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Minseok moans as Jongdae’s fingers dig into the soft flesh of his hips, tightening as he builds up a steady rhythm. He looks down at Jongdae beneath him, mouth slightly agape as Minseok raises himself up on straining thighs, then slams his ass back down to meet Jongdae’s hips.
Pleasure is painted across Jongdae’s face as he squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a huffed breath he didn’t know he was holding in and Minseok wishes he could stare at his angelic face forever. He’s tempted to lean forward just enough so that he can run his fingertips across those defined cheekbones, down to thread his fingers through the short tufts of hair at the back of Jongdae’s neck and pull him up to press his lips to his. But he won’t. He can’t. He knows he can’t. Minseok hasn’t kissed Jongdae in years.
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He remembers the first time they kissed. Jongdae had been only 18 years old, Minseok 21. Jongdae had been in his first year of university, Minseok his last. He remembers the dangerously strong allure of Jongdae, just barely a man, an allure that was just as powerful for Minseok almost 4 years on, but had faded into nothing but the occasional spurt of lust for Jongdae.
Minseok remembers Jongdae smelling of cheap cologne as his face had seemed impossibly close, but still too far away. He remembers his uncertainty as he had paused a centimetre before Jongdae’s lips, the younger’s sweet breath mingling with his own. Minseok had been scared, terrified. He’d never felt so drawn to someone, never longed so strongly to entwine the fabric of his future with another soul, or to fulfil a much more primal instinct to have someone pound into him as he screamed for more. The idea of tearing down any and all barriers to someone and revealing his whole self, physically and emotionally had been the most frightening thought to ever cross his mind and to him, a kiss seemed powerful enough to seal his fate. But the hesitation this fear had created had been shredded to nothing with two simple words spoken from Jongdae’s perfect lips.
“Kiss me.” Jongdae had whispered, and that’s all it had taken for a calm to spread throughout Minseok and for him to press his trembling lips to Jongdae’s eager ones. A calm that he hadn’t felt since.
Minseok remembers the last time they kissed. Jongdae had just finished his course and a seemingly infinite number of parties had been held in celebration of yet another batch of students moving on to face their futures. Minseok had gone to a few, but he hadn’t been invited to this particular gathering. Jongdae had offered to bring him along as a plus one, but Minseok had been weary from a particularly hectic week at work and had preferred to spend a lazy Friday evening wrapped up on the couch with a movie or two. He would have preferred to be wrapped up with Jongdae, but he wasn’t going to stop his boyfriend from enjoying his new found freedom with his friends.
“You sure, Minnie?" Jongdae had asked. Considering he was already halfway to the door, his hair styled up in a way that made him look like he’d just rolled out of bed, and one arm through the sleeve of his leather jacket, Minseok had known the question had only been asked out of courtesy; Jongdae wasn’t really seeking his permission. But that was Jongdae; almost like a child he delved headfirst into the unknown, only remembering to check himself afterwards.
Minseok had just followed Jongdae to see him out, briefly pressing their lips together in a familiar, chaste kiss, unaware that it would be their last, before waving Jongdae away with a smile and telling him to enjoy himself. With Jongdae gone, he’d settled down on the lounge and put on some recently released romantic comedy, but half way in, he’d found he wasn’t really in the mood for watching alone. He’d gone to bed early that night.
The next morning, Minseok had woken to find himself alone in his bed. A moment of panic had flashed through him as Jongdae’s absence had settled in, and he had been reaching for his phone to check for any messages or missed calls when he heard rustling coming from the lounge room.
He’d gotten up quickly, praying that Jongdae was the source of the sound and sure enough, there he was, passed out on the couch. Relief had spread throughout Minseok’s tightened chest, and he’d crept over to gently pull a blanket up over Jongdae’s sleeping figure.
Jongdae had never come home and slept on the couch before, but Minseok just brushed it off and attributed it to Jongdae not wanting to wake him up. It should have been then that he suspected something was wrong.
Minseok had been in the midst of pouring himself a cup of coffee when he heard something that sounded like a cross between a yawn and a groan coming from the couch’s occupant.
“Morning, Jongdae,” He’d chuckled, “How drunk did you get last night if you ended up passed out on the couch?” Jongdae hadn’t replied, but sat up slowly, hair tussled in every direction and eyeliner smudged in wide rings around his eyes.
