Archive of Our Own ^beta

Minghao stares despondently out the window of his car, the convenience store sign flashing mockingly back at him. He sighs and pulls his hood over his head, making his way to the entrance.

He leaves five minutes later, 10,000 won poorer, six bottles of soju in hand. The drive back to his apartment is tiring, every song playing on the playlist he always chooses to shuffle out of a lack of self preservation causing a sharp pain in his heart. Because who willingly only listens to a playlist solely composed of their ex boyfriend’s songs less than two months after the break up? Minghao, Minghao does.

Minghao expects to get wasted drunk that night, what he doesn’t expect is to see Lee Jihoon perched upon the couch when he returns to his apartment, eyes sharp, flitting pointedly to the bag of bottles and then back to Minghao’s. Minghao says nothing to return his gaze, simply turning on his heel towards his room. He doesn’t have the time or energy for this.

“You’re still here,” Jihoon says plainly. Minghao slams his bedroom door shut. They’ve always had a silent agreement, Jihoon and Minghao: drink, don’t talk. One too many times they’ve found comfort in each other’s silence, no pressure of having to share anything. Just them, the soju, and the silence. Minghao doesn’t appreciate Jihoon trying to cross that line.

He hears the older’s footsteps pad towards his room softly, as if he had all the time in the world.. “For the record, I’m the only one who knows,” he says, standing right outside of Minghao’s door.

“How did you even get in?” Minghao asks.

“He gave me his spare key to return to your super,” Jihoon says. Minghao winces at Jihoon’s avoidance of using names, then immediately wonders if he should be relieved instead. “Contrary to what everyone was saying, I seriously didn’t think you’d just fuck off to China so soon.”

“Lee Jihoon, ever the sage,” Minghao lets out a dry laugh, taking a swig of the soju he had just uncapped. There’s a significant moment of silence, something Minghao had once valued so much from the other, yet now it’s uncomfortable, borderline stifling. Truthfully, Minghao realizes, most things feel like that now. “What are you here for, hyung?”

“You deserve to have someone look out for you too,” Jihoon replies. It’s not said with Seokmin or Junhui’s soft tones, it’s said with Jihoon’s honesty, his earnestness. It is something so very Jihoon to say. Minghao feels sick.

Minghao cracks the door open, and slides a bottle out into the hallway. Jihoon slides down against the door, and they sit just like that. In silence. And they drink.

---
Xu Minghao meets Kim Mingyu entirely by accident.

It’s the first day of sophomore year, and Minghao is cursing himself for signing up for an 8 AM. Again. He’s never been too good at learning from past mistakes. He places his bag onto the seat next to him with a stifled yawn, settling into his position as he taps his pen rhythmically against his notebook. Not 20 seconds later, he sees a pair of legs in his peripheral vision hovering next to him. He cranes his neck up (way up) to see a boy staring hopefully back at him, biting his lip.

Minghao’s brain proceeds to blank altogether. He’s not one for what Soonyoung calls gay panicking (“It’s like, American slang!” he exclaims as he explains to a confused Minghao and Chan the definition of the phrase. “Joshua hyung taught me.” Minghao seriously doubts Joshua did any such thing. If anything, Hansol, it was always Hansol, had said it in passing, and Soonyoung had taken to Urban Dictionary on his own. Soonyoung learns new slang and then uses it in every other sentence he utters for the next week, annoying anyone who has the misfortune of crossing his path.)

The guy in front of him is something. His eyes are sharp, framed by even sharper brows. His nose is elegantly curved, as are his lips, soft and full. His face is all hard lines, each feature complimenting the other one artfully. He should be completely intimidating, yet, his eyes shine with a wholesome childishness, his cheeks flushed, contributing to the way he radiates warmth. Minghao’s fingers itch around his pen, desiring nothing more than to draw the face in front of him, fill up whole sketchbooks with nothing but drawings of this boy. He wants to paint him even more, capture the way each ray of light from the windows on the other side of the hall catches on the guy’s golden skin.

“Um, hello?” the guy says, blinking down at Minghao. “I asked if I could sit here,” Minghao nods in reply, slowly pulling his bag off the chair. He carefully studies the other as he sits down, drinking in the near perfect lines of his side profile. He briefly looks around the hall, noticing several empty rows, wondering why this guy chose to sit right next to him. Not that he’s complaining, he could use some eye candy through this terribly boring lecture.

The guy shuffles through his bag urgently before slowly straightening his back to smile sheepishly at Minghao. (Beautiful, is Minghao’s immediate thought before he beats himself up for thinking such sappy things about a literal stranger.) “Hey, do you think we could share a calculator? I think I left mine back at my dorm.” Minghao laughs politely, the comment rather unfunny, but as Junhui always says, when a hot guy tells a joke, you laugh.

However, the guy just tilts his head to the side, staring at Minghao with anticipation. “Um, is that a no?” Minghao watches the guy pull out a textbook that definitely has nothing to do with art and its history. He almost laughs at the guy’s misfortune.

Minghao stares blankly back at him. “You do know this is Art History 201, right?” He replies. The guy’s eyes widen almost comically before jolting up, pulling his bag from beneath him so fast that a few stray papers fall to the floor.

“Holy shit, I’m on the complete wrong side of campus,” he whispers before he bolts up, running out of the hall, nearly knocking the professor entering the hall over. Minghao giggles before he shakes his head amusedly. A shame, he thinks, he never got to draw him.

Thirty seconds later, the boy flies back into the room as the professor had just begun introducing the syllabus. The entire class freezes and stares at the boy, who’s currently running back up to where Minghao is sitting. He hands a small slip of paper towards Minghao.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry. But I would hate myself if I didn’t do this,” he says, completely breathless. Minghao hesitantly takes the paper from his fingers. “Call me.” The boy even manages to offer a completely shameless grin before darting out of the hall again.

As the professor stares in shock at the entrance where the boy had just ran out of, Minghao turns the paper around. On it are a set of digits, a number, and a name underneath. Kim Mingyu.

--

Minghao turns the piece of paper back and forth between his fingers. Mingyu’s delicate handwriting stares back at him, slightly smudged after being in Minghao’s bedside table drawer for so long. He carefully returns it back to its spot before he feels too tempted to call the number on it.

He groans, his head throbbing from a hangover. He’s not exactly sure what time Jihoon had left the night before, having been able to get through all the bottles he’d bought. His tongue longs for the taste that it had become so familiar with after a long of drinking, a pang in his heart reflecting the desire.

(“Oh, Jesus fuck, what is in this?” Minghao grimaces, attempting to pass the cup back to Mingyu, who forces it back to his lips.

“Can’t tell, family secret,” Mingyu replies, teasing smirk in Minghao’s direction. The younger gives him an unimpressed look before taking another sip. “I promise, it’ll help.”

And it did, it always did. Though Minghao thinks it was more Mingyu’s careful attentions and soft words that did more than anything else.)

With a deep sigh, Minghao decides to finally restart his phone. Jihoon’s arrival to his apartment reinvigorated him to stop his period of self imposed isolation, realizing that he did have people who were worried about him. He had been hoping to do this in a few more weeks, try and pass it off as a change in network in China. Yet, while he knew Jihoon wouldn’t tell on him, he couldn’t keep his maintained residence in Korea a secret for much longer, ultimately deciding to reveal himself now before he dug himself any deeper of a hole.

A flutter of notifications, dating from almost 2 months prior to now, mostly from Junhui. He immediately feels a deep wave of guilt as he reads Junhui’s frenzy of concerned texts.

jun hyung: hao??????? what’s going on???? wonwoo just said mingyu went to seungkwan and seokmin’s apartment saying you broke up with him???

ik u guys fight but to say u want to break up?? u have to get over there now

hao???????

seungkwan: what the fuck did you do hyung

seokmin: minghao pls call me

soonyoung hyung: are u okay?? i don’t kno what happened but just talk to me, or someone

And from later in the night,

jeonghan hyung: you need to fix whatever the fuck you did, now

Minghao scrolls farther down. Two days after he broke up with Mingyu, he had called Junhui to tell him he was moving back to China that night, immediately hanging up, so there weren’t many texts after that.
Suddenly, he freezes his half hearted scrolls as his thumb pauses on a message dating to just two weeks ago.

<3 gyu gyu <3: teyh told me not to
buti i miss u
i wish i coudl be enouhg for u
ill do anythingfor u to cme back

Minghao’s heart threatens to break all over again, although in reading Mingyu’s texts he’s not sure it had been whole in the first place. He takes in the obvious drunken demeanor of his messages, the implication that Mingyu had wanted to text him before. The thought that Mingyu thought he wasn’t enough. The nostalgic part of his brain focuses on the contact name Mingyu had put for himself, mimicking his in Mingyu’s phone.

(“My contact name is just Kim Mingyu?” Mingyu exclaims, snatching Minghao’s phone out of his hand. Minghao tilts his head to the side.

“That’s your name, isn’t it?” Mingyu scoffs. “I’m your boyfriend, for like four months now! But if anyone saw my texts, they would think I’m just like some classmate or something!” He pouts and Minghao leans over to kiss him, softening the other’s demeanor slightly.

