Chapter Text
Jisung comes and goes as he pleases, really. Chan laid some ground rules at the start but they were wide enough to allow many liberties. Jisung’s nearly an adult, after all. Well, not entirely, but close enough that caging him in with too many rules would be more detrimental than anything. He listens fine to Chan most of the time, which is the most surprising thing, probably, as he listens to no one else.
A problem with authority, the psychologist assigned to his case calls it. Chan has rolled his eyes more at the man’s words than at anything else in life. Jisung’s problem is not with people telling him what he can and can’t do, but it’s more of an issue with people not giving him good enough reasons for what he can and can’t do.
He can stay out late, but Chan wants him back by eleven, because that’s when he ‘goes to sleep’ and he doesn’t want to have to worry about where Jisung is. He can stay out later on Friday and the weekends in case he wants to go to a party or whatever else, but he must leave a sign he came home when he does so that in the morning Chan won’t have to needlessly worry about him. He can also, at any moment in time, call Chan and ask to be picked up from wherever he’s stranded, but that hasn’t happened yet. He’s pretty sure Jisung thinks it’s just something he says, but will be angry about anyway if it’s done. He won’t be. They’ll get to the point where Jisung learns that.
They’ll get to the point of trust eventually. Hopefully.
For now, Jisung comes and goes as he pleases, his new backpack slung over one shoulder, his old skateboard in hand or underfoot. When Chan is home, he greets him with a grunt or a nod. When Chan’s the one coming home, there’s usually no greeting at all because Jisung’s holed up in his bedroom more often than not. They eat dinner together if they’re both home, and if Jisung won’t be there for it, he has to let Chan know before five, so he won’t make or bring too much.
It works. They work. Maybe Jisung’s not talking about his feelings or maybe he’s not processing everything as he should be, but he’s got a roof above his head, he’s got three good meals a day and he’s got a safe place to come home to. It’s a good start, Chan thinks. It’s more than he used to have.
So it’s been going well. Jisung goes to see his foster care-assigned psychologist once a week and doesn’t talk about it, but that’s okay, too. He doesn’t have to. He’s allowed to have his secrets, as long as he goes to class, works for school and doesn’t get in trouble. He’s allowed to have a life that Chan’s not aware of, nor a part of, because up until a few months ago that was the case about all of it.
That’s why when it’s Jisung’s name on his phone screen for the first time since the boy moved in, Chan’s heart does a little flip of worry before it continues beating at increased speed. He picks up after the first buzz, bringing his phone up to his ear. “Jisung-ah?” He asks immediately, worry lacing his voice. “Is everything alright?”
“Uhm, hi,” the boy says, his voice hesitant but clear. He doesn’t sound like he’s in pain, just awkward but that’s not necessarily anything new. “I’m fine. It’s just- My, um, my friend fell.” Jisung’s voice is hesitant, like he’s expecting Chan to chew him out any second now. He doesn’t, just stays silent and waits for the rest of the story.
“He, um, he scraped his knees really badly. I don’t- You said I could call for you to pick me up. Uhm, if you have time. You said you’re off work today, but if you can't, that's totally fine, I get it, you don’t have to, I’m just uh-”
“Jisung,” he interrupts, because he thinks it’s warranted in this case, even though he usually tries to let Jisung speak until he’s done. It just sounds like the boy is only stressing himself out more with every word he says this time. “I’m home and I’m free. I can come pick you up. Where are you? Is your friend alright? Should we take him to the hospital?”
There’s a momentary pause, almost as if Jisung’s stunned by his calm reply, but then he stutters into speech again. “No, uh, I- He’s- We-” He seems to pause, take a breath, recalculate. “We’re at the skatepark east of Namgu. He’s fine but he said walking hurts. I think if he washes the gravel out it’ll be okay.”
“Alright, that shouldn’t take me more than twenty minutes. Can you guys come to the entrance or is that too far? Did you call his parents?”
