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Using holidays to arrange a binge watching marathon of his favourite TV show was something Minho considered the best retreat from his busy worklife. He realized a few days before he couldn’t recite any of the characters’ names and that genuinely surpised him, as he still wanted to hold onto a title of someone who’s been keeping up with the show since its release. So put it all together and find him lying in a dark room, already far into the night, with his face lit by the blue light of a TV in front of him. Minho’s spread on a sofa that he’s got with his place from the previous owner, along with the coffee table that now treasures a can of beer his hand is stretching to fetch. The said table is now also occupied with other empty cans and chips packets – the only sight of that makes Minho think how hard it will be to let go of them once he’s back on track. For now he only has to be careful with not spilling anything on carpet. But that’s a hard task to complete with the heavy weight of a body lying on top of him.
The said body, finally moves after some groans underneath him, slightly rising on his elbows, giving Minho a little more space. He mumbles something and tucks back into Minho’s chest, tightening a grip on his waist.
“What?” Minho asks, not catching anything Chan said, as his fingers start tugging on his freshly dyed hair.
“Which episode is that?”
“Third, it’s coming to an end.”
“And we’re watching the second season already?” he asks, faux crying heard in his voice. Chan, previously turned away from the screen, now puts his chin atop of Minho’s solar plexus. The latter smiles at him.
“You weren’t paying attention for the last of five.”
He doesn’t answer, drawing circles on Minho’s ribs instead. His lips pout, lashes flaring, trying to rid of his sleepiness.
“Are you going to watch more?” Chan asks quietly, but his voice vibrates in Minho’s stomach.
“No, that’s the last for today,” he replies, yawning and stretching a little, “Channie?”
The boy in question shifts his bloodshot eyes to him. Him and Minho were in a relationship only last year, but then broke up, for some dumb reasons. “Didn’t match personalities,” Jisung said to him. “We were friends for years before we started dating,” Chan was trying to tell his family, getting annoyed every time they mentioned him getting back home for Christmas to distract himself, cause him and Minho just had to confess their feelings right on Christmas Eve and kiss every time they passed the mistletoe hanging over door to kitchen. If they were told a year ago they will be cuddling with their exes, both would laugh that person in the face, or maybe feel apprehensive of each other.
Minho and Chan were inseparable since college and then, even when both were busy with job, they always found a way to hang out together. One time, exactly last Christmas Eve, Chan decided to pour his heart out to Minho, telling him he’s felt different about him for some time already and Minho was more than happy to tell Chan he had him ever since they first met.
“You wanna sleep? Go ahead, I’ll join soon.”
“Nuh- No, I’ll be here, with you,” Chan mumbles in response, hiding his face in Minho’s side.
Ever since Chan was promoted, he was assigned to work with this shady Eo Kyubong guy, whom Minho preferred not to mention unnecessarily as he was the one who always interfered his and Chan’s business unprovoked. Minho wasn’t jealous; all he wanted is just to go a week without having to see his face when picking Chan up from work or going out together. Chan was close with Kyubong – obviously, they worked together and seemed of similar nature to everyone else. Minho wasn’t sure, if Kyubong had other friends, as he was persistent on hanging extra-curricular with Chan, right on Minho and Chan’s self-proclaimed couple hours every Thursday evening. So when Minho walked in finding Chan to be so kind to invite Kyubong in before going out together, without any notice provided in advance, he just dumped his bag, rolled his eyes and left the apartment. Since that day they fought regularly, and it’s not that Kyubong was always the reason for that, yet it was a sensitive topic, both of them brought up whenever they were desperate to gain some empty argument points.
At some point Chan’s voice would lose its force, his tone showing how desperate he was to stop arguing. Minho would sigh deeply and withdraw until he couldn’t no more ignore Chan’s hands embracing him. And usually it ended with lips molding together and just kissing kissing kissing until their mouths are bruised, words of remorse and quiet promises exchanged, some tears spilt in secret and both of them lulled to sleep after a newly made pact or in a quiet of another who kept his silence, obviously avoiding finding the solution, but only doing that to stop hurting himself.
The last time it was Chan. Then, Minho couldn’t hold it in anymore, the lack of common sense he was left to and the unnecessary stress he felt lately made him start hearing things that were not voiced and reacting to them rather harsh, saying things he never meant, deep inside just wishing for this crisis to resolve itself somehow. The older made sure to collect all his stuff at once and soon disappeared from the flat without saying a word to Minho. The next few months they were avoiding each other, dodging any outing with mutual friends that could even in the slightest promise the unwanted encounter. Even going grocery shopping in areas they frequented was something both of them took serious, choosing less satisfying options just to make sure they won’t see a familiar silhouette in the next aisle.
