— 𝗢𝗰𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟲, 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟲 — “Looks like we’re seeing off the kids together. Just like old times.” He hasn’t seen him smile in person for a long while now, and it makes his heart 𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦. How many of those wide, dimpled smiles has he missed in all the time that has passed. He used to not miss 𝘢𝘯𝘺 of it. He used to be there for 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨. For him. 𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮. “Technically, it’s you sending them off, hyung,” he corrects him as he looks away to watch the kids exchange well-wishes with their families who have also come to see them off—and because he can’t bear to look into 𝘩𝘪𝘴 eyes any longer without feeling like his ribs are going to collapse inside his chest. “I’m here to—𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘩𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺—welcome them in.” “Either way, I’m glad you’re here.” And god, the way his voice deepens with warmth—Jihoon has forgotten how it makes him feel. How it makes his heart 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳. “I can rest easy knowing our kids are in good hands.” 𝘖𝘶𝘳. Jihoon’s throat tightens. “You give me far too much credit, Coups-hyung.” He takes a sip of the iced americano Seungcheol has brought him in honor of Seungkwan. A loud yip makes both of them smile as Bookkeu leaps onto Seungkwan’s arms, who in turn buries his face into Bookkeu’s fur with a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a stifled sob. “Sometimes I wonder if I failed them.” It’s the most unexpected, most 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴 statement he’s ever heard, and Jihoon turns to him, aghast. “What makes you say that?” Seungcheol looks at him—and Jihoon’s breath catches when their eyes meet. This, too, is something Jihoon has forgotten—how Seungcheol can pin him in place with a single gaze. How he has utter command of Jihoon’s every limb without saying a single word. He would have been 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘥𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 as a commander in the military, Jihoon thinks dimly, and it’s swiftly followed by the thought that he’s glad he 𝘪𝘴𝘯’𝘵. The barracks won’t know what hit them with 𝘊𝘩𝘰𝘪 𝘚𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘰𝘭 as their leader. “It was supposed to be me,” Seungcheol says softly, and it never fails to amaze Jihoon how even after all these years—even with an extended time apart, like this—their brains are still on the same wavelength. “It was supposed to be me showing their way around the military. Teaching them. Training them. Protecting them. And I—” Seungcheol’s voice breaks; Jihoon watches as Seungcheol takes a quick sip from his own cup to cover it up. “And I…” Seungcheol takes a deep breath—and his entire body sags when he sighs. “I failed them.” The sound of another familiar cry breaks through the tension, and this time they both turn to see Chan awkwardly patting his father’s back as Jinseok sobs on his shoulder, Geon looking away as he fights his own tears. “That’s like saying Kwon Soonyoung failed his Taekwondo team too,” Jihoon tells him quietly. “Since he 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 hurt his leg.” “Woozi-ah.” Seungcheol sounds crestfallen. “You know that’s not what I meant.” Jihoon closes his eyes. Inhales. Braces himself. Facing an entire platoon of trained soldiers is a 𝘭𝘰𝘵 less terrifying than this. He opens his eyes—and catches Seungcheol in a state he rarely allows himself to be seen by his members. 𝘝𝘶𝘭𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦. “I will never say that I’m glad you got hurt,” he tells him bluntly as Seungcheol’s eyes widen. “I would never want you to be hurt, if I can help it.” 𝘐𝘧 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘪𝘵. “But now that I’m the one in here, I’m glad you’re not.” There’s a note of shocked desperation in Seungcheol’s voice. “𝘞𝘩𝘺?” “Because you’ve suffered enough.” From their peripheral vision, Seungkwan and Chan have now faced each other with open arms, walking towards each other’s embrace as their families look on with wistful, bittersweet smiles. “Coups-hyung.” There’s a tremor in his voice that he fails to control. “I’ve known you for seventeen years. I’ve known you longer than anyone I’ve ever known in my life, next to my parents. I’ve known you longer than any of the members, in fact.” As if summoned by that very statement—it’s both eerie and