AN: This fic is designed to be read with the interactive fics app on Chrome, hence why MC is not named. I wrote this piece for the Mysme Secret Santa 2016 on tumblr.

When Zen ran away, he packed only the essentials. He did not bother to tear down the poster that he had sellotaped to his wardrobe door, nor did he tidy up the piles of homework that littered his desk.

He did not leave a note.

Several weeks after the party, Zen's parents had invited him for dinner and almost immediately he feared the worst; that they had caught wind of Echo Girl's scandal and wanted to let him back into their lives to better reinstate their control over him.

But alongside the old fear came hope too. [Name] had never been able to imagine Zen as a kid and he got embarrassed on the occasions she asked, but sometimes she would catch him daydreaming as they ate dinner or staring off into the distance as he washed the dishes and if ever she pointed it out, he would laugh.

"Sorry," he would say. "I was just…what if they're going to apologise? What if they're going to support me after all of this time?"

And in that moment of blind optimism was the child she had never known. The child she was only ever permitted to catch glimpses of, such as the day Zen's parents confirmed the date for dinner and he automatically reached for her hand.

"But you'll come too, won't you?" he had said and at first [Name] hesitated. It was his family, after all. She did not want to intrude.

"I…."

But he squeezed her hand between his and she smiled softly.

"Of course I'll come," she said. "I'd love to meet them."

She spoke so convincingly that for a time she believed herself. She found herself becoming excited for a family she had never even met; shrugging off most concerned messages on the app and going so far as to buy a dress patterned with sunflowers. She did not know what Zen's parents looked like, but she imagined their embrace as he introduced her. It seemed presumptuous, but in her imagination he placed a hand on her shoulder and named her as the love of his life.

It was comforting to know that she was not the only one whose imagination wandered. Zen, who previously spoke so rarely of his family, had flashes of inspiration too. Sometimes it arrived in the form of a particular dish he had never made before, only to reveal it was his mother's specialty. Sometimes it was the song he hummed as he dressed, which he later explained was one he practised on the piano as a teenager.

Between them they lived in a hopeful bubble of imagined scenarios, one that retrospectively they should have reassessed the day he argued with Jaehee. [Name] was packing. Zen was too, in theory, for he had been on the phone for the past ten minutes with the same shirt in his hand.

"Look, I know you mean well," he said, putting down the shirt, only to listen to a word or phrase and pick it up again as one might a shield. "But is it so hard for you to believe that they might actually have seen one of my DVDs and-"

[Name] watched in shock as he hung up the phone and ran his fingers through his hair, the same conflict playing out across his face as before.

"Zen," she said, only to receive a shake of the head and muttered announcement that he was going for a smoke.

She found him on the roof a short while later, searching through his pockets for a lighter.

"They told me it was impossible," he said, as she sat down beside him. "I would never make a living as a musical actor."

"You proved them wrong, though," she said. "Your career is really starting to take off."

"How can I stand tall and say to my fans, to you, that nothing is impossible," he said, "if I can't even believe it's possible that they might have changed? If I look down my nose and call it naive…aren't I just as bad as them? Aren't I doing the same thing they did to me?"

He took a long drag from his cigarette and sighed noisily.

"Jaehee's right," he said. "God knows what they want from me, but it's probably not my autograph…"

"Zen…"

"Why did I even accept their invitation, anyway? I wonder if there's still time to cancel."

But they didn't cancel.

A few days later, [Name] stood on the doorstep of Zen's childhood home. They lived in a quiet neighbourhood outside of the city, a fact only reinforced by the twitching curtains as they climbed out of the saddle of Zen's bike. His parents lived so far away from Zen's basement apartment that they had packed a spare set of clothes into [Name]'s backpack and, when his mother opened the door, Zen was rummaging through it for the bottle of wine they had brought as a gift.

Initially Zen had suggested a plant, for both of his parents enjoyed gardening and similar pursuits, though [Name] was quick to point out that something so delicate likely wouldn't survive the journey. After a good deal of browsing, [Name] settled on a sweet red that Jumin assured her was of the finest quality.

Zen's mother did not look at all how she might have imagined her. [Name] had imagined an aging beauty with glasses and a warm smile, but the woman who answered the door was none of those things. She was angular almost to the point of being sharp, with a stern expression and immaculate hair and clothes. [Name] was reminded of every frightening teacher she had ever had to deal with in the course of her life and suddenly felt an immense pity for the woman's students.

"Mom…I," said Zen, stepping forward with the wine and shoving [Name] into the line of fire. "This is [Name], the love of my life."

In her imagination, a warm embrace had always followed. Mrs Ryu had always laughed and invited her into the house to look at Zen's childhood photographs, but reality the other woman scanned her from head to toe none-too-subtly before turning to her son.

"You'll have to move the bike," she said. "What will the neighbours say?"