“Possessive baby,” he says softly, stroking the other’s hair. “Well, what’s mine then?”

“Hao hao, surrounded by two hearts,” Mingyu replies proudly. He taps away rapidly at Minghao’s phone and shoves it back at him. “There, now we match.”)

He sighs, wondering if he should text Junhui back before he saw him at dance. Minghao hasn't been to dance in two months, and is planning on showing up without notice. Again, lack of self preservation is forever the guiding aspect of his personality. He knew he should probably text Soonyoung, for the other boy, as well as Junhui and Chan both think he’s peacefully off in China at this moment. But nothing in his heart prompts him to do so as he drives down to the studio, bag in hand, chest in knots, Mingyu’s raps from his solo song on Chilli’s newest EP playing in his ears.

He pushes the door open to their reserved room, and Chan’s loud laugh ceases in the air as everyone in the room looks towards him. Soonyoung and Chan’s jaws drop, while Junhui stands there with his eyes widened in complete shock. Minghao feels another wave of guilt overcome him, followed by a bout of nausea. This was a terrible idea.

Jihoon is there, looking irritatingly unaffected by their night of drinking, and, much to Minghao’s dismay, Jeonghan too. Jeonghan has always been one of Mingyu’s closest friends, and his most protective one, something that Minghao always considered excessive and unhealthy. For this reason, among others, Jeonghan was never too fond of Minghao, which he made painfully clear everytime the two of them crossed paths. They were friends, or more forced friends, but the more fights Mingyu and Minghao had, the more Jeonghan’s opinion of Minghao went south. However, Jeonghan’s dislike was always masked in a careful shroud of passive aggressiveness, better suited for his nature and so he wouldn’t upset Mingyu too much. Now, the older has thrown all care out the window, and is storming towards Minghao, eyes ablaze. Chan and Soonyoung run forward to pull him back, Jeonghan resisting while sending Minghao a glare that would give Medusa a run for her money.

“You have some fucking nerve, you absolute asshole,” Jeonghan spits. He shoves the others’ hands away, standing in front of Minghao while not getting any closer. “What, do you mean to tell us that you never fucking left Korea?” Minghao’s eyes flit to Jihoon.

“Oh, no one had to tell me, Minghao. It’s quite typical of you, actually,” Jeonghan says, scoffing, tone full of mirth.

“You know nothing about me, Jeonghan,” Minghao mumbles, the lack of honorifics prominent in his words. Jeonghan’s gaze sharpens. He hears Chan take in a sharp breath from Jeonghan’s right.

“I know enough,” he says, eyes running unkindly over Minghao’s figure. Minghao feels his resolve breaking, and begins walking towards Jeonghan before Soonyoung runs in between the two of them, grabbing onto Minghao’s arm, pulling him into the hall.

The two face each other for a moment, Soonyoung staring into Minghao’s eyes with an unreadable expression. Minghao prepares himself for harsh words, yells, a punch or two even, but Soonyoung just pulls him into a tight hug, hand gentle on the nape of his neck. Minghao tenses before relaxing into Soonyoung’s arms. He hasn’t been hugged in a very long time. (Mingyu gives the best hugs, a part of his brain whispers. Suddenly, he feels ill again.)

“Thank god you’re okay,” the older whispers, turning to face Minghao again. Tears threaten the corners of Minghao’s eyes but he takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, I really am, hyung,” Minghao whispers back. Soonyoung shakes his head.

“Not now,” he says. The door bangs open abruptly, and the two turn to see Jeonghan and Chan walking out of the dance studio, Jeonghan’s pace more urgent with anger. Chan briefly turns his head back to offer Minghao a genuinely friendly smile before hurrying after the eldest. Minghao knows Jeonghan is off to inform the rest of their friends, most importantly Mingyu. Part of Minghao feels anticipation at how he would react to the news, the other, more immediate part, somehow manages to feel more nauseous.

Soonyoung pulls his arm back into the room, where Junhui is sitting against the wall, Jihoon next to him. Contrary to his usual demeanor, Junhui remains stationary when he notices the two return. “Explain yourself,” is all he says. Minghao feels the need to sit down, but refrains from doing so, feeling as if he didn’t really deserve to.

“I-” he freezes, attempting to collect his thoughts. The other three look at him with readily anticipation, yet Minghao realizes he has nothing to offer them. What was his explanation? What was his reason for not going back to China? For some reason, after Mingyu left his apartment that day, after he had successfully packed up all of his meaningful belongings (3 sets of clothes, every picture of Mingyu in his apartment, every birthday gift he had given him, and their favorite record), he felt no desire to actually get up and leave. Not because he wanted to get Mingyu back (he did, but he knew he shouldn’t), or because he had any obligation to anyone to do so. But for some unrecognizable feeling in his gut. If Minghao couldn’t even identify the reason for himself, he couldn’t possibly explain anything to his hyungs. Jihoon seemed to have known the answer, Minghao is almost about to ask until Junhui stands up.

“You’re such a fucking asshole,” Junhui whispers in Mandarin.

And, because he really is an asshole, Minghao replies: “Thanks, Jeonghan made that perfectly clear to me just five minutes ago, but I really needed a reminder.” Junhui shakes his head slowly.

He walks towards Minghao, and pulls him into yet another hug. “You should’ve just told me you were here. I don’t care what happened, the fact that you were alone for so long makes me sick.”

Minghao immediately relaxes, the touches familiar, relief flooding his senses. Truthfully, the idea of Junhui behaving negatively to him in any way was unfathomable to Minghao, he wasn’t sure what he would have done if Junhui had treated him like the rest of his friends. “I wasn’t alone, hyung, I had my soju. Man’s best friend,” Minghao says with a dry laugh.

Junhui’s grasp around his neck tightens as he lets out a deep sigh against his shoulder. “Idiot.” Junhui whispers, and as they stand there in the studio, Minghao feels the nausea reside, just for a little.

--

With little to no resistance from Wonwoo, Junhui moves into Minghao’s apartment for a few weeks. “Just to check on you,” he had said as Minghao opened the door a few days after the Studio Incident to see the older with three duffle bags in his hand, signature grin on his face.

He helps Minghao resume his old job at the cafe, which he’d resigned from as part of his ruse a few months prior. Not that he ever needed it in the first place, as Mingyu would regularly remind him.

(“You’re loaded, Hao. Just quit already!” Mingyu whines, pulling at Minghao’s arm. He had been trying to get Minghao to stay back in bed for the past 10 minutes, Minghao stubbornly refusing, yet beginning to soften with every one of Mingyu’s soft whines.

“I’m not ‘loaded’, my parents are. I told you, I don’t want to depend on them. I should be able to make my own way in the world,” he replies, the seriousness of his words contrasting with the softness of his tone. He gently tugs his arm out of Mingyu’s grip, then planting a soft kiss on his forehead to placate him. Mingyu pouts and sighs, laying back down in bed. Minghao gives him a smile, fully aware of the purely sickening saccharine painted all over his expression, before leaving the bedroom.)

But, he still maintains his desire to grow out of his parents’ grasp, despite having had to depend on them for the past few months as he navigated the breakup, throwing most of his energies into drinking and his art. Or so he told himself. Truthfully, the studio that occupied the third bedroom of his (expensive) apartment had been rather deserted for the past month or so, the emotional drive he had had towards the beginning dissipating as the days passed. He would often walk past the room, stare longingly at the door, then immediately lose whatever little inspiration had grown in that brief moment.

“Have you been painting recently?” Jihoon asks him one day at lunch. He’s begun taking his role as Hyung seriously, Minghao notes. Jihoon always cared for the underdogs in a fight between their friends, though Minghao isn’t sure he’s truly worthy of Jihoon’s care, or Junhui’s at that. Minghao pushes those thoughts out of his head, and shrugs. “You should. It would be good for you.”

When he gets home after work one day, the apartment is empty. Minghao sighs, considering this to be some sort of sign. He slowly travels to the deserted studio, turning the knob as if his worst nightmare was waiting inside (part of him expected Yoon Jeonghan to actually be there, leaning against one of his easels). He is met with the familiar waft of paint filling his senses, as he carefully picks up a paintbrush laying on the ground. A canvas is still perched up on the easel, blank and tempting. He takes a deep breath, and does what he does best.

The mix of emotions that travel through him as he paints are mostly unidentifiable. There’s anger, deep sadness, a puzzling flash of relief, but mostly deep longing. For the past, or for something in the future, that Minghao isn’t entirely sure of, but he channels that into the piece.

Halfway through, Minghao pauses his brushstrokes and leans back on the stool. The atmosphere feels incomplete, he thinks, his eyes trailing over to the stack of records he had haphazardly left in the corner of the studio during his frenzied packing. On the top was the record he’d chosen to take with him, Mac Miller’s the Divine Feminine, and Minghao finds himself drawn to it. He dusts off the record player next to the stack, going through the routine like a second nature, closing his eyes with a sigh as the familiar sounds of Congratulations fill his ears.