“They’re, um, not available. We can- We can come to the entrance.” Jisung still sounds hesitant, but his friend must say something because a moment later he already sounds much more convinced when he adds: “Yeah, we can get there.”
“Okay. Good. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. I’ll bring the first aid kit as well. Okay?”
He’s already stepping into his shoes, the first aid kit in hand, barely remembering to swing his coat over his shoulders as he leaves the apartment and makes his way down. The elevator always takes forever when he needs it, but this time it’s only one floor up, and its doors open almost immediately.
“Okay,” Jisung says into his ear, where he still has the phone tucked, a bit of a belated reply. “Okay, I’ll- See you.”
“Yes,” he verifies once more, just in case it’s necessary. “I’ll hang up now so I can drive.”
“Yes,” Jisung agrees, and then the line stays open for a bit longer, until Chan realises Jisung is waiting for him to end the call, so he does. He makes it to the parking lot relatively quickly and promptly dumps everything in his hands on the passenger seat so he can take a moment to breathe, sort out his things and then start the car. The navigation luckily knows where the skate park near Namgu is, too, and once the fastest route has been plotted, he puts the car in drive.
He makes it in eighteen minutes, because the traffic lights were kind to him, and when he pulls up at the entrance, Jisung is right there, recognisable in his fluffy black sweater. There’s another boy with him, though this one’s sitting on the ground, slumped against the fence. Chan pulls over on the side of the road, four blinkers on to indicate he’ll be there a while, and then gets out of the car.
Jisung’s too focused on his friend to notice, but said friend does look up. He’s glaring at Chan from under bangs too long so they cover his eyes, which seem to be lined with dark pencil. There’s a chain on his black cargo pants, which are ripped at the knees and worryingly stained. He’s wearing an oversized hoodie that’s tattered at the edges, but seems to be a well-loved item. When the boy’s lips move as if saying something, Jisung startles and turns around to face Chan as well.
“Jisung-ah,” he greets immediately, offering the boy a reassuring smile while he takes in the situation. The boy looks fine, other than his badly scraped knees, and what he’d thought to be a glare earlier has softened down into something more like hesitance.
“Chan-ssi,” Jisung says, equally hesitant. The awkwardness is rolling off him in waves, as is something else that Chan only recognises for trepidation when it melts into surprise at his continued smile.
“How are you feeling?” He decides to ask the other boy. “Can you stand? If you can get into the car we can take you home to treat those wounds.”
His dark and grumpy expression seems to disappear immediately at Chan’s words, though he glances over at the car, seemingly gauging the distance.
“I can walk,” he says, his voice surprisingly soft and gentle for his tough appearance. “It’s not broken or anything.”
“That’s good,” he encourages easily, offering a hand to help the boy up. “What’s your name?”
The two boys exchange glances before Jisung’s friend looks back at him. “It’s Minho, sir,” he says politely. “Lee Minho.” He seems to consider before taking Chan’s hand and pulling himself to stand, hissing under his breath as he does so.
He moves to wipe the dirt off his pants once he’s standing, and then looks down at his things. Jisung’s quick to grab his backpack and board from the ground so Minho doesn’t have to bend down, muttering something of which Chan only catches the soft hyung tucked on at the end. Minho’s hand moves to ruffle Jisung’s hair almost automatically, as if they’ve done this a million times before, and Jisung tries to put an arm around his friend’s middle before realising he’s holding two skateboards and two bags so he can’t. Chan immediately offers up his empty hands.
“Here, give me something,” he says in offering, which only serves to make Jisung look between the skateboards in his hand and his friend again. Minho lets out a soft sound, shakes his head almost minutely and then turns to Chan instead.
“Could you help me, mister Bang?” He asks, equally as politely as before, his gaze just as piercing as in the beginning. Chan immediately steps forward.
“Of course, Minho. You can use my arm for support.” He offers it up and Minho puts a hand on it before he takes a step forward. It takes only one step for Chan to know the hand on his arm is not enough because of the way the boy stumbles. He immediately reaches out instead, steadying Minho by his middle. The boy tenses in his hold, but after a brief moment, he relaxes again.