[Name] half expected Zen to comment that he didn't give half a rat's ass what the neighbours thought and watched in surprise as he walked away to comply with his mother's wishes; shoulders slumped and not a single word of disagreement. As she stood alone on the doorstep, [Name] considered all of the occasions he had practically jumped at the chance to argue with Jumin, sometimes seeming to log into the messenger specifically for that purpose. It was almost as if they left that other person behind in Zen's apartment and the one that grabbed his bike by the handles was someone she barely knew at all.

[Name] turned back to Zen's mother and opened her mouth for a 'how do you do', though it largely went unregistered. Mrs Ryu turned to walk into the house without another word and if she meant for [Name] to follow, she did not say so.

Still, [Name] was optimistic that dinner would be a success. Even as she crossed the threshold and watched Mrs Ryu dump the bottle of wine on a small table by the door, she believed there was a chance.

And, in a way, she was right. Zen's family home was cool and airy and, in a stark contrast to Zen's own apartment, hardly an inch of it lay bare. Everywhere she looked, [Name] caught sight of a new photograph or a set of class texts or a vase set aside for decoration. For all of her side eyed glances, it became apparent very quickly that Mrs Ryu was an excellent cook.

As she took a seat at the dinner table, [Name] decided that she would have much preferred to have been in Zen's chilly apartment than poking food around her plate as Mr Ryu chatted pseudo-pleasantly about the new mathematics course they had introduced at the university he worked at.

As hosts went, Zen's father was bittersweet company. If [Name] had met him under different circumstances, she was sure she would not have noticed how he dominated the conversation with excessively long words as if lying in wait for someone to show confusion and give him the chance to show off the breadth of his knowledge. He was as tall and angular as his wife and, truthfully, [Name] found herself staring at the pair of them over the rim of her glass, curious how two unquestionably plain individuals might have produced such a handsome son. At the very least, she had imagined they might have been attractive in terms of character if not face.

Since their arrival, Zen had given only one word answers and barely engaged in conversation, which might have gone under the radar were it not for the fact that they had practised pleasantries in his front room with bowls of noodles in their laps. He had practised the same stories and short descriptions of his friends, as well as the elaborate lie about his apartment. He was convinced that they would turn up their noses if he explained it was in the basement and, after spending less than five minutes with them, [Name] was inclined to agree.

Zen said nothing even as his mother took his jacket and complained first about the leather and then at the lingering smell of cigarettes. He bit his tongue even as his mother reached for his ponytail with a tug and commented that he looked like a delinquent.

Up until that point he had been calm and quiet and unquestionably polite and in the end it took his father to break the silence.

"I've done the honours of adding your name to the admissions list," said Mr Ryu.

"I…excuse me?"

"For the course at-"

"I heard you," said Zen. "What do you mean?"

Mr and Mrs Ryu shared a look as if his reaction came as a result of valid concern.

"Well this hobby of yours," said Mr Ryu.

"You mean my career?"

Another shared glance.

"We spoke to your brother," said Mrs Ryu. "We think it's time you abandon this foolishness and finally put some serious thought int-"

Zen rose to his feet with such force that the table shook.

"Dinner's over," he said, before storming out of the room.

And so it was that Mr and Mrs Ryu followed Zen, leaving [Name] alone at the table. She considered following them for a whole two seconds before climbing the stairs and bearing witness to Mrs Ryu attempting to reason with her son through the door of the guest bedroom.

"This is not how we raised you, Hyun," she said. "Come out at once!"

It was something of a mystery what Mr Ryu intended to do other than stand back and shake his head. He exhaled so loudly at his son's protests that he no longer went by Hyun, but Zen, that it disrupted a nearby pot of artificial flowers.

[Name] lingered behind them, wanting nothing more than to speak to Zen but at the same time wanting to keep his parents far, far away where they could not hurt him with their misunderstandings and good intentions.

Upon learning their son was bringing a partner, Mrs Ryu had immediately put her foot down and made it quite clear that they would be sleeping in separate rooms and Zen had shrugged his shoulders to her demands even if she would not see through the phone.

"It's not as if I wanted to go back into my room anyway," he said at the time, and only as she sat inside of it did she fully understand why.

As foolish as it sounded, she had imagined that room too. Posters on every wall of idols from the past; an array of instruments pilfered from the music room for practice; awards for contests he had entered at school; smiling photographs of a boy who dreamed of becoming famous.

Truthfully, though, there were no trophies. The poster on his wardrobe door was that of a cellist and not an idol and the only photographs of Zen in the room showed him at dinners and other formal events with his family. It was Zen, but he didn't look happy. In some pictures, he even seemed to have avoided the camera entirely.

[Name] could see all of this for certain as she sat by herself in the darkened room. Ultimately, she had not changed into her pyjamas and instead she perched at the end of the bed in the same spot she had been sitting for hours, going over every individual mistake, however well meaning.

Suddenly she was ashamed of the sunflowers that adorned her dress; ashamed of every single fantasy she had had about reunions and happy endings. She could only imagine how Zen felt. He had far more context to the situation and had been twice as hopeful as her.

