Work Text:
mingming can only long for cherry-lipped kisses during late-night practices, reopening stitches within his already-bleeding heart.
no longer was he filled with the vigor which fueled his heart to chase for his far-away dream for the last six years, and his burning flame for the stage had been blown out again and again, from a first heartbreak to a chance too close, yet oh-so far.
the years have brought nothing but the worse, his soul and passion seeming to age far less gracefully than his appearance. mingming could still place a finger one the exact moment he realised that his dream no longer drove him to become someone better; when he had learned of a past opponent's passing, the first words which popped into his head was that they were ungrateful.
how could they give up their chance to easily, how could they taunt him with an empty that could’ve been his? why didn’t this happen earlier, so that it could be mingming completing the nine on stage? when his eyes finally focused and disgust for himself ran through his veins, it was far too late to go back.
the happy mingming dancing with junhui during monthly evaluations had truly been washed out by the years, replaced only with a mingming wearing too much eye-makeup to hide the bags hung from too little sleep and too many cups of coffee, even if they were forever glued to the ground before him. when he clings to cotton-washed bedsheets at six am, forehead still drowned in sweat, he can only attempt to heal when he pictures junhui, his junhui, planting a weary kiss in the dead of night, in a dorm far away and a time long past.
his heart aches for what he had willingly given away, not knowing at all what was to come. his days would consist of his own self-convinced mumblings of how it was for the best, and that his heart was no longer hung up on the affairs of the past.
his nights carried heartaches and ghost fingers interlocked with his own, soft whispers and fairy-light laughter meant for his ears only.
when minghao had first entered the room, the day wanted to smile and wave at him, the words i knew him five years ago! dancing from his own lips, and the night wanted to scream and cry, yelling i was there before you, but mingming wanted nothing but to ask him to remember to bring snacks back for junhui and ask if his favourites were still the same, to remind junhui to keep warm during the winter, to make sure junhui rests well, to take care of junhui, to love junhui for him.
maybe, maybe, if he had held on for longer back then, if he hadn't been a coward, he could be standing on the stage with him right now, instead of sitting on yet another numbered chair in front of too many cameras and not enough familiar faces.
mingming missed home, but home wasn't somewhere he could return any more.
and so, he held on, the hope for the stage, the spotlight, and the cheers from those who have travelled so long with him. home was no longer a person but maybe he could rebuild it here, under the sparkling confetti and led boards.