“Thank you,” he mutters, and Chan can only shake his head, feeling like he’s handling wild animals while trying not to trigger their fight or flight instincts. He carefully guides Minho over to the car, opening the door to the passenger seat for him, as it has more leg room. Minho goes willingly, if somewhat tensely, and Chan makes sure all his limbs are inside before he tells him to put on his seatbelt and then closes the door.
When he turns around, Jisung is lingering behind him with the two bags and skateboards in his arms, worried and wide-eyed. Chan offers him another reassuring smile and puts a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “It’s alright, Jisung,” he says softly. “He looks like he’ll be just fine. Let’s put all of this in the trunk and then we’ll head home, okay?”
Jisung’s wide eyed gaze comes up to meet his, though it shutters closed a little as their gazes meet. “You’re taking him to our house?” He asks, seeming surprised by this.
“Well, yes. You said his parents aren’t available.” He realises maybe he’s overstepping some boundaries or creating discomfort, so he immediately offers up a different option. “Should I bring him somewhere else?”
Jisung shakes his head immediately, rushing to deny the new option. “Our house is fine,” he says quickly, which suddenly makes Chan realise that Jisung’s been saying our house instead of your house. It briefly freezes him in place, the realisation of Jisung now apparently considering the apartment his own home as well. He’s startled back into motion, when Jisung looks past him at the boy still in the car and then over to the trunk. “Are we leaving now?”
“Yes,” he immediately agrees, walking over to the trunk and popping it open. “Here, give me the bag.” He takes it from Jisung, placing it carefully in the trunk and letting the boy put the boards inside, as clearly they are something Chan himself isn’t allowed to touch. Minho decided to put himself in Chan’s care rather than his board, after all, that says more than enough.
He watches Jisung put their boards and his own bag in the trunk, and then closes it, motioning the boy to get into the car. Jisung luckily slides onto the backseat from the passenger side, so Chan only has to worry about himself not getting hit by the cars passing by. Luckily he manages to get in relatively quickly, pulling the door closed behind himself and reaching for his seatbelt. He notices Jisung moving his coat out of the way on the backseat, but the boy has his seatbelt on already, so he figures it must not have been too much in the way. He checks to make sure Minho is also buckled in, and then turns off his four blinkers, checking traffic and pulling back onto the road.
“What happened?” He asks once he’s well underway, glancing over at Minho again briefly. “Did you fall?”
Minho’s dry “yes” comes out almost at the same time as Jisung’s guilty “it was my fault”. Chan glances at him through the rearview mirror and sees anguish and worry written over his features. Minho almost audibly rolls his eyes, and turns around in his seat to look at Jisung in the backseat as well.
“How many more times, Jisungie? It wasn’t your fault. I decided to catch you.”
“But if I hadn’t-” Jisung starts, stopping short at whatever Minho must be doing with his face that Chan can’t see. What he can see is the way Jisung’s gaze drops to his lap and he fidgets with the tear in his own jeans. “Hyung decided to catch me when I fell, so he fell instead,” he mutters after a moment’s silence, glancing up to meet Chan’s eye in the rearview mirror before he looks away again. “He says it’s not my fault but I still feel guilty.”
“That’s okay,” Chan says. “But I’m sure if Minho decided to do it, he doesn’t regret it and wouldn’t want you to feel guilty because of it either. I’m sure he’s just glad you’re not hurt. And scraped knees don’t take too long to heal. He glances briefly at Minho again before focusing on the road once more. “How do you feel?”
“I’m fine,” Minho says, and he sounds a little gruff, but he’s still polite about it. “It bled a lot but it’s just a scrape. I kept telling him but he wouldn’t stop freaking out. It looks worse than it is.”
“I’m glad you’re okay,” Chan says, decides to use all his foster care training with Jisung’s friend as well, because he has no idea what else to do. “I think it’s best if we make sure there’s no dirt left in the wounds, though. If you want you can take a shower at our place. You can borrow some of my clothes to wear too.” He tries to think of what else to say, but it feels like he’s already pushing it too far as it is.