“Did you want some coffee?” Minseok had tried again, smile fading as Jongdae turned to look at him, eyes brimming with tears. “Jongdae?” Minseok put his mug down on the counter as fear started to constrict the muscles in his chest again; why did Jongdae look so terrified, so sorry, so small? He rushed over to Jongdae and sat beside him on the edge of the couch.
“Jongdae, talk to me.” Minseok had whispered, cupping the boy’s angelic face in his hands as tears marked wet trails down his cheeks, tainted with smeared eyeliner. Jongdae had just shook his head, closed his eyes and tipped forward into Minseok, burying his face in the elder’s chest. The uneasy feeling hadn’t disappeared as Minseok held Jongdae to him, rubbing his hands soothingly up and down his back, whispering words of reassurance and placing soft kisses against the top of his head.
Eventually, Jongdae’s sobs had subsided, but he’d remained quiet and still against Minseok. Minseok had pushed away the twisting feeling in his gut and decided not to ask if Jongdae didn’t want to tell. He’d had a feeling being ignorant to whatever was plaguing Jongdae would be for the best, but Jongdae had offered an explanation for his tears of his own accord. He’d mumbled something into Minseok’s thin, tearstained t-shirt, something that Minseok was sure he’d misheard, something his own insecurities had led him to dread, but his rationality had told him to ignore.
“What was that, baby?” He asked, voice shaking slightly as he pulled back from Jongdae, hands still holding his face. Jongdae had wrapped his long fingers around Minseok’s wrists, clinging to him, but unable to look him in the eye.
“I slept with someone.” And that was all it had taken for Minseok’s world to come crashing down.
They’d continued to live together after that, despite the inevitable breakdown in their relationship. Minseok had insisted that he was fine with it, whilst all of his friends insisted that he shouldn’t be. The story he told them, as well as the story he told himself, was that the rent was only affordable if it was shared between two and he couldn’t be bothered to go through the awkward conversation of which one of them would be kicked out.
But if he was being honest with himself, he hadn’t really wanted Jongdae to leave, even if every time he looked at him the yearning he felt pulling at his heart was akin to a thicket of thorns spreading throughout his chest.
The thing that hit Minseok the hardest was how quickly Jongdae seemed to get over the ruins of their three year relationship. He definitely felt awful about how it ended, that much was obvious from the ensuing weeks of wordlessly doing favours for Minseok, completing both of their shares worth of housework and just generally trying to give him space, but beyond that he didn’t seem to be wallowing in sorrow or particularly distressed.
Minseok wasn’t angry or confused, he just felt a hollow sadness and bitterness at the inexorable outcome of their relationship being reached. He’d always known he wasn’t good enough for Jongdae. Perfect, beautiful Jongdae. So high-spirited, so loud and boisterous and the life of every party. Jongdae could have anyone he wanted, yet he’d chosen to be with Minseok. Quiet, calm, introverted Minseok. The truth of the almost absurd differences in their personalities had occurred to Minseok multiple times during the course of their relationship, but opposites attract, right? Maybe they balanced each other out. Minseok had theorised that maybe Jongdae had chosen him because he sought someone who he could cuddle up with at the end of the day, who he could come home to and put his mind at ease with. But theories are only theories until proven correct, or in Minseok’s case, disproven.
Jongdae needed someone who could keep up with him. Someone who would be happy to attend all of his parties and get completely wasted with him. Someone who wouldn’t think about yesterday or tomorrow, but would just live for today. That someone wasn’t Minseok, but Jongdae had obviously seen a little of that someone in whoever he had fucked that night.
After six months, it was almost as if nothing had happened and their relationship had never changed except for the noticeable absence of kissing, affectionate contact and sex. Or at least until one night, when Jongdae had stumbled through the door, so drunk he could hardly walk to the couch, and plonked down next to Minseok.
Minseok, as it had so happened, had also been drunk, as when Jongdae had left that evening to do whatever it was he did with his Friday nights (getting off his face and fucking random strangers, Minseok assumed) he’d moulded himself into the couch with a beer bottle in his hand and a broken heart on his mind, intent on drowning his misery for the evening.