As he returns back to the easel, he briefly looks over his shoulder to the empty center of the room, the memory that came upon him fading in his head. He shakes his head and puts the paintbrush back to the canvas, strokes matching the rhythm of Mac Miller’s crooning rap, words dripping with devotion.

(“Dance with me?” Mingyu offers him an outstretched hand, lopsided grin accompanied by a head tilt. Minghao smiles, setting down his palette and taking Mingyu’s hand.

I felt the highs and they feel like you, see a love like mine is too good to be true. And you too divine to just be mine, you remind me of the color blue.

What they do couldn’t truly be called dancing, but Minghao couldn’t care less. They sway back and forth gently, arms wrapped tightly around each other. Minghao sighs gingerly as Mingyu begins to stroke the side of his waist, closing his eyes, letting the muted white of the fairy lights he has hanging dot his vision.

I found an angel so divine, Heaven probably not the same without you. But now you're in my world, in my world.

It could be just them, if he wanted to believe it. The world reduced to the two of them and this studio. The lights and plants they chose together, the songs playing on the record they dedicated for each other, each painting littering the floors as well as the one unfinished on the easel inspired wholly by the man he holds in his arms. Unwavering fondness, open affection, the pinnacle of love.

Take your time, my baby. It's all waitin' for you, for you. I know I make your mind go crazy. But it's all waitin' right here for you, for you.)

Some number of hours later, Minghao had lost track of time after a while, he leans back again, staring intently at the work he considers now to be finished. Minghao never considered himself to be much of a perfectionist. Not that he wasn’t detail-oriented, or didn’t care about putting out his best work, but rather, he recognizes one could never perceive their own work as perfect. Nothing could be perfect, he knows that for sure. The piece in front of him was done, he decided, taking in the layered strokes of shades of blue accompanied by highlights of white.

The door to the studio opens and Junhui peeks his head out, smiling when he sees Minghao at the easel.

“It’s beautiful,” he says, softly. Minghao turns around, back aching, and gives him a small smile. Junhui strides over and places his hands on Minghao’s shoulders. He has always felt nervous about other people looking at his work, not out of fear that it wouldn’t be to their liking, but because he didn’t think they would understand it the way he needed them to, wouldn’t fully grasp the words blended into each layer of paint. He can’t help but wonder what Mingyu would think of it, he had always provided the most insightful commentary on each of Minghao’s works. Mingyu always seemed to understand every message Minghao buried into his paintings, even ones Minghao hadn’t consciously noticed himself. His chest begins to ache.

“What, are you going through your blue period?” Junhui laughs. Minghao shrugs. “I guess. Time for my tortured artist era. Look forward to me cutting off my ear.” Junhui laughs harder, pulling Minghao off of the stool.

“C’mon, let’s have dinner. My mom sent over dumplings in the mail today.” Minghao’s spirits lift, stomach and heart longing for something familiar.

--

Junhui finally decides it's time to actually move out of Minghao’s apartment, fueled by a joint effort of Minghao’s annoyance and Wonwoo’s nagging. Minghao is aware Wonwoo’s desire to get his boyfriend back in their apartment isn’t due to Minghao himself, yet the disdain the older has towards him is obvious (Minghao feels slightly, irrationally irritated with this, after all, he’s the reason Junhui and Wonwoo met in the first place.). From the phone calls he overhears, Minghao notes Wonwoo never refers to him by name, and almost never stops by the apartment when he knows Minghao is home.

The one time he does, Minghao is lounging on the couch when there’s a knock on the door. He stands up to get it, but Junhui bolts out of the room to answer the door before he even has a chance. Wonwoo is standing at the door, bright smile on his face like hadn’t seen the other a few hours prior. His expression fades to that resembling a blank slate when his eyes rest upon Minghao’s figure, standing not a few feet away. Junhui quickly takes the bag out of the other’s hand, pecking him on the cheek and stroking the side of his arm before closing the door. Neither of them say anything after Wonwoo leaves, the tension thick in the air as is.

Junhui moves out shortly after that, leaving Minghao by his lonesome. He realizes he is in somewhat of a blue period, all the pieces he has produced over the month taking on the same shades of the cool tone. Yet, he doesn’t identify the emotions that inspired them as any sort of sadness, nor peace, the two most associated moods with the color blue. Minghao’s chest just aches constantly, the emotion far off and unrecognizable, but consistently existent.

The collection of paintings is developed and extensive enough for Minghao to have begun considering an exhibition. He often finds his fingers straying over his text conversation with Joshua, who owns a small, yet popular gallery downtown. Joshua and he had always been close, closer than the older had been with Mingyu. Yet, one, Joshua is even closer to Jeonghan, and two, he hasn't texted Minghao once since the breakup. The nagging desire for recognition continues to pull at his heart, but he can’t bring himself to text him, every attempt ending with a deep sigh and a lingering feeling of dissatisfaction.

He continues to go to dance, Soonyoung and Chan both equally good to him, despite being friends with Mingyu as well. Soonyoung and Mingyu actually met through Minghao, becoming closer on their own through their shared affinity for being the loudest person in the room. Minghao isn’t sure what they actually bonded on, but he knows they get along quite well. Yet, neither of them ask questions either, no one does actually, Minghao just figures he looks pathetic enough for that to be an explanation in itself. But Junhui and Soonyoung are the two most nosiest people he knows, and Minghao is sure Chan is receiving heavy pressure from Jeonghan for an explanation, so he anticipates a confrontation sooner or later.

Minghao thinks he’s recovering, self loathing reaching an all time low compared to the past few months. He still wakes up every morning with the same sense of emptiness, the ache in chest he carries throughout the day, yet it’s muted, like Minghao has come to accept like an old friend, accepting that it may very well never leave him; the feeling of being strangely unwhole.

The breakdown of Minghao’s brain goes something like: 10% song lyrics, 20% ?????, 20% visions of paintings, and 50% Kim Mingyu. He is very much not over the breakup, another fact he’s come to accept, along with the fact that he will never be over the breakup.

“He was it.” Minghao says plainly, on the fourth month anniversary of the breakup. (Minghao finds it bizarre to refer to it like that, anniversary being a celebration of a joyous occasion, not a life destroying one.)

They’re sitting at Junhui’s kitchen island, Wonwoo pointedly leaving for their bedroom the second Minghao entered the threshold of the apartment. Junhui is prepping some simple lunch dish, Minghao distractedly cutting up vegetables as he stares off somewhere in the distance of the living room. His eyes are focused upon the large framed photo of Mingyu and Wonwoo with their arms around each other from high school, Mingyu’s characteristic bright smile making the corners of his mouth turn up. Then, he squints at the picture, realizing it's out of place. Although Jeonghan is by far Mingyu’s most ardent shooter, Wonwoo definitely comes in second place. His support for the younger is more quiet than Jeonghan’s, yet it is greatly felt. After all, that photo had previously been in the bedroom, Minghao remembers, moved no doubt by Wonwoo in anticipation of Minghao’s arrival to their apartment. What he attempted to achieve with this action, Minghao wasn’t entirely sure. He focuses his attention back to Junhui, nose scrunched up in distaste.

Junhui had just implied that Minghao could try and look for someone new, that he was lonely. Well, the second part was most definitely true, but the first quite literally offended Minghao. The prospect of anyone else occupying what he still pathetically considered Mingyu's side of the bed makes the everlasting ache grow stronger. Junhui rolls his eyes slightly.

“Then go get him back. Not like he doesn’t want you to,” Junhui replies, and Minghao now feels offended on Mingyu’s behalf. After their breakup, and at this point, it would be highly unlikely Mingyu should want anything to do with him. And he doesn’t blame him. Minghao had long deemed he was simply no good for Mingyu, and if sacrificing his own happiness means happiness for Mingyu, then so be it. Minghao shakes his head at Junhui’s suggestion, receiving an exasperated sigh in reply. “Then what do you want, Hao? You sit around looking pathetic as all hell, but refuse to do anything about it.”

Junhui shakes his head in exasperation, yet ruffles Minghao’s hair affectionately. “You made a mistake, but don’t let it define you.” Despite Junhui’s fond tones, Minghao feels an uncharacteristic wave of anger flow through him. What makes Junhui think Minghao breaking up with Mingyu was a mistake, he would do it ten times over again. The only thing he would change was the way he did it, choosing a method that would make Mingyu’s heart break a little less. He had to do it, and regrets nothing.

“You don’t even know what happened, hyung,” Minghao replies, attempted gentleness failing to mask the bitterness in his voice. Junhui abruptly turns to him, eyebrows furrowed from what Minghao can see out of the corner of his eyes.

“Because you won’t tell me,” Junhui says. Minghao winces.

“There’s nothing to tell. I broke up with him for his own good. I’m not what he needs. He was too attached to me when there’s no way I should be his endgame. Give him a few months, he’ll get over it, and find what he’s meant to have. It’s all for the best,” Minghao replies, curtly. He sounds like he’s reading off of a paper.. The words are rehearsed in his head, script carefully developed after long nights of attempting to justify the events of the Breakup Night.