Minho only grunts out an agreement, though Chan thinks his lack of talking is more because of the pain than anything else. Jisung seems to feel the same, because he puts a hand on his friend’s arm and rubs it once or twice. After a moment, Minho lifts his own hand to put it on top of Jisung’s. Chan decides not to look over again and just get them home instead.
Minho does take the offer of a shower. Jisung disappears into the bathroom with him and doesn’t come back out, so Chan gets some clothes from his room and brings them to the bathroom door. He knocks, tells them he’s leaving them outside the door and to come get him if they need him.
It takes almost a full hour for them to reappear, but when they do, Minho’s hair is clearly washed, his face cleaned of the dark eye makeup and his clothes exchanged for the grey sweatpants and black shirt Chan had brought them. He looks much younger like this, and much softer too. When they spot him sitting in the couch, Minho immediately dips into a bow.
“Thank you, mister Bang,” he says, almost shyly, so Chan makes sure to smile at him.
“Did you disinfect the scrapes?” He asks instead of making it more awkward, and follows it up immediately with: “Are you guys hungry? I was considering ordering pizza tonight.”
The offer of pizza is one that can’t be denied, clearly, two sets of eyes briefly widening before the two boys lock eyes again. Whatever unspoken language they share, it seems to bring them to a mutual realisation that ends in Jisung saying: “He can stay for dinner?”
Chan can’t help the face he makes at the question, though he schools his features into something more neutral right after. “Of course he can stay for dinner, Jisung. He’s your friend, isn’t he? I’d feel better if he stayed until we can contact his parents, actually.”
The parents seem a tricky subject, though, because both faces shutter closed the second he mentions them. He frowns lightly at the reaction, looking between the two again. “Is something the matter?” He asks. “Are your parents not home?” He pauses, hesitantly adds: “Do you have parents?”
“They exist,” Minho admits, sounding a little grumpy, but not necessarily at Chan himself. He hopes it’s not at him. “They just don’t care. I’ll be fine getting home by myself, sir.”
“Nonsense,” Chan says immediately. “You’re staying for dinner, right? If you want to go home after that, I’ll take you. If not, you can also stay, if Jisung’s alright with that.”
“Really?” Jisung’s eyes are wide in surprise once again. He’s so expressive, Chan can barely believe he’s been keeping all of these reactions well-hidden for the last several months. Instead of replying, he motions to the other couch for them to sit. Only when they do does he speak again.
“Is this my house?” He asks Jisung, who grows hesitant again but nods, vocalising his agreement as well. “And do I invite people over?” Jisung nods his head again. “Well, is it your house too?”
This time, Jisung falters, looking at him for a long moment. The boy seems to be looking for something in Chan’s face, so he makes sure to just wait him out. Eventually Jisung’s features show a hesitant hopefulness. “Yes?” He ventures slowly, and Chan smiles almost immediately.
“Yes,” he agrees. “So can you invite people over? Of course. All I ask is that you don’t throw parties without my permission and that you tell me when you bring someone home and if they’ll stay for dinner.”
Jisung turns his head to look at Minho again, and Chan watches the way the older boy makes a face but then sort of shrugs as if to admit he was wrong. He has no idea what it’s about, but when Jisung turns back to him, he beams his brightest smile as of yet. “Thank you, sir!” He exclaims and Chan half-smiles, half-winces.
“Just Chan is fine,” he says. “Or hyung, if you’re comfortable with that. Please no uncle or ahjussi.” He turns his gaze on Minho as well. “Same goes for you, Minho.”
The boys nod, and Chan smiles a bit wider. “Alright,” he says, pulling out his phone. “So which pizzas?”
It doesn’t take very long for Jisung to move over to his couch so he can point out the exact pizzas and toppings they want on his phone screen. When Jisung lingers next to him even after the order’s been placed, he thinks maybe they’re finally getting somewhere on the trust front after all.