's what he wants to do. Rebel against his fucking heart. Take all the stupid what ifs taking permanent residence in his brain and shove them down the hatch of not ever. Why is he a stupid sap? Yeonjun's probably not even going to show.

Lost in thoughts, he doesn't even realize when Taehyun taps his shoulder.

"Beommie. Beommie," Taehyun snaps his fingers in Beomgyu's face, startling him. "Pay attention to me."

"W-what?"

"I need you to go talk to the guests," Taehyun says, desperately. "I'm freaking out and Soobin is clueless-I've caught him trying to make conversation about Overwatch thrice now-"

"Oh. Fuck. Sorry-"

"I'll figure this out. You go be the social butterfly you are. Please."

Beomgyu takes a deep breath. "Yeah. Okay. Sorry, Taehyunie."

Taehyun flashes a smile and a thumbs-up at him. Beomgyu nods and steps around the screens separating the back of the store to the decorated front, plastering a wide grin on his face as he strides towards their guests. The whole store is decorated in shades of gray and rose, and the lighting is retro. Beomgyu's record player is scratchily crooning swing tunes. They've made a sort of runway between the tables, lined with mannequins wearing the museum pieces, and the whole place spills over with soft conversation and bubbling light and the scents of expensive perfumes. Beomgyu feels his smile grow more substantial. Caught in his worries, he'd forgotten how much he loves this shit. This soft champagne-colored shop and the racks pushed to the corners. The gentle sway of the clothes whispering. Hands reaching out for him and big smiles. Catching up with industry friends, their discussions on 60s revival trends and opinions on denim-on-denim.

There are actor friends who sound very excited about the pilot he's worked on. There are designer friends raving over the show itself. Beomgyu grins and falls into familiar patterns: gentle ribbing, lots of hugs, hoping to show them that he genuinely loves having them here. Because he does, and that's what no one can take away. He's maybe a hypocrite because he keeps his secrets close to his chest, but these people he meet, he's never tried to be non-genuine. He's not a pretender, unlike what Yeonjun had spat at him once. He's not miserable under his mask. Beomgyu does have an agenda, but that's all wrapped up in his actual interest for vintage and fashion and these friendly faces.

Tonight-he decides-he feels buoyant.

"You look happy," Jimin comments, smiling when Beomgyu meets him at the table for hors d'oeuvres. "That's a fucking relief. You have no idea how worried I was."

Beomgyu sneaks a little sushi roll and mumbles through it, "I'm sorry for worrying you, hyung."

"It's just that-well. I'm the one that insisted on you working with him. I didn't want you to get hurt."

"I'm not," Beomgyu reassures him. "You really don't have to worry."

"Worry about what?" Kai asks, popping up beside the table. "Hi, Beommie. This place looks so pretty!"

"Worry about Yeonjun," Jimin answers, popping a seaweed chip in his mouth. "Where is he?"

Kai shrugs. "I don't know. I'm here by myself, to support-uh. You. And Taehyun. And...well, Binnie, not that he needs it tonight."

Jimin's eyes narrow. "Are you children all tangled up in some hipster free-love polyamory? Because that's definitely a vibe I'm catching."

"Not me," Beomgyu says, wriggling his eyebrow. "Can't speak for anyone else, though."

Taehyun chooses that moment to enthusiastically jump onto Kai's back and stick his tongue to his ear. "Hyung! You caaaaame."

Jimin clears his throat. "He sure did."

Taehyun tugs at Beomgyu's necktie. "We need to go to the stage. We can get started now."

It isn't until he's on the stage that Beomgyu spots him. Yeonjun, with his bleached hair, a sleepy sort of tiredness on his face. He's not wearing a suit-far from it, in fact. He's wearing his leather jacket and tight jeans, and he has those crazy Harajuku boots on. The buckles and spurs catch the light and sparkle, and Beomgyu has a wild urge to laugh. Yeonjun's hair is messy and he has a backpack on his shoulder, and for all Beomgyu knows he came right from a motorcycle rally or something. He definitely doesn't look appropriately dressed for a night of tasteful vintage fashion and wine. Still. It's been weeks since Beomgyu's seen him, and his breath still stutters in his chest.

He turns his face away, annoyed. On top of everything else, why does Yeonjun have to be so hot?

Taehyun grabs his elbow. "Oh, don't look, but Yeonjun hyung is here, and he's sort of looking at you like he wants to eat you up."

Beomgyu mumbles, "Well, he's not getting near this cupcake," and Taehyun snorts, suddenly looking very amused.