Minghao has reached a place where he can’t discern lies he tells himself from the truth. If he says something over and over in his head, he will believe it as truth. Was it for the best? Yes, it was, he tells himself, and so it is. Will Mingyu be happy now? Yes, he will, he tells himself, and so he will be. Some loud part of his brain is telling him otherwise, telling him he needs to run to Seokmin’s apartment now, where he knows Mingyu is staying, and beg for him back. He wonders if perhaps that loudness has transpired into the ache in his chest, the ache now with this conversation is becoming nearly unbearable.

But for all his confusion, Minghao knows two truths: One, he is hopelessly, unwaveringly in love with Kim Mingyu, a constant that will remain true for the rest of his lifetime, and the one after that, and the one after that one too. And two, no matter what, he cannot let Mingyu take him back.

There’s a significant silence after Minghao gives his response, and Minghao feels the tension in the air begin to dissipate. He relaxes his shoulders, and resumes cutting, thinking Junhui to be content with his answer, for whatever foolish reason. Because a few moments later, Junhui says, so quietly Minghao almost misses his words entirely: “I don’t know who you are to think you can decide Mingyu’s happiness for him.”

And there it is, the aching in his chest, the loudness in his head flooding his senses, because it's the all apparent truth he’s been so desperately trying to avoid. The truth that shatters all of his justifications into pieces at his feet until he’s left with truly no idea why he has done what he did, why he’s done anything at all. Except he knows, he hears the whispers of it always gathering at the back of his head, a stark shadow constantly hanging over him like a raincloud, shoved so far back that he can successfully ignore it for a fairly long time. Until nights like that of the one exactly four months ago, when it all comes to fruition in one self destructive, hateful storm, ruining everything in its path with no mercy.

Because he can pretend, he can play pretend, put on a disguise for everyone around him, including himself. He can paint, dance, spend time with whatever friends he has left, and tell himself life's looking up. Which, it very well might be. But it always comes back, the storm, patterns everso arbitrary, destruction relentless and cruel. He knows the fact that he broke up with Mingyu for his own good is a lie to the very core. That the real reason, the one he’s avoided like the plague is his own selfishness. That him being not what Mingyu deserves is just the surface of the real problem: that Minghao fears Mingyu will wake up one day, and not be able to communicate any of the messages tucked away into the recesses of each one of Minghao’s paintings, his heart at that. That they will drift, Mingyu will realize for himself how little Minghao can provide for him, and Mingyu will break his heart, just as Minghao did to him.

Even that isn’t true, because Kim Mingyu is so good. Minghao thinks it's his fatal flaw, that he’s the only person in the world who is actually too good. Mingyu would never break his heart on purpose. He would throw all of himself into the most unpleasant and unsatisfactory of relationships, just because he could never break Minghao’s heart. Yet, Mingyu would never break Minghao’s heart on purpose. But it would ruin Minghao to see Mingyu like that. To be stuck in that setting, the two of them stubborn, unhappy, destroying themselves day by day.

Minghao could say it's self preservation, but he knows how little of that he’s possessed since birth. It is selfishness, something he’s always had in abundance. He broke Mingyu’s heart before Mingyu could break his, left him before he could. And despite the cacophony of realizations, Minghao still finds himself with a lack of regret.

Minghao lets the knife clatter to the board before standing up straight and walking towards the couch to pick up his coat. “Wait, Hao,” Junhui calls loudly, following him. Their footsteps are both loud and urgent enough to rouse Wonwoo, who peeks his head through the door, expression almost blank, yet Minghao detects a touch of concern.

“I should go. I’m sorry, I’ll text you later.” And Minghao swears Wonwoo’s expression twists into that of knowing, knowing this is something Minghao would do. He’s sick of people thinking they know him, and them being terrifyingly right.

Back in his car, Minghao rests his head on the steering wheel, breaths heavy, but quiet. He feels tears prickle at the corner of his eyes, but they fade quickly. He thinks he expelled all of his tear reserves the first week after the breakup, having not cried since then, despite the level of sadness, frustration, and ache he felt.

He sticks the key in the ignition, takes a deep breath, and drives. On return to the apartment, he tiredly drops his keys on the kitchen table and makes the trek to the bathroom.

For two months, Minghao had made a conscious effort to avoid every mirror he saw. He’s forced to look at his expression nearly every day at dance, loathing the face that stares back at him. He used to pride himself so much on the way he presented himself, but now, all he sees are dark circles and an unkempt mullet, and traces of the peak of patheticness and sadness. Sadness he feels he doesn’t even deserve to feel, the patheticness is another thing.

He pulls his eyes away, scanning the products lining the sink. He figures it's about time to pick up his skin routine again, try to piece some of the rest of his life back together.

As he reaches for the lotion, he pauses, lingering over the bottle, eyes glued to the one to the right of it. Its a faded pink, rose smell Minghao knows all too well. It was Mingyu’s, of course, Minghao never too fond of sweeter, floral scents. The lotion had been part of a set, given to Mingyu by Junhui as a birthday gift about two months after Minghao started dating him. It was one of those gifts that you get someone you don’t know too well, yet you still are looking to impress. Mingyu loved it, restocking the product every time he ran out.

(“It was nice of Jun hyung to get me a gift. I mean, I’ve only met the guy twice,” Mingyu says, happily sniffing at the lotion. They walk into Mingyu’s apartment, Minghao offering a polite wave to Wonwoo, lounging on the couch.

Minghao hums noncommittally, thinking of Junhui’s series of frantic texts asking Minghao what to get his new boyfriend, despite Minghao’s insistence that Mingyu truly would not be expecting Junhui to get him anything.

Once in Mingyu’s bedroom, Minghao waits on the bed for Mingyu to return from the bathroom, ever the neatfreak, having to place every single thing he owns in its rightful place. Mingyu had almost had a heart attack when he’d see the state of Minghao’s room for the first time.

He sits politely, hands crossed, still in that weird limbo of relationships where you’re beginning to feel more comfortable with each other, yet there are still things you leave hidden, still presenting yourself in your best way. Mingyu seems to be taking a while trying to decide where to store his new product, Minghao thinks, a small smile forming on his face out of fondness.

His eyes trail to Mingyu’s bedside table, a collection of polaroids secured in a large frame. Minghao’s smile falls as he focuses on the one of Mingyu, and his ex-boyfriend, Jeongguk. Mingyu had told him about their relationship in passing: childhood friends turned boyfriends their junior year of high school perfectly amicable breakup when they realized they really were better as friends, that they were too similar. But, they’re still best friends who get along very well. Minghao lets the tiny feeling of jealousy grow and fester within his chest for a few moments, before forcing himself to pull his eyes away, just in time for Mingyu’s return.

Mingyu scoffs at seeing how Minghao was seated. He starfish flops onto the bed, long legs hanging over the edge.

Then, Minghao realizes Mingyu had truly never hidden any of himself from Minghao. From the moment they met, rushing back into a full classroom in the middle of class just to give Minghao his number, to now, the way smiles up at Minghao, face scrunched into the mattress. Mingyu wears all of himself in full view, and to some, it could seem vulnerable, but Mingyu sees it as second nature: he has nothing to hide, he wants to give Minghao all of himself. Part of Minghao welcomes it, most of him actually. The other part is fearful, knowing he’ll never be able to do the same for Mingyu.

He pushes the whispers to the back of his head and smiles back, letting Mingyu pull him into a soft kiss, which quickly escalates into Minghao on his back, Mingyu leaning over him. Mingyu kisses just as anyone who’s met him would expect him to, ardently with so much fervor it borders on desperation. Minghao thinks he’s his perfect compliment, slowing down their movements into almost lazy kisses, gently dragging his fingers down Mingyu’s bicep to grasp onto his left wrist. His hand finds itself in Mingyu’s hair, tugging gently, eliciting a small gasp from the other that he devours with another kiss, this one rougher than the last.

The first time Minghao made Mingyu blush, he had decided there and then he would make that happen as many times as he could within his life. Now, as he pulls back, he takes in the breathtaking sight of Mingyu’s tanned skin dusted delicately with a flush of light pink, full lips slicked, pout beginning to form as he pulls the nape of Minghao’s neck back to him. Minghao smiles fondly into the kiss, finally pulling Mingyu back into his lap, focusing on nothing but loving the boy in front of him.

I'm takin' care of each and every part, I open up your legs and go straight for your heart. The way we are, the way we are.)

Before he can think twice about it, he brings the bottle to his nose and inhales deeply, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as the memories flood back in slowly. He rips it away from his face like poison, breathing heavily. Catching sight of himself in the mirror once more, Minghao winces and closes the bathroom door, sliding against it down to the floor of the hallway.

Suffocation is a severe understatement for what Minghao feels. The roses, the faint scent of paint wafting from across the hallway, the burning emptiness of the apartment; everything is too much, but nothing is enough. Junhui’s words from earlier ring in his head: “What do you want, Hao? You sit around looking pathetic as all hell, but refuse to do anything about it.”

His head throbs with the flurry of emotions, and he slowly stands up, staring directly at the wall in front of him. His heart is completely torn into two: the one side wanting his feet to run as fast as they can to wherever Mingyu is and smell how the rose lotion blends beautifully with his natural body scent. The other, more logical side, is drawn to the bedroom next door, searching for relief from reality through sleep.