fascinating how all of their brains are connected—Seungkwan and Chan turn to find them watching. They both give a playfully solemn salute, which Jihoon returns fondly, warmth spreading from his chest all the way to the smile that tugs at his lips. “And I know more than anyone how much you suffered for our sake,” Jihoon declares, feeling the heavy weight of Seungcheol’s gaze upon him. “All these years, you’ve endured so much to keep 𝘚𝘌𝘝𝘌𝘕𝘛𝘌𝘌𝘕 together.” He turns to face him fully. “It’s enough, Seungcheol-hyung,” Jihoon says softly, his real name rolling off Jihoon’s tongue just as easily as Jihoon’s heart has long surrendered ownership to him. “You’ve done enough. Because the reason 𝘚𝘌𝘝𝘌𝘕𝘛𝘌𝘌𝘕 hadn’t failed all these years—is because we were led by 𝘺𝘰𝘶.” The glow of the the sun backlighting Seungcheol casts a golden halo around his features, and Jihoon finds himself looking at a face not of a weathered thirty-one-year-old Kpop leader, but at a face of an earnest fourteen-year-old teenage boy whom a young Lee Jihoon entrusted his entire 𝘧𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 to. This—Jihoon has never, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 forgotten. “And the thing is,” Jihoon tells him with a wry smile, watching the way Seungkwan and Chan pick up their duffel bags and walk arm in arm towards where the rest of the young men are preparing to enter. “𝘚𝘌𝘝𝘌𝘕𝘛𝘌𝘌𝘕 has never stopped needing you, Seungcheol-hyung. And now that we’ve renewed our contract together for the second time, I don’t think we will stop needing you for a little while longer.” 𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘪𝘧 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘪𝘵. “So I’m glad you didn’t have to go in, because 𝘚𝘌𝘝𝘌𝘕𝘛𝘌𝘌𝘕 needs you far more than the country does.” 𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘳—𝙢𝙮—𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦’𝘴. He feels a familiar, welcome weight over his shoulders as Seungcheol slings an arm around him, following his gaze as they together watch the last of their members get ready for this new chapter in their life—this new chapter for 𝘢𝘭𝘭 of them. “You know I wouldn’t have been able to do any of it without you, Jihoon-ah.” This close, he feels the rumbling of his real name against Seungcheol’s chest, and god, he has missed 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴: Seungcheol’s warmth, his reliability, his 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵. Jihoon has been effectively drilled to be an upstanding, no-nonsense, rule-abiding soldier for the past year that he’s forgotten what it feels like to just be able to 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘥 on someone like this. “And even now, I’m still depending on you,” Seungcheol murmurs, once again making Jihoon marvel at the way even their thoughts are synchronized like 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, the heat of his breath so close to Jihoon’s ear—the proximity, the 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘤𝘺—making him 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳. “You were with Soonyoung-ie for a while, and now you also get to be with Chan and Seungkwan-ie like this. I get the feeling you’ll also cross paths with Dokyeom-ie—I mean Seokmin-ie, sorry.” He flashes Jihoon a sunny grin, and Jihoon feels his knees weaken at the sight—just like he did the first time he walked into that green room in the basement seventeen years ago. That smile has never changed. The 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 has never changed—only 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘥. “I’ll take care of the members out here,” Seungcheol vows, fingers tightening their grip on Jihoon’s shoulder. “So please, Jihoon-ah—take care of the members in there.” Jihoon looks up at him. He’s forgotten just how thick and long Seungcheol’s eyelashes are. 𝘚𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘐’𝘷𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶. “Let’s do this together, Jihoon-ah.” Seungcheol whispers tremblingly, leaning forward until his forehead touches Jihoon’s. “Like we always have.” 𝘚𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘐’𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶. Jicheol closes his eyes. He brings his hand up to Seungcheol’s on his shoulder and laces their fingers together. He holds on 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. “Always, hyung.” 𝘚𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳. “… 𝘈𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴.” — archiveofourown.org/works/95…