The show blurs by, years of Korean fashion evolution flickering by under pretty lights, here and gone again in seconds, like flickering moths. Beomgyu likes how it feels like time stands still, like they're all both immersed in it and outside of it, watching history pass. He looks at Taehyun at some point and thinks

Taehyun looks pleased and proud, a happy grin on his face. Beomgyu feels a hot surge of affection tighten up his chest. Taehyun's nearly always fretting over his work not being good enough, over how far and how long they still have to go to get to the place of their dreams. Beomgyu thinks it's as much about the journey as it is the end result, and he thinks Taehyun tries to believe in that too, but to see him now, looking genuinely proud of himself, of everything this place has come to be, is the warmest feeling. Taehyun meets his gaze and smiles dopey, then slides closer to hug Beomgyu around the waist.

"We did it," he says, eyes twinkling in the light. "I'm so glad you're here. There's really no one else I'd rather do this with, Beommie."

"Yeah. Me too."

"We should go get all the business cards and return invites," Taehyun tells him. "And then grab our friends, close this place up, and get drunk. What do you say?"

"I want an ice-cream soda."

Taehyun giggles and kisses his cheek. "Of course you do," he says, and then draws back to scrutinize Beomgyu's face. "We're-we're okay, right?"

Beomgyu nods, grinning. "Always."

It takes another hour before Beomgyu is ushering the last of the guests out, smiling and bowing as he accepts compliments. Taehyun, Kai and Soobin are already out the door. They make a raucous bunch, Taehyung and Jimin only adding to it, all their well-tailored suits and smoothly done hair at sharp contrast to the giggling and ribbing that's going on. Taehyung's telling some crazy story about crabs and Beomgyu is half-listening as he locks up the door.

It's starting to drizzle. Beomgyu picks up an umbrella from the stand, flinching as the first few drops of cold rain land on the back of his neck.

When he turns around, Yeonjun's right there.

"Oh."

Beomgyu freezes for a few seconds, umbrella forgotten. It's clear Yeonjun has been waiting for him: he still has the backpack and the leather boots, and his hair sticks up a bit like he's been running his hands through it. Beomgyu's noticed he does that when he's nervous. Yeonjun looks at him, running the tip of his tongue over his teeth, swallowing hard. He looks like he's going to apologize or something, and Beomgyu's throat is suddenly burning. He feels a little lightheaded. It's stupid, but he knows suddenly that he really doesn't want Yeonjun to start this conversation being sorry. Doesn't like the look on his face like he's just pushed himself into stoic acceptance that he'd fucked up.

He thinks maybe Yeonjun does that a lot.

It begins raining in earnest, and Yeonjun steps closer, carefully edging the lip of his umbrella to cover Beomgyu as well.

Beomgyu asks, softly, "Did you like the show?"

"Huh? Y-yes, it-" Yeonjun starts, and then shakes his head. "Beomgyu-ah, listen, I just-"

"Don't apologize," Beomgyu interrupts, looking very carefully at the potted plant right next to their door. "Please, hyung. I said some shit too. I said-You were, uh, you were right, it shouldn't have mattered, it's just-"

Beomgyu trails away. What's he going to say? It's just, I like you. It's just, I like you, and that's why it hurt when you pushed me away. He shakes his head helplessly at Yeonjun instead, and rubs at his eyes.

"You don't have to say anything," Yeonjun says. "I know I fucked up."

Beomgyu realizes that the rain and Yeonjun's soft voice is all that he can hear. The others are all quiet.

"And, uh, I've got some traveling to do," Yeonjun continues, still in that quiet voice, "F-for work, I mean. A new set in-um. Spain. So. I'm leaving, and I didn't want to leave things this way with you. I wasn't fair, Beomgyu-ah, I realize that. You were only ever really-really nice, to me. Seeing Tokyo with you was...it was good. Really good. I meant what I said that day. You-you make people happy. I'm sorry I said what I said."

"I'm sorry, too," Beomgyu murmurs, but his head is still that horrid white noise, and he wants to run away. He doesn't want to ask, but he does anyway: "So. Uh-S-Spain?"

"Yeah."

"How long?"

"Don't know. Maybe a few months."

Beomgyu nods, blinks rapidly. "When do you go?"

"Morning."

"Oh."

Now Yeonjun is steadfastly not looking at him. They just stand there, awkwardly, until Jimin clears his throat from somewhere behind them.

"Hey! Idiots! Ice-cream sodas," he calls. "Are you guys in?"

It's a question, but Jimin's tone seems to brook no argument. Beomgyu and Yeonjun are getting those fucking sodas, whether they want to or not.

Yeonjun swallows and shakes his head. "I don't-"

"I'm in!" Beomgyu says, loudly. He dredges up a smile, shrugging as he looks at Yeonjun. "You have time for an ice-cream soda, right, hyung?"

Yeonjun's mouth is still in an unhappy line, but his lips twitch a little at Beomgyu's enthusiasm. "I guess."

"Great," Beomgyu says, airily, keeping his face as fucking calm as he can because fucking Spain. His stomach flips and flips. He thinks he might be sick. "Great! Let's. Um. Go."

And if Yeonjun sees right through the wide grin Beomgyu plasters on his face, well. Beomgyu's bullshitted his way through worse.

***