But with five empty bottles on the table and Jongdae staring directly at him with wide, unblinking eyes and his hand resting just a little too high on Minseok’s thigh, the only thing Minseok’s fuzzy mind could think about was reclaiming Jongdae’s lips as his, and his alone. But even when he was stripped of his inhibitions, Minseok had restrained himself. He’d been explicitly reminded of a very similar situation, when Jongdae had whispered two words that had swept him off his feet, but this time he was determined to not be so easily swayed. However, drunk Jongdae wasn’t nearly as vocal and instead had opted for climbing on top of Minseok and pressing his mouth, sloppy and open against Minseok’s neck.
Minseok had nearly cried at how good it felt.
They had hurriedly made their way to Minseok’s room, desperate hands slowed with intoxication, grabbing at clothes, skin, hair; whatever they could grasp. Jongdae, however out of his mind, had made an effort to avoid meeting Minseok’s lips, no matter how insistently Minseok chased his. Minseok was too out of it himself to question it, and eventually gave up and settled for Jongdae’s mouth on every other part of his body.
In a blur of moaning and grunting, skin slapping obscenely against skin and thick, heavy breaths, Minseok had fallen into a blissful pocket of escape from the cold, lonely reality his life had become. In the back of his mind, Minseok had been fully aware that this meant nothing to Jongdae, that he was just drunk and horny and probably equally as lonely as Minseok, but for that one drunken night, a brief reprieve from his reality was all he had wanted.
In the morning, Minseok had woken with his head throbbing mercilessly, limbs aching and the room reeking of sweat and sex. He’d moaned a little at his screaming senses, before freezing abruptly at a rustle to his right. Turning his head to let his gaze fall upon the figure in his bed, a sick anxiousness had seized him as he recognised Jongdae’s sleeping form.
Jongdae was in his bed. Jongdae was in his bed, naked. Jongdae was in his bed and they were both naked. It hadn’t taken Minseok particularly long to piece together what had happened.
A sudden upheaval in his gut had forced Minseok to fall out of bed and rush to his bathroom. He’d braced himself over the basin, bile rising in his throat, but nothing had come up. There hadn’t been anything in his stomach to physically throw up, just a vile, stirring sickness that was causing his insides to contort and knot themselves a million times over.
Tears stinging his eyes at the realisation of how fucked up he is, at how fucked up everything is, he had looked up to stare at his pathetic reflection in the mirror, only to catch Jongdae standing in the doorway behind him, sweatpants slung low on his hips.
“Are you okay?” He’d asked softly. Minseok had thought that was the stupidest question he’d ever heard. What part of their situation made Jongdae think he could possibly be any degree of okay? Minseok had just stared wordlessly at his reflection, unable to remember the last time he’d felt even remotely okay.
They’d both fallen into their old, toxic habit of ignoring what undoubtedly needed to be addressed. Moving on day to day and pretending everything was fine; it had worked for them in the past, so why should they change now? Only that night hadn’t been a onetime thing that could be buried in their memories. Jongdae had taken Minseok’s silence as a sign he was fine with their spontaneous, inebriated fuck, and had developed a tendency to take advantage of Minseok’s inability to deny him.
At first it was just the occasional drunken romp, but as the months dragged on, Jongdae had seemed to lose the prerequisite of needing to have consumed alcohol to come onto Minseok.
Minseok had tried to come up with a name for their unspoken arrangement. Were they fuck buddies? Friends with benefits? He was sure it was something along those lines, but their history threw him off. He was plagued with thoughts of whether Jongdae still felt something for him, or whether he just wanted someone he could rely on for a hook up. Whether he still went out to find willing strangers to fulfil his lustful desires, or if he was now reserving himself entirely for Minseok.
Minseok was very doubtful about that last point.
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One year on from their break up and this is where they are now, this is what they are. Minseok is just glad he has this last piece of Jongdae he can cling to, for however long it will last.
“Come on, give it up!” Jongdae grunts, his grip on Minseok tightening so that Minseok knows there will be bruises spattered across his hips in the morning. Minseok loves the deep purple patches that slowly transform to an olive green, then fade from his skin entirely. The ghostly handprints allow him to pretend that he belongs to Jongdae, even if it’s for just one night.
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Minseok doesn’t know that one day soon, he’ll come home from work an hour early. There will be a car parked out the front of the house, old, but well maintained, and Minseok will find this odd, but he’ll shrug it off with the thought of a cup of coffee to awaken his mind, fatigued from a relentless onslaught at work. He’ll make his was to the front door and turn his keys, sighing wearily as he opens it noiselessly, only to pause as he hears a low groan that is unmistakeably Jongdae.
