Chapter Text
One Year Later
Jeonghan was sweating under his costume.
The white fabric was clinging to his back, and the in-ears kept slipping with his sweat. The back panel was sheer, and he wondered if, under the bright stage light, everyone saw the path of sweat going down his spine.
He focused on Wonwoo in front of him, who was panting with his mouth open. His outfit matched his, but was totally in black.
When the music started again, and the screaming went louder, Jeonghan took a step forward, stretching his hand towards Wonwoo.
Before he could take it, he spun away, the mic capturing his voice as he began to sing.
Around him, the dancers joined him onstage. From the corner of his eye, he saw Wonwoo join too.
Jeonghan looked to the front, at the crowd, at the sea of lightsticks following along to the rhythm, feeling the beat under his skin.
Even after all the months of rest, of not forcing his body to withstand hours of training and rehearsal, he thought he would forget. How to dance, how to be the Jeonghan people knew and missed.
But he didn’t.
He was almost smiling when Wonwoo took over, brushing back his hair. His hips had a sway to them, his chin a confident tilt.
He didn’t wave at anyone, couldn’t, not when his entire attention was set on following the choreography of joining his voice along Wonwoo’s.
Despite the months offstage, there were things he couldn’t forget. Muscle memory, a sureness and direction deep within him that had not vanished.
Experience, he would call it. Being in the industry for over a decade.
Everyone cheered for him a little bit louder, knowing that after his long hiatus, idol Jeonghan was back.
At least, for a few hours.
Though the members had not been in a proper hiatus, like him and Seungcheol, everyone had slowed down on their schedules. Without a world tour or constant comebacks, everyone had taken time to rest, to visit extended family, or work on individual projects.
The show was more of a showcase rather than a tour, and had been Jihoon’s idea when Jeonghan had been healed enough that he was itching to join them again.
A couple of nights in Seoul, with a shorter concert. No traveling, mini album optional. Giving room for the duos and projects they had been working on.
They had all wanted to, but it was Jeonghan who had the last say on the matter.
By the end of the song, he was in Wonwoo’s arms, posing dramatically. The music faded, and the lights did, but the screams didn’t.
Jeonghan closed his eyes, breathing heavily. He had missed it more than he could admit to himself.
Heart thundering, the chanting for his name grew louder, as if spurred by his mere presence. He lifted his head, looking at Wonwoo for a second before dipping his head in the direction of the crowd.
The stadium seemed to shake, as if entranced. As if Jeonghan could command it with a flick of his hand.
He took Wonwoo’s hand instead, guiding him offstage so the next duo could get ready; the duos performing before the final group song. And Aju Nice.
Jeonghan felt the power that had been sent to him through the crowd as he descended the steps, heading backstage. People bowed to him, clapped.
“Welcome back,” someone said.
Everyone was there, waiting for him. A huddle of people crowding the stairs.
Soonyoung and Jihoon were next onstage and were the first ones to smile at him. He got a couple of excited pats on his back before they were off to their positions.
“You killed it,” Jisoo beamed at him, offering a water bottle.
Jeonghan took a sip as Chan said, “You remember how to dance, hyung.”
Jun snorted, as Minghao took a step forward to smooth down Jeonghan’s hair.
Wonwoo wrapped his arm around his shoulder, pulling him close. He almost spilled his water.
“I am happy to be back with you,” he said close to his ear, to be heard.
He had known he was happy, that he had wanted to be back onstage with him, but emotion flooded him, and Jeonghan nodded jerkily.
Hansol gave him a knowing smile as Seungkwan began to fan himself with his hands.
“I’m trying not to cry,” he said, blinking fast, “can’t ruin my makeup. We go after Hoshi and Woozi.”
Seokmin laughed, his face transforming as he did. In truth, Jeonghan was the one who needed the fanning, as he was still panting.
Despite all the training and mental preparation, there was a difference between knowing he would be back onstage and the reality of his body that had been dancing and moving for almost an hour now.
Mingyu plucked the bottle from his hands and tugged back at Wonwoo, giving him a pleased look.
“Go,” he told Jeonghan, “he is waiting for you.”
The music started again, and he heard Carats cheer for Soonyoung and Jihoon. Under his feet, the floor vibrated.
Jeonghan bowed to his pack, and the crew, and resumed his walk towards the back of the building.
Not everyone had been there to greet him.
He kept walking, and as he did, the noise level went down. Deeper into the hallways, past employees of the stadium and camera crews, towards a quieter area that had been designated as their changing rooms.
After a couple of turns, he saw their doors.
When he pushed the door open, he let out the breath he had been holding from the moment they had left their building after noon.
There, there was silence, broken only by Seungcheol’s deep voice lowered to a murmur, baby gurgles that replied to his words.
He found them in the corner of the sofa, Seungcheol already half dressed for his own stage, Danbi laying down on his thighs and smiling at her father.
She turned to look at him as he walked up, half attempting to sit up.
Over the past year, she had achieved a remarkable amount of things: to smile, to wave at her pack members, to find Jeonghan and Seungcheol first, no matter who was around. To crawl around his nest, and fall asleep deeply when recognizing the scents there. To point at what she wanted, and have thirteen men immediately move to comply.
Danbi saw him and pointed at him.
“Ma,” she said. The sound that had been her first word.