It did not seem to matter where she turned her head. Every corner of the room held a different memento of an increasingly miserable kid and the end, she couldn't stand staring at her phone. Mr and Mrs Ryu had refused her offer of help to clear the table and it had been quite some time since she had been able to make out the sound of them speaking in hushed whispers about their troublesome son. They had almost certainly gone to bed and, even if not, they were not standing outside of the guest room.

It was a relief to leave the bedroom, even if it meant creeping around the hallway of a silent house. [Name] inhaled sharply as she opened the bedroom door; convinced that all eyes were upon her. Once she had questioned why Zen took so much pride in his rebellious phase. She remembered saying to his face that everyone acted out at least once. It made a lot more sense as she tiptoed towards the guest room door, glancing over her shoulder every time she became thoroughly unconvinced by the silence.

She tapped lightly, so lightly that she barely heard the sound herself and so tapped again a second time. In an ordinary house, nobody might have heard, but moments later she heard movement inside and the door opened by a sliver. Zen seemed to have expected the worst too.

"Hey," [Name] whispered, unsure of what else to say to him, though it seemed to do the trick. He reached out for her wrist and eased her through the gap, into the guest room.

He had been smoking. It still lingered on his breath as he kissed her and, while he had opened the window out of consideration, it meant that it was cold inside.

"We shouldn't have come here," he said. "I'm sorry…I should have known better, I-"

"Zen, you wanted to come here."

"I know," he said. "But I shouldn't have asked you to come with me. You shouldn't have seen this…"

"You wanted to think the best of them. That's not a bad thing."

"Isn't it?"

He was laughing, but behind the laughter, there was pain.

"I auditioned for this part once," he said, sinking down onto the bed. "Back when I was starting out. It was a crap role, but there was one set of lines that stood out to me. I don't know, I just…I felt them? See, this guy was super in love with the girl the show was about but she messed around with his feelings and right towards the end of the show…out of nowhere…my character stopped being the pretty boy and dumped her. And do you know what he said to her?"

[Name] shook her head.

"He said, 'I'm tired of wondering when you'll love me. I'm tired of looking forward to tomorrow because tomorrow you might care. I'm not wasting any more of my life thinking that maybe if I act this way or that way you'll decide that I was worthy of you… because I've always been worthy. It's you that wasn't worthy of me.'"

Even though they spoke in whispers and he recounted the lines from memory, it gave [Name] goosebumps.

"Did he get the girl?" She asked as she sat down beside him.

"Nah," said Zen. "She married some nerd and the show ended with a voiceover."

He sighed and leaned his head into her shoulder.

"We shouldn't have come here," he said. "I don't know what I expected."

"You expected your family to be supportive," she said. "It's not your fault that things turned out this way."

"Babe, you're going to make me blush," he said, a genuine grin creeping across his face.

[Name] returned his smile-the first since they had arrived at the house- a fact that crossed his mind at the same moment.

"Let's get out of here," he said, sitting up.

"Huh?"

"Let's go home. If we hit the roads now, we can be back for breakfast."

He reached out a hand to her and she hesitated.

"Are you…sure about this? It's the middle of the night," she said. "If we leave now, we'll never be able to come back."

"All the more reason to go!"

They tiptoed down the stairs hand in hand, giggling at every creaking floorboard and shushing one another as if they had indulged in too much brandy, though in reality it was the idea of rebellion that left them intoxicated. Zen pulled on his jacket at the speed of light and did not bother to pull up the zipper.

[Name] laughed out loud as she crossed the threshold, only to run back into the silent house and grab the wine from the table behind the door.

"No man left behind," she whispered, taking Zen's outstretched hand, though he did not seem to notice. He stared wistfully at the house; at its drawn curtains and shadowy windows.

"You okay?" She asked, squeezing his hand. "It's not too late to go back."

"Nah, I'm fine," he said. "It's just…this is the second time I've run away from this house."

"What will the neighbours say?"

He turned to her. Took in her bright grin and returned it tenfold.

"They can say whatever they want," he said, scooping her into his arms. "I've got all the family I need right here."

"Was that from your show too?"

"Nope," he said, planting a kiss on her forehead. "That one was all me."

As she pulled on her helmet, [Name] spotted a twitching of the curtains as Mrs Ryu peered out through the bedroom window and for one brief moment, she wondered if she ought to wave. Zen revved the engine, though, and she wrapped her arms around his middle instead.

When Zen ran away, he packed only the essentials. He did not bother to tear down the poster that he had sellotaped to his wardrobe door, nor did he tidy up the piles of homework that littered his desk.

He did not leave a note.

It seemed a cliche to say he didn't know what was on the horizon, but for the first time in a long time he wasn't in the least bit afraid. Along the way, he had found a family completely unrelated by blood, but loved and accepted him unflinchingly for all that he was.

In truth, he never questioned that he walked in the right direction.

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