Minseok will flush as he feels the twisting in his gut paired with the blood rushing to his core at Jongdae’s cries. He’ll feel a thrill at the prospect of catching Jongdae touching himself, pleasuring himself as he’d seen him do so many times before. Minseok will push the door open just enough to peer down the hall and into the living room, but what he’ll see will chill him to the bone.
Jongdae, with his head thrown back, mouth open and eyes closed in ecstasy, only visible from his naked shoulders up, will undoubtedly be moving in sporadic, up and down movements on the couch in the living room. For a moment, Minseok will be confused, dazed; what is Jongdae doing? But then he will see the top of a head resting on the armrest of the couch, a mop of black hair jutting over the edge.
Minseok will be frozen, rooted to the spot as he takes in the sight before him. An idea will occur to Minseok in a flash of white rage, a wild, testosterone fuelled idea to rip Jongdae off the couch and to break every bone in this stranger’s body. To scream at him, then to scream at Jongdae and cry and cry and cry at what feels like his heart being torn out of his chest for the hundredth time. But he won’t do that. Minseok will simply close the door and return to his car, foggy mind now crystal clear, but oddly blank.
He will consider starting his car up and driving somewhere until the time he’s expected home, but instead he will remain in the driveway, staring out into the street and trying to think of anything other than the scene he just stumbled across, and failing miserably.
The hour will tick by impossibly slowly. Minseok will watch each individual minute flick forward on his car’s digital clock until it reads a six followed by two zeros. Then he will wait another five minutes, hoping against hope that this stranger will walk out of the house before Minseok has to walk in. But half past six will come and go, and Minseok will be sick of hiding out in his car; all he wants to do is crawl into bed and let the tears come.
So he will get out of his car again and trudge his way to the door, making an effort to be as loud as possible as he unlocks it again. He’ll enter the house to find everything as it was when he left that morning; blankets folded on the couch and cushions sitting neatly. Everything seems so normal that for a minute Minseok wonders whether he imagined the whole situation.
But then he’ll walk into the kitchen and there, sitting with his back to him on a bar stool will be his worst nightmare. Jongdae will be leaning on his elbows on the other side of the island bench, smiling at the stranger as they converse in low voices. He’ll look up as Minseok approaches and smile widely, causing the dark haired man in front of him to turn around.
The man will be lean in his fitted duck egg blue shirt with the cuffs rolled up to his elbows, and his long face will shape into a smile that will make little creases form in the corners of his droopy eyes and create a dimple, a fucking dimple, that punctures his right cheek. He’s beautiful and Minseok wants to cry because he wants so badly to hate this man, but he looks so innocent and kind that Minseok doesn’t think it’s possible.
“Minseok! This is my friend, Yixing.” Jongdae’s smile won’t have disappeared, in fact it will seem to have grown impossibly large. Minseok will shift his eyes back to Yixing as he gets off his chair and holds out a hand. Minseok won’t want to take his hand, he won’t want to touch any part of Yixing. He’ll almost feel that if he reaches out and touches him, he won’t be able to deny his existence any longer, that somehow the contact will confirm his physical being. But Minseok lacks the ability to be rude or outwardly discourteous, so he places his hand in Yixing’s own. Yixing’s hand will feel rough and calloused as it almost encases Minseok’s soft, small one, and his firm grip will almost make Minseok throw up at the thought of that hand touching Jongdae, skimming the planes of his chest and stomach, trailing down to hold his-
“It’s lovely to meet you, Minseok.” Yixing’s voice is soft, lilting and similarly quiet to Minseok’s own. Minseok will just nod and smile a little, then he’ll look past Yixing to catch the strange look on Jongdae’s face.
“Are you feeling alright, Minseok?” Jongdae will ask, “You’re looking a little pale.” Minseok will take this opportunity to make a much needed escape as his heart pounds uncomfortably in his chest and his shirt feels suffocatingly tight.
“Ah… no, actually, I’m not feeling that great. I think I might just go lie down for a bit, sorry.” Fleeting concern etches across Jongdae’s face as he makes his way around the bench to Minseok, arms extended towards him. Minseok will quickly step back in the direction of his room, dreading Jongdae’s gentle touch. Jongdae will stop, confusion brushing his features at Minseok’s retreat and Minseok’s gaze will flick briefly to Yixing, noticing him watching their exchange curiously.
