Chapter Text
Hands are pulling at Junhui’s arms again and telling him to stand up. He says fuck off, in a voice with a hard rasp. The hands dig into his skin, nails digging in.
Junhui is on his feet and someone tells him they have.
It.
Junhui heard Minghao’s voice somewhere in his head, a short voice, ‘don’t shoot up.’
Don’t shoot up.
Junhui goes for a cigarette. He slots it in between his lips and tells them he doesn’t want.
It.
But Junhui does. Junhui does want.
It.
He wants to shut his eyes because everything hurts and he doesn’t want to hurt anymore.
It makes his heart pound and it pounds too hard for him to notice anything else.
Junhui leaves, he breathes out cancer and someone says his name. The Korean name.
Shua. Shua is here, Shua is here for Junhui. “Junhwi, you’ve been gone.”
“Sorry,” answers Junhui. He isn’t really sorry.
Joshua is cute.
They go to Shua’s apartment. He lets Junhui shower, and Shua says he wants to shower after.
When they pass each other in the bathroom, Junhui leans close to Shua, wearing nothing but a towel. “I missed you.”
Shua showers and Junhui smokes another cigarette.
When the water squeaks to a stop, Junhui feels like his stomach went empty. For a second, in his mind, he thought he heard Minghao.
Shua sucked bruises on Junhui’s neck and let the marks pool around his collarbones and down near his hips. His skin felt like a furnace.
After, Shua asks Junhui. “Jun,” he says. “You still doing heroin?”
Junhui shakes his head. “No.” It’s a half lie and a half truth. Because Junhui is two days clean.
“Okay.”
Junhui wears Shua’s clothes, they’re loose on him. Shua tells Junhui he loves him.
They go to a party, Seungkwan offers them drinks when they come in. Shua is holding his hand.
“Been ages since we’ve seen you,” Soonyoung says. Everyone knows. The party is for Junhui.
Junhui nods. Shua holds his hand tighter. Junhui wishes he wouldn’t.
They talk with people, drink their beers slowly. Seokmin presses something into Junhui’s hand. “Cold turkey is impossible,” he says.
Junhui is outside, the pill melting on his tongue. Shua thinks he’s in the bathroom.
The alcohol was numbing everything, the pill made him feel light.
Minghao was finally here, he sits next to Junhui. “You didn’t use,” he whispers, this is in Mandarin.
It’s refreshing to hear.
“I did.”
“Not heroin.”
“LSD.” Junhui looks at Minghao. “You’re so pretty.”
“Stop it.” Minghao looks to the porch doors. “Shua is here.”
“It’s okay,” Junhui says. “It’s okay.”
“I wanted you to stop using sooner.”
“Sorry,” answers Junhui. He means it.
“You remember 1986?”
Junhui looks at Minghao. “Shut up,” he’s speaking Korean now.
Minghao answers the same. “1986.”
“Shut up.”
“You do remember,” Minghao mumbles. “I could have guessed.”
“I’m sorry,” Junhui tells him, crying.
Shua comes out onto the cold porch. “Jun?” He asks. “Who are you talking to?”
Minghao is gone.
“No one.”
Junhui smokes a cigarette and goes insides with Shua.