Her tiny, round face twisted into unadulterated joy, her eyes, the ones that carried Seungcheol’s look, focused on him as if there was nothing else that mattered to her.
Seungcheol lifted her before she could dive headfirst, and then Jeonghan was holding her, tucking her head against his neck.
She had grown, heavier and taller, her hair up in the world’s smallest ponytail. Her outfit had a little diamond sewn into her shirt, little hairclips with butterflies that she liked to attempt to remove when she remembered they were there.
“We were watching you,” Seungcheol’s eyes shone. In front of them, there was a screen pointed towards the stage, and he saw Soonyoung and Jihoon dancing. The sound was low, but the melody was recognizable. “She was waiting for you.”
“Did she cry?”
“No,” Seungcheol replied. “She was simply… looking. Waiting for you to be here.”
Danbi tugged at the end of his hair, babbling loudly. She pressed her neck into his mating bite, and her little nose twitched.
Jeonghan sat down on the sofa, and Seungcheol gave him a kiss.
He closed his eyes for a moment, nuzzling Seungcheol’s hairline, scenting the back of Danbi’s ears with his nose.
She let out a pleased squeal, smiling at him.
In the brief half hour he hadn’t seen her, he had missed her.
Seungcheol was the other person to look after her when he was onstage, and then Jeonghan would have her. During the group songs, Danbi was held by trusted crew members very near the stage, with a set of sparkly earmuffs. Wide-eyed and quiet, watching them perform.
She was used to noise and music, having grown up with a large pack and occasionally visiting the studio, but a concert was a novelty to her.
Jeonghan had worried that she would not settle. That she would refuse the bottle, or cry.
But in the brief moments he had looked towards the sides, towards the backstage, and his eyes had caught the glimmer of her outfit, he had simply seen her entranced. Safe. Content to be included with her pack.
“I did it,” Jeonghan said, half-stunned. “I performed two songs, back to back. And now…” he looked at Danbi, who was frowning at his scent patch and likely wondering why she couldn’t smell him fully.
And now he was backstage with his daughter, the sweat cooling down. He sank into the pillow behind him and felt the adrenaline wear off.
He breathed into her forehead, and she tightened her grip on him. She smelled of milk and petrichor.
Though she had never shown signs of separation anxiety, he wondered if he had it momentarily, because he wanted to stay in that sofa with her and Seungcheol.
“How do you feel?” Seungcheol asked, kissing him again, simply because he could. Near the sofa, there was her baby bag, an array of toys and bottles, and distractions for her.
“Tired now that I sit down,” Jeonghan admitted.
“Ma,” Danbi said again, “ma ma ma.”
She headbutted his chest, but he knew she wasn’t seeking milk. Not quite. He knew his own pup well enough to know when she simply wanted his presence, to be held and scented.
In many ways, she was so much like Seungcheol.
Her tiny fist was surprisingly strong on his head. He would have to get his hair retouched again before the end of the show.
He found he did not mind. The length he had settled was just right enough for her to hold onto if she wanted, and for him to feel confident to wear it unstyled. Not overtly long, simply right for Seungcheol to tuck behind his ear.
A part of him wanted to gather her blankets and clothes, and build a small nest for them until it was time for him to be back onstage. He would have her for half an hour, at best, before needing to be with the members.
The other part of him, though physically tired, was ready to head back into the stage and the lights and the music.
He met Seungcheol’s eyes and realized he had not answered his question fully.
“I am tired,” he said, using one hand to tuck Danbi close, the other one to thread with Seungcheol’s. “But I am happy. I feel like me again, like the old Jeonghan.” He looked at the baby on his lap, who looked at him as if he were her whole world. “But I am more.”
There was a warm thump on his chest, on his bond, and he saw Seungcheol’s throat bob with emotion. Danbi cooed in their direction, picking up their unspoken language.
“You are more,” Seungcheol agreed, hand squeezing him. “I saw you up there, and you were perfect. You were beautiful and powerful, and you moved through each step like you were gliding, and I looked at you, and I was so proud of you and everything you’ve built and become, that I almost cried. I had to explain to our daughter why I couldn’t look away from the screen. Because my Omega was back. That you had never left, but you were back, settled, and everyone could see that.”
Jeonghan sniffed, his lips wobbling.
His old fear, that he would not be able to perform, and to have a family of his own; to write songs and synchronize along twelve other hearts, to carry life in his womb and hold them in his arms.
The weight had been there for so long, finally removed by the truth of the reaction of the crowd, and the domesticity he got to experience every day.
“That is how I feel,” he said. “Settled… Integrated. The me that wanted to be an idol, and the me that wanted to be a mother.”
Both sides of him. Both Jeonghan.
“I know,” Seungcheol said simply. “I see both sides. I feel them. All sides of you, and all of them I love. I love you.”
Jeonghan kissed him as he smiled, and Danbi reached out a hand as she tried to touch their mouths.
“I love you too,” Jeonghan whispered to him.
He giggled when Danbi moved her head to get a kiss of her own, her feet digging into his belly as she attempted to climb into Seungcheol’s lap.
He held her a little more firmly and let Seungcheol lean to give her a loud kiss on her round cheek that had her beaming.
Jeonghan settled on the sofa with Seungcheol and Danbi.
The show could wait a little longer. His family came first.