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It had been exactly 15 months, 12 days, 5 hours, and 43 minutes since they broke up. Not that he was counting.
More than a year later, and Changmin still wasn’t over it. He didn’t know if he would ever be. And he had no one to blame but himself.
He downed the last of his coffee. It was too bitter, but he probably deserved that. He couldn’t even remember what they had argued about.
That’s a lie. He remembered exactly what the argument was about. It was about him. His distance. His coldness. His stubbornness. My stupidity. His thoughts left a taste in his mouth more bitter than any cold brew.
It was that stubbornness that caused him to get defensive, to refuse to admit his faults, to run instead of listen. He regretted it, of course, for 15 months, 12 days, 5 hours, and 49 minutes. There wasn’t much else he could do. It's not like he could go back.
He stepped out of the shop. Shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun, he walked down the sidewalk, not really caring which direction he went. It wouldn’t matter anyway. No matter how many steps he took, he couldn’t move forward.
A pair of polished dress shoes came into view. The whisper of a soft voice followed. “Oh wow.” He looked up.
The tall, lithe frame. The silky black hair. The small, tired smile. Changmin hadn’t seen him in 15 months, 12 days, 5 hours, and 56 minutes. His voice caught in his throat. “Y-younghoon?”
“Hi, Kyu,” His voice was as soft and sweet as ever.
He winced. The nickname hurt more than he would have thought.
An awkward silence passed between them before Younghoon shuffled on his feet. “Are you, I mean, do you have somewhere to be? Right now?”
Changmin shook his head. He was too afraid to speak so he stared at his reflection in those shiny shoes.
“I’m on my way to the studio, if you wanted to join me,” he offered delicately, almost fragile.
It was enough to push Changmin to the brink of tears, but he bit them back. He knew the man was being gentle, as he had always been when it came to Changmin. “Are you sure?” he asked uncertainly.
Younghoon laughed, the sound drawing the younger’s eyes up to meet his. “Wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want you there.”
×
Younghoon sat on a stool across from him, watching him with a casual smile. The elder had made them tea when they’d arrived, but Changmin had done nothing but swirl the amber liquid aimlessly around his cup.
He didn’t know what to say, didn’t think he had any right to be here, not after everything. He felt Younghoon’s eyes on him, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet the elder’s gaze. Instead, he looked around the studio.
It wasn't big, but it had a cozy atmosphere. Canvases, some painted & some blank, were propped up below the back window. A low bookshelf ran along the left wall, its shelves crammed with acrylics, oil pastels, charcoal, & every art supply available in a 50 mile radius. It was familiar.
Standing in the corner was an easel, a half finished painting of the letter Q waiting patiently for attention. Changmin’s heart skipped when he saw it, allowing himself the tiniest glimpse of hope. “I didn’t know you were into typography,” he said quietly.
A smile graced Younghoon’s lips & he looked down at his cup. “I’ve been making my way through the alphabet.”
“Guess I came at the right time.” Changmin was trying to break the tension between them, but he wasn’t doing a very good job of it.
Now that the elder wasn’t staring at him, he risked a glance. The wet shimmer of tears on the elder's cheeks caught the late afternoon light. In an instant, Changmin closed the distance between them. He crouched, placing a hand on Younghoon’s knee for steadiness.
Despite his racing heart, he finally looked Younghoon in the eye for the first time in 15 months, 12 days, 6 hours, and 38 minutes. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
The elder shifted his gaze to the ceiling in an attempt to stop more tears from falling. He placed his cup on the low table beside him and took Changmin’s hand in his own. His eyes fell onto the younger’s and he sighed, preparing himself. “I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.”
Neither of them spoke for an agonizing moment. Changmin stumbled through his words when he said, “I’m, are you...what are you saying?” His hands and face were flushed red from the closeness between them.
Younghoon laughed softly, rubbing his thumb across Changmin’s knuckles. “I’m saying that...I miss you.”
At that, the younger lost his balance and fell on his butt in surprise, causing the other to giggle. “You miss me? Even after… Even after I ran away from us?”
The elder pulled him to his feet, the few inches between them crackled with pent up electricity. He cupped his hands on Changmin’s cheeks, brushing his skin with his fingertips before wordlessly drawing the stunned man forward.
The kiss was feather-light and innocent, but the longing behind it was unmistakable. “Even after and always. Isn’t it time for you to come home?” His eyes darted between the younger’s, searching for his answer.
Changmin felt his own tears threatening to spill out.
He had never expected to be forgiven, let alone missed. He would do anything to rebuild what they had before, and now he was being given the opportunity. Raising himself on tiptoes, he whispered “I'm home,” onto Younghoon’s lips and kissed him again. And he meant it entirely.
After parting, Changmin rested his head on the elder’s chest, wrapping his arms tightly around his waist.
Younghoon peppered kisses on Changmin’s head, enveloping the thin man in his arms and swaying gently side to side. “Welcome home, baby.”
Finally, after 15 months, 12 days, 6 hours, and 59 minutes, Changmin lost track of time.