In the end, logic wins, and Minghao picks himself up, trudges to his bedroom, and lays on the sheets. As his eyes flutter into slumber, he glances briefly at the polaroid on the bedside table: him and Mingyu, of course, at Minghao’s childhood home, Mingyu looking down at him with the most endeared expression, so devastatingly in love with him. Then, an image of Mingyu on the night appears in his head, the Mingyu so broken, so frustrated, but still ever so hopeful, and Minghao slams his eyes shut to banish it from his vision.

Minghao falls asleep wondering which side of his brain truly is the logical one.

--

Mingyu and Minghao are both silent as Mingyu roughly shoves his clothes from their closet into a suitcase. The tears stream consistently down his perfect face. Minghao can’t help but think he looks beautiful even like this, his own lips tightly pursed as he stands stationary on the other side of the room, arms crossed. Even after everything, Minghao longs to paint him, capture all the emotions on his face that Minghao himself caused.

He carefully follows Mingyu through the apartment as he goes room by room, taking whatever stray object he deems to be his. Mingyu occasionally gives a brief look over his shoulder in annoyance. After they’d had the fight, Mingyu’d asked Minghao to leave the apartment for an hour while he packed, but Minghao refused, reason unknown even to himself. Mingyu mostly takes clothes and his designing materials, or what he can carry of them, murmuring he’ll send Seokmin or Seungkwan over to pick up his serger and machine sometime later in the week, before Minghao leaves.

He watches Mingyu linger on the stack of records in the corner of the studio, fingers beginning to stretch out slowly towards The Divine Feminine, before he quickly pulls his hand back. Minghao had pushed himself into a state of numbness as soon as he had asked Mingyu to talk, expression blank, but Mingyu’s consideration of taking the record and eventual refusal sent a pang of pain through his entire body.

Mingyu stands in the center of the living room for a moment, taking in his surroundings for what seems like the last time. His eyes linger on each photograph of them on the walls, shelves, every inch of the apartment is covered with them. He turns around quickly to face Minghao, and Minghao can tell he had been warring with himself over whether to do so or not.

“Well, I’m done,” he says, plainly, faked nonchalance making Minghao wince. Mingyu never did anything that wasn’t 100% genuine, and the knowledge that Minghao had caused this utterly uncharacteristic behavior out of the older was stifling. Mingyu opens his mouth again, before looking down at the floor.

“Can’t we just- is this it? Really?” he says, in a small voice, and Minghao feels his heart threaten to spill all over the floor. Almost runs into Mingyu’s arms in tears and begs him to stay, throws apologies at him, offers a heartfelt explanation, and lets Mingyu ease his worries. Almost lets himself face the truth, making the decision to heal himself instead of letting whatever is happening in front of him proceed.

Almost. Because the storm is relentless, hateful, and self destructive. And it shows no mercy.

Minghao shakes his head, and that’s the answer. Mingyu’s expression morphs into that of utmost dejection, the final glimmer of hope being shattered the most painful feeling of all. He lets out a shaky breath, and slams the door to their apartment, no, Minghao’s apartment, shut.

He closes his eyes and lets the vibration of the slam resonate against the walls of the now too empty apartment. Against his own will, Minghao’s legs crumble, and he falls into the floor, expelling a single sob holding the emotion he knows will plague him for now until forever: longing.

--

Minghao stares nervously out of the window of the cafe, alternating between running his fingers over each other and tapping his nails against the table. He was five minutes early as is, so he wasn’t too worried about Joshua standing him up all together, but his anxieties persisted.

He quickly picks up his phone, scanning through his text conversation with Joshua to ensure the older had actually agreed to the meeting, that Minghao hadn’t just imagined it as a part of the daze of an existence he seems to live these days.

minghao
hey hyung, it’s minghao.
do you think we could meet up sometime next wk?
to talk?

shua hyung
hey hao
good to hear from you :)
yes, i’d love that!!! how’s friday?

Minghao takes a deep breath and closes his phone. Joshua had been more than just polite, perfectly friendly, nothing like the animosity he’d seen from Jeonghan or Wonwoo. There was nothing he had to be worried about, he told himself repeatedly.

He sees Joshua walk into the cafe, and smiles at the older when they meet eyes. Joshua lights up, and, much to Minghao’s surprise, walks quickly towards where he’s sitting to pull him into a hug.

“I missed you,” Joshua whispers. Minghao’s eyes widen in confusion before relaxing into Joshua’s arms.

“I missed you too, hyung,” Minghao replied slowly, completely and utterly perplexed. Minghao never considered Joshua to be a particularly spiteful person, so he didn’t doubt Joshua would be respectful to him, despite everything. Yet this was something Minghao never expected, Joshua’s demeanor is nothing like what Minghao thought he should be. Obviously Joshua knew all the dirty details of the breakup, being so close with Jeonghan, and although he wasn’t all that close to Mingyu, the story alone should be reason for Joshua to want to distance himself from Minghao. However, there he is, smiling at Minghao, expression full of relief and genuine happiness at seeing the younger.

“Surprised Jeonghan let you come,” Minghao says lightly, before realizing what an asshole thing that was to say. Joshua merely laughs in return, allowing Minghao to relax again.

They place their drink orders, Joshua offering to pay, shocking Minghao yet again. “So, Hao, what did you want to talk about?” he asks, taking a sip of his chai, eyes bright and friendly.

“Um, this may be a lot to ask, given our.. circumstances,” Minghao starts. Joshua sets his cup down, nodding for Minghao to go on, expression full of expectation. “but, I was wondering if I could propose an exhibition to you? I’ve been working on a collection of pieces the past two months, and I’m really at a point where I’d like to hold one. I just thought I could present the idea to you, then show you the works if you were interested.”

Joshua is silent for a while, and Minghao would be concerned for the state of his future exhibition if he didn’t manage to catch the journey of emotions on Joshua’s face. As soon as he said the word ‘exhibition’, Joshua’s face fell, brightness dissipating from his eyes. He quickly regains a polite expression, eventually reforming into the friendly one he had worn upon arrival to the cafe. Yet, Minghao can see the disappointment laid underneath.

And then he understands: Joshua had thought Minghao considered him his ticket back to Mingyu, that somehow Joshua could help them get back together. That that was the reason Minghao had texted him in the first place. Minghao is shocked at the fact that Joshua would be willing to even do such a thing, after what Minghao did to Mingyu.

“I- of course, Hao. I’d be delighted to let you host an exhibition,” he replies, pinnacle of politeness. Minghao pauses for a moment, choosing his reply carefully. He could either stick to the topic he came here to discuss, or the one Joshua came for.

Minghao truly has no self preservation left. He knows this, the minute he lets himself say: “Hyung, you know I can’t get back together with him.” Joshua looks up from his chai abruptly, not expecting Minghao to actually address the situation, clearly determining Minghao to have decided to ignore it entirely.

Joshua goes silent, before shaking his head slowly. “He’s miserable, Minghao.” Minghao wants to groan. Of course he is, of course he chooses not to move on. Because Kim Mingyu is so stubborn, just as much as he is good. If it were up to him, he would never give up on Minghao. But Minghao can’t have that.

“You need to get him to move on. You, Jeonghan, Seungkwan, Seokmin, Wonwoo, anyone. And don’t tell me you’ve been trying, just try harder. You and I both know with the right push you can get him to give it up. Just please, I need you to get him to move on.” Joshua once again says nothing immediately, the weight of Minghao’s words hanging in the air.

They’re both clearly stuck on the same thing: I need you to get him to move on. And there’s the selfishness biting back, the core of Minghao’s personality. He needs for Mingyu to move on, because he knows, he knows Mingyu hasn’t, and as long as that knowledge is clear to him, the emptiness will continue to exist. The idea that there is something that could be, that isn’t. Minghao is selfish, and he hopes Joshua realizes this too, and finally leaves this alone.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Joshua says quietly. Minghao wants to scoff, but for all his frustrations, he desperately does not want to lose Joshua’s friendship again. “You’ve painted yourself as some monster in your head, when anyone who knows you knows that’s not true.”

But you don’t know me, Minghao thinks. And almost as if he’s replying to Minghao’s inner monologue, Joshua says: “Why do you think you have so many people who care about you? Do you think you’re just so excellent at masking your inner self? If so, you insult me, you insult Jun, you insult Mingyu, you insult anyone who you ever considered close to you. No one is going to leave you, Minghao, because no one wants to.”

“Why are you here? Why are you being so nice to me?” Minghao asks, in a small voice. He suddenly feels much, much younger, almost childlike.

“It’s not fair of me to make any sort of judgements without knowing the other side of a situation. I don’t know why you did what you did, I only know Mingyu’s story, not yours. You mean a lot to me, Minghao. I wouldn’t push you away just for a portion of the truth,” Joshua replies, simply. “I want to be there for you, I want to help you.”

“I can’t get back together with him, I don’t- I’m not what he needs,” he says, script rolling through his head, words feeling fake and plastic as they roll off his tongue with a sickening ease. Joshua sighs.