“Do you need anything? Aspirin? Water?” Jongdae will persist, worry evident in his tone.
I need you. Only you. Always you. Please, just come back to me. Just be mine forever and ever.
“No, no… I’m fine, really, I’m just exhausted.” Minseok will counter, bile rising in his throat and tears welling in his eyes. He will turn from Jongdae and Yixing, briefly catching the latter’s equally concerned expression and hurry to his room, hearing Jongdae call out to his retreating figure,
“If you need anything, just call out to me, yeah?”
Minseok won’t respond, but will close his bedroom door behind him and head directly to his bathroom. He’ll close that door as well to try and contain the sounds of him collapsing in front of the toilet and dry heaving into the bowl.
His stomach will feel like it’s full of acid and his head will throb as he wretches between sobs, nothing coming up but wrecked cries that he will desperately try to stifle. He’ll force himself up to the shower and turn on the water hard, fearing that Jongdae or Yixing will hear his distraught weeping and race to his room, only to find him crumpled on the cold, hard tiles, the force of his distress wracking his entire frame.
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Minseok moans thickly as he strokes his erection with abandon, head falling to his chest as he struggles to keep up his pace on Jongdae’s cock, whilst desperately reaching for his own climax. Abruptly, Minseok tenses, thighs quaking as he holds himself up atop Jongdae and hot, creamy streaks of come spill across their stomachs. He releases his aching leg muscles and collapses back down to bury Jongdae’s dick in his clenching ass, riding out the last of his orgasm and rocking wearily to coax Jongdae to his own. Jongdae gasps as his body contracts, then cries out as his stomach muscles tighten in spasms and he arches up towards Minseok.
Relaxing back into his pillow, chest heaving, Jongdae can’t meet Minseok’s eyes, choosing instead to stare up at the ceiling. Minseok’s breathing begins to even out as well, and he stares down at Jongdae, drinking in every aspect of him in the last moments of their shared ecstasy. Then Jongdae re-establishes his grip on Minseok’s hips, wordlessly encouraging him to ease himself off.
Jongdae is never intentionally cruel, he doesn’t shove Minseok off of him or degrade him with callous words, but as Minseok lays down on his back and Jongdae turns on his side to face the wall, Minseok’s pain is equal to any punch that could be thrown his way.
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Minseok doesn’t know that Jongdae won’t touch him after he catches him with Yixing. Of course, there will be platonic contact; hugs, arms casually slung around shoulders, legs thrown over laps when lounging on the couch, but Jongdae won’t slide his fingers up Minseok’s thighs, or jump in his lap and grind their hips together whenever the urge strikes him. It will almost feel as if Jongdae has decided to save himself, or maybe he’s just too busy with his new distraction to worry about Minseok.
But Jongdae will be different after that day. Instead of going out to clubs and drinking himself into a stupor every other weekend, he will stay at home more, often texting long into the night and giggling at the replies. Minseok will have a sinking feeling at who is on the receiving end of the messages. Then Jongdae will start going out again, but instead of heading out to his usual venues, he’ll frequent the cinema and restaurants and fancier locations such as theatres and art galleries.
Minseok will eventually ask Jongdae who he goes out with so often, trying his best to keep his tone light and conversational. The name that Jongdae replies with will be the last name Minseok wants to hear, but the first name he’ll be expecting.
“Yixing, the guy who was over here the other day, when you weren’t feeling well,” the added detail is entirely unnecessary, how could Minseok possible forget Yixing? “You’d like him, Minseok, you’re very similar, actually.”
That will be like a stab in the gut for Minseok. Yixing. Just like him, but better. Just like him, but more. Yixing will be all Jongdae ever was to Minseok, but so much more than Minseok could ever be to Jongdae.
He’ll talk about Yixing a lot after that, almost as if Minseok’s question was some kind of permission that he’d been seeking to be allowed to bring Yixing up. He’ll ask Minseok’s opinions on outfits, gifts and places to take him when it’s his turn to choose their date location. He’ll tell Minseok about Yixing’s job, his hobbies, his quirks and mannerisms and Minseok will always listen, will always give advice when asked and lend a hand when Jongdae asks for one.