And they did a great job playing strangers, until they met in a club – a place both knew better to avoid like no other, cause clubbing was their thing, since college. And both were too harebrained; so stupid of one to schedule a date he was not really interested in and, unsurprisingly, stood up for, and so pathetic of the other to come there, seeking oblivion. However, they hadn’t had much problem overcoming awkwardness; minutes later having their bodies flushed together, Chan’s mouth latching onto Minho’s neck, who already had his hands tugging at elder’s hips.
“And what are we now, friends?” Minho asked after three consecutive times they ended up together like that, in each other’s hands, all occasions spontaneous, yet not accidental. It’d be overly faithful to assume either was ready to delete this number from a contact list.
“Call it what you want,” Chan said, leaving a peck on Minho’s lips, instead of being forward in admitting how badly he wishes to still have him in his life.
They didn’t call it anything. It just all unfolded in a way that in between the calls separated by days there were strings of texts.
(chan: hmu when you’re home
minho: home. sleep tight
and
chan: you forgot your charger
minho: shit
im too far from you
chan: i can drop it off at your work tmrw
minho: great, thank you
to
chan: im choosing the movie
minho: pls can we watch a horror
chan: no
minho: no romcoms please
chan: not promising anything
bring food?
pretty please?
minho: only cause you’re pretty
chan: shut it)
And soon they returned to meeting up just to hang out together. Just like now?
Minho turns his head to the screen, to finally wrap up with the episode, feeling as exhaustion creeping up could take over him before he knows that.
At this point, as there’s a seemingly plot-crucial scene, Minho feels a nose rubbing at his ribs, tensing at first, but then giving in and relaxing, unable to find strength in himself to resist with how tired his body feels. He’s then attacked with cold fingers getting underneath his maroon tee, hissing and quivering from the temperature contrast to his body.
“Chan..”
The latter just hums to his skin, leaving small pecks to his tummy.
“Ugh, you’re weird… Can I please finish this episode?”
Chan ignores him, reinforcing what he’s been occupied with. Minho tries to blur off the feeling of a tug at the pit of his stomach. Chan’s hands sliding to the back of Minho’s thighs make the latter whine slightly. He throws a scolding gaze down, Chan appreciating the other’s responsiveness, nosing at his hip bone and feeling smaller hands planting onto his head, fingers pulling at dry strands of hair. Soon these hands pull on his shoulders; Chan looks up, seeing Minho leaning forward to connect their lips. He doesn’t fight it, opening up and letting Minho’s tongue explore further in his mouth. Minho’s hands grab onto Chan’s jaw and Chan goes along, climbing up until he’s sitting atop Minho’s lap. For a moment the show is forgotten of until there’s a sudden scream that startles both of them, Minho jumping up and Chan’s teeth collapsing on his bottom lip with extra force. The elder gasps, palming at Minho’s cheek to guide his face up and look it over. Minho checks if he’s bleeding himself and licks at his lip to cool the sting. Frown disappears from his face when he opens his eyes and sees Chan pouting down at him. Chan sighs, hands slipping from Minho’s face to hang in between his legs.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, defeated. Minho finds it rather cute, huffing out a laugh, his lips pulling into a smile.
Chan looks down in question and Minho just shakes his head.
“It’s okay.”
The silence settling in is slightly awkward; Chan avoids his gaze, withdrawing his arms to himself and Minho feels as if he has to say something.
Apologizing is what none of them has done, thinking probably they don’t need it or not caring if they were forgiven, because each other’s company felt as easy as before. Are they still friends? Definitely, about half a decade and still going strong. Do friends kiss? Well, yeah, that can happen too. Friends with benefits?
Neither of them liked this term, at least applied to their relationship. Plus it’s not supposed to come with heavy feelings of uncertainty, even one-sided. It just won’t work out.
Minho scratches at his shoulder blade, gawking at Chan. Having to keep away from Chan this burden, not being completely open with him is what has pained him. Because it’s not that Minho has lost his trust for Chan, it’s the fear of him seeking reliance in Chan that the latter probably isn’t willing to provide anymore. He hates having to feel this way about someone he shares so many precious memories with – it feels unnatural, and the farther he strides from the problem, the harder it is to keep it together, whenever he’s with Chan. So he decides to voice his thoughts.
“Maybe it’ll hurt less if I try being blunt.”
As he says that he realizes he hasn’t really thought it ahead, so he hangs his head low, cringe making him feel his nape hair standing up.
“You are always blunt.”
Minho huffs bitterly. “Just give me a second, please.”
Chan doesn’t. He doesn’t speak, but leans back in again, weight prodded on one of his arm; his hand wavers for a second, before going to tuck a brown strand of hair behind Minho’s ear just for it to jump back to where it was hanging. Minho could hear Chan’s quiet squeal, feeling a smirk appearing on his own lips. To cover up, Chan switched to tracing his knuckles along Minho’s cheek, the younger leaning into the touch and almost purring from the sensation. God, how is he supposed to ignore this inner turmoil when all Chan does is only unknowingly supports spreading it.
