Work Text:
The first place we met
Was where the land gave way
And where the sea fathered foam,
And where the sky ran for miles,
And there, there resides a place lain in ruin,
Alone, and eternally submerged in the dark of night
Yet naked, basking at the break of dawn,
With still no company.
Let us leave this place as was found,
Before losing ourselves that eventful April.
Smooth sand gliding along my back, my breath
Gone, accompanied by yours,
As we reached ever nearer to ecstasy,
Your skin, a gift
Of Helios himself,
Shivered beneath my pleading touch.
Side by side, years now past,
You tease as much as you love:
Passionate and sincere.
Not with me,
Never with me, but always
With the girl across the street, feeding infidelity
I have spoken to Selene, for
More suns than you,
And bled my heart dry under her light.
The night, cold but no
More than the shoulder you give
So tonight, I rest my eyes
As I take a breath to bid you goodbye.
Yes, for at long last,
This soothing sea truly is no more for me
So, I'll ask you just this once, my Mingyu,
Don't you think I love you?
It was a bittersweet poem with a sudden confession—a really bittersweet one if he understood properly—and no sign-off, but Mingyu wasn't into bittersweet things. He liked the sweetness of honey and baked goods, of soft, pale skin and delicate fingernails gracing his body like a temple.
He tossed the confession letter (confession poetry? poetry letter?) to the side with a flick of his wrist.
Something irked him, however. How had they known of the ruined Moon temple near the coastline? It was miles away from anything noticeable, and the only way to get there was by crossing under the highway bridge and heading west to the shore, following the drainage pipe running under the bridge. No one would know about it unless someone guided them there. Perhaps it was a discrepancy of time passed; someone else found out, and now others know about it.
Mingyu would let that slide, yet the biggest question remained: what happened in April? They spoke of it as though it were a month of passion, but he would remember that. He would remember sleeping with someone at the ruins because he had never taken anyone there... Well, there was one person he knew...
...he took...
A wave of something ran through him, and in a swell of hot, fat tears, an emergence of memories hit him.
Napping under the sun with someone reading next to him, combing their lean fingers through his hair. Tightly wrapped one another well into the chilly spring nights in a borrowed one-person tent. A youthful, albeit deep, familiar laughter. A pair of circular glasses. Cold hands holding his. Tender brown eyes. Soft lips. Him.
Grief mixes with heartache. He's heaving breaths - his chest hurts. Shedding nonstop tears.
It hurts.
How could he have ever forgotten about His Wonwoo?