Although the very thought of Yixing will make Minseok feel sick to his stomach, he won’t be overly concerned about the possibility of a prolonged relationship between him and Jongdae. Jongdae had had a few flings during their ‘friends with benefits’ period, but nothing that lasted longer than a few weeks. Despite a few weeks turning into a few months, Minseok will be in full blown denial that Jongdae has finally, irrevocably moved on from him.
Minseok doesn’t know that one day, almost six months into Jongdae and Yixing’s ‘fling’, which Minseok will still be in denial about it being anything serious, Jongdae will burst through the door after an overnight stay with Yixing, bouncing around like the adorable puppy he is with a grin spread wide across his face. He’ll sit down opposite Minseok at the kitchen table and clasp his hands, trying to portray serious and businesslike, but unable to hide his radiant excitement.
“Minseok, I’ve been talking with Yixing,“ Minseok’s stomach will flip at that, dread solidifying into nervous butterflies, “and we were thinking, well, he brought it up and I thought it was a good idea, but we both thought I should check with you first because it affects you as well and… well…” Jongdae will break off, a little uneasy as he looks down at his hands and fiddles with his interlocked fingers. Minseok won’t encourage him, he won’t want to hear what he knows is coming. Jongdae will take a deep breath before smiling back up at Minseok,
“I want to move in with Yixing.”
Minseok, after a couple of seconds of silence, face blank and expressionless, will remark more bitterly than he means to,
“But you’ve only known the guy for half a year…”
Jongdae will look a little surprised at Minseok’s uncharacteristically hostile tone, but won’t comment on it. Instead he’ll shove his hands under his thighs to sit on them and look sheepishly down at his lap.
“Well, actually, I’ve known him for a little longer than that…” Now it’s Minseok’s turn to be surprised.
“How… how long have you known him for?” Jongdae won’t be able to meet Minseok’s eye as he attempts to shrug the question off nonchalantly.
“Oh, it’s only been… just over a year. Yeah, a year and bit.”
“A year and a bit.” Minseok repeats. A poisonous suspicion will creep into Minseok’s mind, a suspicion that Jongdae’s first meeting with Yixing coincided with that fateful night, a year and a bit ago, when Jongdae had arrived home with enough guilt to make him sleep on the couch, but obviously not enough to stop him from going back to Yixing for another dose. Then again, Jongdae had never dwelt on anything long enough to feel all that terrible about his mistakes. He never had with Minseok, anyway. He was always moving forward, leaving the past behind him and only rarely stopping to consider the affects his actions had on others.
Minseok will never have admitted it to himself before, he’d always been good at making up excuses on Jongdae’s behalf, but Jongdae is selfish. Jongdae can be so selfish and careless and inconsiderate and completely clueless and Minseok will be so tired of defending him without getting anything in return but endless hurt.
“So?” Jongdae will pry, oblivious to Minseok’s raging train of thought, “Would you be okay with that? With me moving out, that is.”
Minseok will be so tired. He’ll be so tired of the heartache.
“Yeah, you’ve got to do what’s best for you, right?” Minseok won’t be completely sure if he’s talking to himself or Jongdae, but Jongdae’s wide grin is so bittersweet in the way it causes Minseok’s heart to both swell and ache simultaneously. To Minseok, it will feel like the beginning of the end of something that should have concluded long ago.
On moving day, Minseok, never one to miss an opportunity to do a good dead, will help Jongdae and Yixing carry boxes of Jongdae’s possessions out to Yixing’s car. Each journey between the car and the house will feel both painful and cathartic, like Minseok is both tearing off a limb and washing himself clean of an unhealthy obsession.
When the last box is loaded in the boot, Jongdae will suggest that they all go inside and grab a beer before he heads off with Yixing. Minseok will want nothing less than to spend time making awkward small talk with the happy couple, but of course he won’t say no. So the trio will trudge inside, exhausted from the heavy lifting, Minseok twice as tired from the added emotional strain.
As he finishes his beer, Jongdae will excuse himself to go to the bathroom and Minseok’s heart will sink at the prospect of being left alone with Yixing. He’ll spin his empty bottle around on the table awkwardly, concentrating fully on the senseless task before him and trying his best to ignore Yixing’s presence.