“You look like you’re about to snap at me.” Chan’s tone is serious as he says that. He’s trying to ease the tension but he can’t hide the worry.
“I’m sorry,” he barely moves his lips, saying this. If Chan wasn’t close, he probably wouldn’t hear him. Still, Minho clears his throat, repeating “I’m sorry we ended… like we did.”
Chan purses his lips, nodding. “Me too,” Minho lets out a frustrated sigh, but Chan cuts him off, “We could’ve handled it better. Both of us. Together.”
Chan shakes his head again, then adds after a moment. “I should’ve listened to you.”
“What are you talking about? I was… clingy.” Minho almost whines, starting to rock back and forth in his seat. Chan forces him to stop, putting palms on his shoulders, “What? You were just nice to him cause he had no friends and I refused to move aside.”
At this Chan starts giggling lightly, making Minho’s pacing come to a halt completely. “Why are you laughing right now?”
“Cause…” Chan shrugs, trying to suppress his laughs, “You weren’t wrong.”
Minho just blinks at him. “Elaborate?”
Chan rubs at his nape, looking embarrassed, tongue flicking out the corner of his mouth.
“What?” Minho demands.
“He tried hitting on me… The same day I told him we broke. And I requested to change desks immediately.”
Minho stilled; not even blinking, he just stares Chan in the face.
“Are you… mad?” the older asks warily.
“I told you.”
“Well, yes…”
“Told you. You were wasting yourself on him.” Minho says bluntly, crossing his arms on his chest.
Chan shakes his head fondly. Minho couldn’t resist and followed suit, his body starting to shake with quiet laughs. Chan feels his ears reddening, so he picks on them in an attempt to cool them down. Cute, Minho thought.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
The older raised his head at the sudden question, small “oh” leaving his mouth as his face expression falling to a one of serious. He rubs at his nape in thought, eyes looking somewhere on the floor, as if he could pick up the right words to say.
“I guess I didn’t think you needed that,” he finally says, then adds bitterly, “Didn’t think you needed me coming back with that,” he sighs and clears his throat, “I was glad we started seeing each other again. And I didn’t want to ruin it.”
“Why’d you think you could ruin anything?” Minho means to say light heartedly, but the way it comes out forces himself to shudder a little and Chan to choke out a nervous laugh. Minho feels a lump forming in his own throat.
Chan looks at him. “I mean… We made up, right?” he says and nods belatedly, when he doesn’t gauge any reaction from Minho.
“Hey,” Chan’s head shoots up at the calling, “You wanna go out?”
Chan’s lips part and he lets out a weird noise.
“What, now?”
Minho blinks at him. He never really imagined himself in a situation like this and that left him no opportunity to think this through, fear of losing the moment bigger than his common sense.
“No,” he says shaking his head. He takes Chan’s wrist into his hands and wrestles him around, eventually just putting their palms together, “I mean it. Can I take you out?”
Chan seems dumbfounded. He searches Minho’s face, feeling light-headed.
“I… Yes, please?” he says, causing Minho to raise his brows in surprise. He climbs on his knees further ahead, smile growing on his lips.
Minho keeps frowning, his hands now grabbing onto Chan’s forearms. “Really?” he asks in happy disbelief.
Chan can’t contain his smile anymore, letting it pull on his mouth
“Yes. Did you think I’d decline?” he says, though his tone is similar to Minho’s. His mind feels like a puddle and he’s swimming in it, looking deeply into Minho’s shining eyes, “A date…”
Minho sighs, relieved. A date. Dates with Chan are the best. Chan, that has this gentle way of holding himself, how elegant his features are, how insanely attractive his body moves, yet how contagious and sweet his laughter is, how he still easily gets flustered by Minho’s teasing; how big and ever expanding his mind and heart are, how he never runs out of things to tell, laying on the bed face to face with Minho, a whole starry sky unfolding in his dark irises. Dates with someone like Chan, that sometimes overindulges in playing a gentleman, inserts phrases in English Minho doesn’t understand the meaning of, but hides he’s feeling all excited whenever the elder uses his accent on him.
Chan blinks slowly, his hands now moved to Minho’s neck. He parts his lips, but doesn’t say anything, until Minho’s gaze wanders back from overlooking Chan’s upper body to his face. The elder smiles again. “Where we’re going?”
Minho hums at the knowing tone of Chan’s voice. It’s not like he already decided on a place to take Chan to, but as much as he hates cliché restaurant dates they’re most suit for at their age, he always liked Chan in tuxedo best.
He doesn’t regard Chan with a kiss that he expected, but got refused with patting of smaller hands on his waist, commanding him to rise to his feet and then get lead to bedroom, ending up in a tight embrace of those hands. They hadn’t slept in each other’s hands for months and when Minho is first to wake up, he pulls Chan in and noses at his shoulder dip just to convince himself he’s not dreaming; the light bubbly feeling in his stomach, he’s had constantly when they were just starting off, back there again.