“That’s not what I meant when I said help. And I disagree. If you don’t want to get back together with him because you don’t want to be with him, that’s a different story. But if it’s because of some reason you devised in your head, then-” Joshua sighs again, hands fumbling in the air, losing his words. “You are so much to him, Minghao, more than you’ll ever know.”

Minghao stares down at the table, then out the window briefly, wincing at the harshness of the sunlight flooding in the cafe.

“I don’t know what to do, hyung,” he whispers.

“Listen, I can’t tell you I’m gonna make him wait for you forever, or that he’d even be capable of doing that on his own. He is otherworldly stubborn, but- If you’re not ready now, I think you could still wait. Don’t rush yourself, rush your heart or whatever. He won’t wait necessarily, but his heart will always be open for you,” Joshua says earnestly.

He absorbs Joshua’s words, spirits lifting with some far off feeling of.. something. Yet, the idea of getting back together with Mingyu still makes him ill. It was never his intention, even until now, to do so. He had firmly established the breakup as the end, his actions creating an irreversible, beyond repair rift in their relationship. The assertion that he’d broken up with Mingyu for Mingyu’s own good still lingers in his head, despite having debunked it a few weeks prior.

Him and Joshua say their goodbyes, Joshua promising to take a look at the paintings, and expressing a strong desire to want to see Minghao more often. (“If you don’t text me within the next twenty four hours, I will hunt you down, Xu Minghao.”)

Minghao chooses not to play any music on his drive home, thoughts too loud to be able to process anything else. Besides, everything he listens to he could figure out a way to associate back to Mingyu, something, while extremely pathetic, he does not need right now.

He sighs, absentmindedly deciding to pull into a convenience store, itching for a snack or two. While peacefully decided between shrimp crackers and Pocky, he sees a figure approach him from his peripheral vision. Hoping they’d just make a lap around the store until Minghao finished shopping, he ignores the stranger, hand reaching out for the Pocky.

“Hey, Minghao,” the stranger says. No, not a stranger. Minghao turns, stomach full of dread to see Jeon Jeongguk’s wide eyes staring back at him. Minghao nearly drops all of his snacks on the ground. Seeing Joshua, Wonwoo, even Jeonghan is one thing, but Jeongguk is an entirely different category.

Jeongguk and Minghao were never friends, just friendly. Not that they had anything against each other, they were both far too awkward to ever try to be anything on their own. After a few months, they silently agreed to settle as Mingyu’s boyfriend and best friend, respectively, sticking to small talk and friendly smiles. Minghao would have never expected Jeongguk to actually approach him.

Yet, Jeongguk looks at him with a complete absence of animosity, which is quite shocking to Minghao until he remembers, like Mingyu, the other has not a single mean bone in his body. Despite his intimidating demeanor, bulky muscles, tattoos all up and down his arm, Jeongguk is a complete sweetheart. Which is why Minghao isn’t too surprised when he says: “How’ve you been?”

Jeongguk shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, biting on his lip, blond hair falling gracefully over his eyes, obviously feeling quite awkward at the situation he has placed himself in, yet, he looks at Minghao expectantly. Minghao shrugs. “Okay, and you?” It’s not too far from the truth, Minghao thinks okay is truly the best word to use.

Jeongguk nods and gives a shrug of his own. “You know, same old same old.” They’re silent for a minute, and Minghao waits for it, waits for the second confrontation of the day, but Jeongguk simply says, “It’s good to see you. Take care of yourself,” before he turns around and goes to the cashier.

Minghao stands frozen in the aisle. Jeongguk may be an introvert to Mingyu’s extrovert, but one of the many things they surprisingly do share in common is that they care passionately about their friends. If Joshua had something to Minghao in favor of Mingyu’s well being, Minghao was beyond shocked that Jeongguk had not. His words were not hostile in any regard, as friendly as he had ever been. Minghao sighs, hearing the bells on the door signal Jeongguk’s departure, and takes his stockpile of snacks to the cashier.

Later that night, the encounter almost fully pushed back the recesses of his brain, his eyes jolt open, sudden realization startling him.

(Minghao’s heart aches as he stares out the window of Mingyu’s car, silent as Mingyu goes on about some story about Soonyoung from earlier that day.

Mingyu pauses, one hand still on the wheel, turning his head slightly to face Minghao. “Hey, is something wrong?”

Yes, something is very, very wrong, he thinks, his mind trailing to the thirteen times Mingyu or Jeongguk referenced their past relationship in the three hours they had been at dinner. That’s nearly five times per hour. Unacceptable. Minghao almost cringes at the severity of his possessiveness, until he remembers the fond eye contact Mingyu and Jeongguk shared every ten minutes or so, and his jaw clenches again in annoyance.

Minghao shakes his head, and smiles back at Mingyu. He tries to present the subject as lightly as possible by saying: “Is Jeongguk interested in dating? I was thinking of setting him up with someone, if he wanted.” Minghao scans his mental list of names, trying to scramble for a person in case Mingyu asks. Much to Minghao’s further annoyance, Mingyu laughs in response.

“Nah, Jeonggukie is far too busy for that right now.” Or just far too interested in you, Minghao thinks bitterly. “Although, I’d want him to. He was the best person I ever dated, next to you of course,” Mingyu grins, completely oblivious to the mental crisis Minghao is having at the moment. He says nothing more on the matter, mind buzzing far too much for him to not trust himself to say the wrong thing.

Though, when they’re home, and Mingyu has Minghao pressed into the mattress, words of devotion accompanied by gentle kisses scattered all over his skin, Minghao is able to push all jealousy out the window. The boy in his arms is undoubtedly, all his.)

Minghao stares at his ceiling, of course, it all makes sense. Mingyu and Jeongguk have gotten back together. Jeongguk approached Minghao out of guilt, too much guilt to actually mention Mingyu in the first place.

Somewhere in his head, a voice of reason is shouting, no, none of that actually makes sense. Nothing about Mingyu and Jeongguk’s relationship from the past four years since they had been together had said anything other than purely platonic, and Joshua wouldn’t be so adamant to get the two of them back together if Mingyu was happily in another relationship. Jeonghan and Wonwoo wouldn’t hate Minghao so much if it were true. In fact, Joshua had pointedly said Mingyu was miserable, none of it makes sense, really.

But Mingyu’s words from that night ring in his head: “He was the best person I ever dated, next to you of course.”, focusing on the way Minghao had seemed to be an afterthought to Mingyu. (The voice in his head is now screaming, following the emergence of this thought). And Minghao knows, despite convincing himself otherwise, for as much as he is selfish, he is possessive, to an extent that incited many of the worst fights between Mingyu and Minghao. And Mingyu isn’t here to placate Minghao’s concerns, isn’t here to kiss his cheek and whisper, I’m all yours, into his ear.

Minghao’s heart is now threatening to run right out of his chest. He knows, after what he did, he has absolutely no claim over Mingyu, that he has no right to be feeling this way. That for all the convincing he did, that breaking up with Mingyu was for Mingyu’s own good, he should be happy. This should be what he wanted. He has successfully avoided the inevitable: Mingyu realizing Minghao was no good for him, that he should be with someone better. Jeongguk being that someone better was simply natural, they were two halves of a whole, perfect for each other.

So Minghao doesn’t know why he’s jumping on his bed, pulling on his coat, grabbing his keys, and driving to Junhui’s apartment. Doesn’t know why he feels fifty feet underwater, struggling for air, the internal fight of deciding whether to swim up or let himself drown overcoming him. He glances at the time on his dashboard, the 3:40 flashing back at him making him groan.

He nearly runs up the stairs of Junhui’s complex, not sure entirely what he’s seeking from the older: comfort, guidance, tough love. He knocks on the door, preparing to fall into Junhui’s arms, until the door swings open, and his heart stops in his chest for what feels like the tenth time in that very, very long day, at seeing a sleepy Wonwoo staring back at him.

“Minghao, it is nearly 4 in the morning.” Minghao stammers, unsure what to say, looking over Wonwoo’s shoulder, hoping Junhui would pop out of the bedroom. “Junhui spent the night at Seokmin’s, sorry.”

And Minghao should take that as his cue to leave. He really should, in fact, Wonwoo had begun to shut the door closed. But, since when has he done the things he should do? “Hyung, why did you move that picture?” Wonwoo holds the door open abruptly, sleepy eyes begin to come into focus, eyebrows furrowing together.

“What picture?” he asks.

Minghao looks down at the floor, twisting his fingers together. “The one of you and… Mingyu, from high school.” In that moment, Minghao realizes he hasn’t actually said Mingyu’s name out loud since the breakup, syllables simultaneously foreign and familiar to his tongue.

Wonwoo sighs. “Don’t get the wrong idea. We, me, Jeonghan, Joshua, the others, haven’t been.. forcing Mingyu to not move on or anything, in fact, we’ve been doing the opposite. We’re not going to hold him back. But, I put the picture there, maybe to give you a reminder or something. I thought maybe I could give you a push in the right direction.” Minghao sighs, looking down at the floor again, head suddenly throbbing. Wonwoo wanted them to get back together? Jeonghan wanted them to get back together?