Yixing will shift in his chair and clear his throat, trying to capture Minseok’s attention. Minseok will feel Yixing’s unwavering gaze on him as he pretends to be oblivious, but after a minute or so he’ll feel guilty at being so rude. Grudgingly, Minseok will divert his attention from his pointless bottle spinning to meet the unreadable expression on Yixing’s face.
“I’m sorry, Minseok,” Yixing will say after spending a moment analysing the older man. Minseok will just look at him, genuinely curious about what Yixing is apologising for. “I’m sorry,” Yixing will repeat, “Jongdae may not be very observant, but I am and… I see the way you look at him.”
Minseok will try and interrupt as his face flushes with embarrassment at being so transparent, but Yixing will just shake his head, almost sadly, and gently hold up a hand to stop him.
“Just let me finish, please.” Minseok will look back down at his beer and after a few moments nod his head once, giving Yixing permission to continue. “Thank you,” Yixing will say, “You’ve known Jongdae much longer than I have, but I’ve known him long enough to know how blind he can be. I personally consider myself to be much more observant, and… I can see the pain he’s caused you. The pain we’ve both caused you.”
“It’s fine.” Minseok will mumble, not sure if he’s relieved to finally be talking about this or if he’d prefer Yixing to shut up.
“It’s not fine, Minseok. I’m not fine with it, and I have a pretty strong feeling you’re not fine with it either.” Yixing will take a breath to gather his thoughts, before continuing, “I know there’s not really anything any of us can do about it now, what’s happened has happened and dwelling on it isn’t going to help,” Minseok will almost snort at that, what would Yixing know about dwelling on things? Yixing goes on, “But I want to apologise on behalf of both myself and Jongdae for what you’ve been through.”
Minseok will nod and look down as he sniffs a little, not wanting to break in front of Yixing. He won’t have realised how badly he needed this recognition, this acknowledgement. It won’t be exactly who he wanted to hear it from, but he will feel some degree of relief after all this time suffering in silence. It will feel good to have someone who he doesn’t have to deny his pain to.
“He talks about you a lot,” Yixing will say quietly, “and I can tell from the way he talks about you that he really does love you. I think he loves you a whole lot more than either of you realise, just… not the way you want him to.”
Yixing’s words will fill Minseok with pride and a small, bubbling sense of joy. He was Jongdae’s first love, and Jongdae was his. Their story may not have ended how Minseok had prayed, hoped and pleaded it would, but Yixing’s admission will give him hope that maybe what he’s been through won’t have been a complete waste.
“Thank you.” Minseok will mumble, voice thick with emotion as he hastily wipes away the stray tears that have fallen down his cheeks.
Yixing will just nod and tip his bottle back to finish the last of his beer, just as Jongdae returns from the bathroom.
“Shall we head off?” Yixing asks Jongdae, and Minseok will be grateful for the brief distraction as he quickly returns his features to their usual, placid expression.
“Sure thing.” Jongdae nods enthusiastically, smiley as ever. He looks over at Minseok and for the first time in a long time, Minseok’s little smile in return will be genuine.
That night, long after Jongdae and Yixing have left, Minseok will sit on the floor of the living room, toying with the frayed edge of the ageing rug and lost in his thoughts. He’ll feel more at peace then he has in years, but the time that he can now see was clearly wasted being Jongdae’s door mat will plague his mind.
Yixing’s words will come back to him, dwelling on it isn’t going to help, and Minseok knows he’s right, but he can’t help wishing he could go back to his past self and warn him, tell him not to let years of his life go to waste pining over someone who fell out of love with him as quickly as he fell in.
Minseok will close his eyes and lean back against the couch as he mentally sends a message to his younger self: I’m so sorry, but hang in there Minseok, hang in there.
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In the past, Minseok stares at Jongdae’s back, watching the sheets rise and fall with each of his gentle breaths. Minseok can hear each soft exhale, but he’s spent enough nights struggling to fall asleep long after Jongdae has succumbed to be able to tell the difference between Jongdae’s measured, sleeping breaths and these slightly faster imitations.
“I love you.” Minseok whispers, hoping against hope that Jongdae will repeat the words to him like he used to, once upon a time. Jongdae remains silent for so long that Minseok starts to think he actually has fallen asleep, but eventually, voice quiet but very much awake, Jongdae replies,
“I know.”
Minseok didn’t think it was possible, but his heart breaks just that little bit more.