“After what I did, you seriously think we should still be together, hyung? Isn’t it a bit insulting to Mingyu to insinuate that if I just went back to him and asked to get back together, he’d just give in?” Minghao says, tiredly. Wonwoo’s eyes widen, and shakes his head.

“No, look, I’m not a meddlesome person. And I don’t think he’d give in, I think it would obviously take a conscious effort on your part.” Wonwoo pauses, before laughing dryly, somewhat out of place for the situation they’re in. “Minghao, I don’t really know what happened. He doesn’t even know what happened, you just said you wanted to break up and that was it. I just think you should talk to him, at the very least.”

“Last time I was here, you glared at me from the moment I walked in until I was out of your line of vision,” Minghao says, one eyebrow raised. Wonwoo rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

“I’m sorry, I have to be angry on his behalf. Again, I don’t know what happened, or why you did what you did, but you really did break his heart, Minghao. You also lied to everyone about leaving Korea, and stayed here for nearly two months without contacting anyone. Junhui was devastated, and he sure as hell could never be mad at you, so I had to be angry on his behalf too,” he says, and Minghao knows. He knows Wonwoo has every right to hate Minghao, he’s still desperately confused as to why Wonwoo actually wants them to get back together. He asks the older as much.

“But then, why would you want us to get back together? I mean, isn’t he with Jeongguk anyway?” Minghao blurts out, his mouth moving faster than his brain. Wonwoo stares blankly at him, before bursting into laughter, much too loud for the time of night. Minghao looks at him confusedly.

“Where the fuck would you get an idea like that?” Wonwoo asks, actually wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “Jesus, that’s funny.” Suddenly, Minghao feels completely embarrassed, wanting nothing more than to turn around and leave and pretend this conversation had never happened, but he’s already dug himself far too deep a hole.

“Truthfully, Mingyu’s never been as happy as he was when he was with you. I know Shua hyung told you already, but he’s truly miserable right now. I want the best for him, and even if you did break his heart, I think you deserve a second chance. Even Jeonghan hyung, although he would never admit it out loud, thinks so.” Minghao lets Wonwoo’s words reverberate in his head, feeling his chest tighten.

“I can’t, hyung, I’m sorry. Thank you for your efforts, but it isn’t a good idea, really,” Minghao whispers. Wonwoo frowns, shoulders drooping.

“Let yourself be happy, Minghao, please,” Wonwoo says. Minghao shakes his head quickly.

Every image of being with Mingyu is always followed by one of Mingyu potentially breaking up with him, leaving him just the way Minghao had done to Mingyu, except one hundred times worse. Every emotion he’s felt in the last four and a half months, multiplied infinitesimally. Minghao doesn’t think he could ever stand that.

Wonwoo’s frown deepens as Minghao bows his head quickly, before turning on his heel and heading back to his car. He thinks about the shadow, the dark threat that looms over every one of his relationships, the only thing he allows himself to focus on, and the inevitable possibility that it will consume all of his happiness. So, before it can do so, Minghao runs, because he’d rather face the pain at his own will than someone else’s.

Yet, he’s not sure which path is actually more self destructive than the other one, if acting on fear of a mere possibility is ever the more logical choice. Minghao realizes he’s been questioning too many of his decisions lately, the foundations by which he makes his choices threatening to crumble. He wonders if perhaps, perhaps, if it does, he’ll finally allow himself to be happy. Perhaps.

--

Minghao stares at the clock next to the cash register, anxiously waiting for the hour hand to change so he can clock out. Joshua agreed to meet him at the cafe where he works when his shift was over to discuss the exhibition. Minghao had sent him pictures of the pieces, Joshua giving shining feedback, promising to give details when they met up. His stomach was in knots, having not held an exhibition in nearly a year and a half, during his senior year.

The bell jingles, and Minghao feels irritation at someone coming in so closely to the end of his shift. He looks up and furrows his brows when he sees Joshua walking in, the older being 20 minutes early. Joshua looks at Minghao guiltily, which Minghao returns with a confused expression, before he realizes there are two people walking in behind him.

Kim Mingyu is talking animatedly to Jeonghan on his right, hands waving in the air. He strides in, with all of his 6’2 glory, tanned skin caught elegantly by the faint pinks and purples of the sunset shining in from the windows. Minghao feels like a teenager watching his crush from afar when Mingyu gets close enough for Minghao to hear the way his words catch on a lisp ever so often in that endearing way Minghao always loved. His smile is bright and earnest, canines poking out from the corners of his lips. His (newly) dyed black hair is mussed artfully, bangs falling cutely across his forehead, and Minghao longs to reach out and place a pat or two on his head.

(“What was that for?” Mingyu says, turning his head from his textbook to smush his hair back into place from where Minghao just pat his head. Minghao retracts his hand and gives him a smirk.

“You’re like a puppy,” Minghao replies, as if that explains everything. Mingyu tilts his head to the side (very much not helping his case), and Minghao giggles.

Their whole thing is still new, the lecture hall debacle being not two weeks prior. Minghao looks into Mingyu’s eyes, the brightness of them making something warm flutter through his chest and he knows there’s something promising for the two of them.)

Yet, Minghao knows Mingyu well enough to detect the traces of exhaustion in his face. He puts on a bright demeanor, but it's absent of the usual, true Kim Mingyu glow. Minghao, once again, feels sick at the way he’s somewhat directly caused Mingyu, who was never anything but 100% sunshine, to be this way.

Mingyu clearly has not noticed him yet, standing in line behind Joshua, who’s still looking at Minghao, silently begging him to realize that he had nothing to do with this. But Jeonghan is looking straight into Minghao’s eyes, causing Mingyu to pause his ramble and turn to follow Jeonghan’s line of vision.

When the two of them meet eyes, Minghao follows the series of elaborate emotions Mingyu’s face undergoes. It starts with some semblance of relief, then actual joy, followed by dread, mixed with slight desperation, and finishes off with a carefully crafted blankness.

Suddenly, Minghao wants to throw everything he’s thought and said out of the window and get on his knees right there and beg for Mingyu back. Memories flood back of those eyes on him, but filled with fondness and adoration. Those lips on his, on every part of him, saying his name in a way that made Minghao not want to hear it again from anyone but Mingyu. He wants it all back, he needs it all back.

Mingyu swallows, tearing his gaze away from Minghao before turning to Jeonghan, side-eying him, gaze dripping with accusation. Jeonghan merely shrugs, and crosses his arms.

“Mingyu-yah, Jeonghan, why don’t you go sit down? I’ll order for us,” Joshua says, smiling awkwardly, trying desperately to lead damage control. Mingyu scoffs.

“I’m a big boy, hyung. I can place my own damn order.” Oh, he’s mad, Minghao realizes. Mad at Jeonghan for making him see Minghao, or for fooling him, or for some combination of both, Minghao wonders, as he keeps his gaze on the cash register.

“Well, you can order for me, Shua-yah,” Jeonghan says, mischievously, and suddenly, Minghao feels angry at him too for putting all of them in this terribly unfortunate situation.

Yet, somehow, Minghao feels more relief than dread. He hadn’t recognized how much he had actually wanted to see Mingyu, feeling some weight be lifted off his chest at seeing the other actually live and in front of him. Mingyu steps up to the register. “I’ll have-”

“An iced coffee with caramel creamer, low ice, and extra sugar,” Minghao finishes, absentmindedly tapping the order into the machine before stopping, finger midair. Mingyu stares at him in astonishment, Jeonghan shamelessly grinning behind the two of them. Minghao finds himself missing when Jeonghan considered him Public Enemy #1. Mingyu quickly transforms his expression back before nodding, shoving his hands in his pockets and turning to Jeonghan.

“You’re paying, hyung,” he says. Jeonghan looks at him amusedly as Joshua gives their order. When Minghao looks up from the register, Mingyu is looking right at him, drinking him in for the first time in nearly five months. Minghao finds himself unable to discern the exact emotion within his expression, something similar to the longing Minghao himself has been experiencing.

How easy would it be to pull Mingyu’s hand back into the storage room, make him stand there and explain to him every thought that’s run through his head, try and absolve the pain the both of them are clearly feeling. He knows he has to be the one to do it, and it doesn’t matter if Mingyu doesn’t agree immediately, it would be truly simple to get the ball in motion.

He shakes the thought out of his head, and nods to the three of them. “Be up in five minutes.”

Mingyu and Joshua pick up simple conversation again, attempting to avoid the ever important question. Minghao knows all Mingyu wants to do right now is talk to him, wonders if he will. Yet, judging by Mingyu’s ultimate demeanor currently, his stubborn brain has decided to stick to being Mad at Minghao.

Minghao passes their finished drinks across the counter, pointedly not making eye contact with anyone. Out of his peripheral vision, Minghao can see Jeonghan frown as Mingyu walks hurriedly to the door, leaving without a word to Joshua, or anyone else.

Once Jeonghan eventually leaves, having still not addressed Minghao directly whatsoever, Minghao steps out from behind the counter, clocking out, and following Joshua to a table by the window.

“I am so sorry. I accidentally let it slip to Jeonghan that I was meeting you here today, and next thing I know they’re in my car and-” Minghao holds a hand up, and Joshua lowers his gaze guiltily.

“I don’t blame you, hyung. It’s no big deal, really, I should be able to handle seeing my ex boyfriend,” Minghao says, adding a small laugh to ease Joshua’s worries, but Joshua sees right through it as he gives Minghao a sad look in response.

Realizing Minghao wants to move on from the incident, Joshua clears his throat and pulls out his phone, beginning to get into his opinions on the paintings Minghao showed him, how he thinks they would best be organized around the gallery. Minghao knows he should be paying attention, having wanted to hear this all day, but he finds himself absentmindedly nodding along to Joshua’s commentaries.

He hadn’t truly realized how much he misses Mingyu, not even until Mingyu had left and Minghao realized he had been keeping a short list of his head of all the cute little things Mingyu did. Before he had noticed Minghao, Mingyu was laughing at something he was saying, leaning against Jeonghan’s shoulder as his body was wracked with laughter, almost as if he was laughing so hard he physically could not hold himself up. Minghao reaches up mindlessly and rests his hand on his shoulder, the space feeling somewhat empty. Mingyu has always needed to have some part of his body against the person next to him, rivaling even Soonyoung for being the most touchy person Minghao had ever met. Minghao, ever the open hater of touching, surprised himself at the ache in his heart yearning for Mingyu’s touches again, whether gentle or urgent, simply wanting his presence.

He misses Mingyu’s hands threading through his bangs, the way the vibrations of his laughter felt against his skin, how cutely his lips would form a pout whenever Minghao would tease him, eyes still bright with fondness.

(His friends all whoop as Mingyu shoves his heated face into Minghao’s arm. They’re watching a recording of Chilli’s performance last night on Junhui’s phone, nine of them curled around the other four, who are sitting in the center, faces bright with embarrassment and sheepish grins.

They’ve been blowing up all across campus, especially with the release of their newest EP, lead single Back it up on repeat on campus radio all week. Now, when they walk down campus, people turn and whisper to each other at seeing Mingyu in all of his tall, talented, handsome glory. Despite his confidence, Mingyu’s gotten shy at the newfound attentions, so Minghao always squeezes his hand in support, smiling up at him with encouragement.

The moment that had riled everyone up was Mingyu concluding his verse in Lotto with a hand pushing back his hair, dripping wet with the water Hansol had poured on him earlier in the performance, tongue darting out as his mouth turned up into a smirk. Mingyu truly became another person on stage, encouraged by the crowd of excited people cheering for him, looking at him. He was born to be the center of attention, Minghao thinks, as Mingyu growls along adlibs to Wonwoo’s verse.

Minghao shoves his own hands through his hair, mimicking Mingyu’s expression along with it, making the other boy flush even deeper and whine. Minghao giggles as Mingyu pouts down at him, gaze saying, et tu, brute? Minghao had always been Mingyu Bully #1, but his teasing was always followed with placating, gentle kisses, all over his face, words of affirmation and pride dripping with every touch.)

Minghao realizes Joshua is giving him a blank look, beginning to wave his hands in front of Minghao’s face. “Hey, Hao, are you okay?” Minghao shakes his head and smiles ashamedly,

“Sorry, hyung, I just got.. distracted,” Minghao says. He truly does feel bad, Joshua had been animatedly talking to him about something actually important, and Minghao hadn’t absorbed any of it. Joshua waves the same hand in dismissal.

“No problem, I was ranting anyway. I compiled all my more important thoughts into a doc anyway, so we could have it on hand.” Bless Joshua and his Capricorn heart. Minghao smiles and takes the (laminated, of course) paper out of his hands. “Ah, you’re probably exhausted, Minghao. I should let you go.”

Minghao shrugs, not denying it, as all he really wants to do is go home and crawl into bed, not sleep, just lay there and let his mind through the millions of thoughts formed in the past hour. “But, I’ll see you at Junhui’s tomorrow, right?”

Minghao’s heart stops, holding back a groan. He forgot Junhui had been planning a ‘get together’, which is college graduate adults in their 20s code for a party. Mingyu would surely be there, but that isn’t his greatest concern, it’s more being forced to see all the friends he hadn’t seen in months. All, unfortunately, definitely on the Mingyu Shooter side of their group. And it wasn’t their animosity he’s afraid of. Now, after talking to Wonwoo, it’s the getting Minghao to win Mingyu back discussion Minghao is desperately looking to avoid. As if that isn’t enough, Minghao knows Wonwoo, Jeonghan, and Joshua aren’t giving up on that specific endeavor anytime soon either.

However, he nods in acceptance at Joshua, who gives him a bright grin and a half hug in return, having really no other choice at this point than to just go. He’ll figure out a way to carefully avoid conversation lasting longer than five minutes with any of his friends, deciding it would be best to stick to one of the girls from their college. Nayeon and Chaeyoung seem like good picks, he thinks, neither of them are that good of friends with Mingyu at all.

On arrival at his apartment, he puts his key in the knob, only to find it unlocked. Puzzled, he considers the situation, knowing that it couldn’t be Junhui, who was having dinner with Wonwoo’s parents that night. Other than that, no one had Minghao’s key, and he’s sure he left the door locked. Heart racing, he takes a sharp inhale, mentally preparing his list of self defense skills as he carefully turns the doorknob open, defenses on high.

“Finally, you’re home. You have nothing to eat in this hellhole,” a voice calls from the kitchen. What the fuck? Lee Seokmin, who he hasn’t seen for a generous five months, strides into his living room like he’s lived there all his life, munching on Minghao’s last pack of shrimp crackers.

“How the fuck do people keep getting into my apartment?” Minghao says, staring at Seokmin who is now settling himself on the couch shamelessly, even going as far as to put his feet up on the coffee table. Minghao just continues to stare, witnessing Seokmin’s beyond uncharacteristic behavior, feeling as if he should pull out his phone to document this moment and post it on Instagram: Bone chilling -- the Jeonghanfication of Lee Seokmin.

“You never took your key back from Jihoon,” Seokmin says, mouth smacking against the crackers. Minghao winces. “And I needed to talk to you.” As if that explains everything.

“So you decided to break into my apartment and eat my food?” Minghao deadpans. Seokmin finally looks at him and shrugs.

“You don’t seem to have any courtesy for our friendship anymore, or at all, for that matter, so, why should I?” Minghao winces again. He honestly has no idea what to say, or do, having never in his life believed Seokmin could say things like this. Not that they weren’t true, but the knife is cutting deep. “You ghost me for nearly six months after our five plus years of friendship, I think I get to eat your fucking shrimp crackers.”

Minghao rubs a hand across his face. He knows Seokmin is right, but he seriously did not think he had to do this now. Actually, he’d hoped to continue on the whole asshole path he’d paved for himself and just never address it in the first place. “I didn’t think you wanted to talk to me. Plus, I mean, you could’ve just fucking broke into my apartment whenever you wanted if you did.”

Seokmin laughs, contrasting the anger now evolving across his face. Minghao feels sick, again, at the sight of Lee Seokmin laughing with no traces of his usual glow in his voice, it all feels wrong, so many things feel wrong.

“Why do you keep on deciding how other people feel for them? It’s so frustrating, Minghao,” he says, exasperated. Minghao rolls his eyes.

“Making an assumption based on clear cut evidence is not deciding how people feel for them,” Minghao replies. He’s not quite sure why he’s getting so defensive, knowing very well Seokmin is telling the truth, but he’s tired. He doesn’t want to let himself get kicked around again, despite feeling like he does deserve to. “You’re Mingyu’s best friend, I broke his heart into a billion pieces, why would you want to talk to me?”

Seokmin stands up abruptly, and Minghao finally thinks he’s going to receive the hit that he’s been waiting for from someone for the past half of a year, but Seokmin just stands in front of him, arms crossed. “I’m your best friend too, asshole! I’m not fucking here for him, I’m here for you. I shouldn’t even be here, I should’ve let you come to me, but I was getting tired of waiting for you. I don’t care what happened between you two, well I do, but that’s not the first thing I wanted to get into. You hurt him, but you hurt me too! You lied to all of us about leaving when you were here and just ignoring me! And I had to find that out from Jeonghan, out of all people to dish me information on Xu Minghao.”

Minghao feels like his guilt is going to eat him alive as he trails his gaze down to the floor. This was why he had so desperately been trying to avoid all contact with his friends, he realizes. Not truly because of Mingyu, but because deep down, he knows he hurts them, perhaps beyond repair. Jihoon, Joshua, and Junhui are far too kind, he knows, and not everyone is that forgiving, rightfully so. Seokmin is the most thoughtful, caring person he knows, yet Minghao fears he’s burned their bridge for good, and he doesn’t know how many other of his friendships will fare the same.

Suddenly, the first traces of regret begin to show their faces. Minghao hadn’t felt regret thus far, not even after seeing Junhui, or Mingyu. But upon the realization of how dire the consequences of his actions could be, he did nothing more than to time travel and undo all he’s done. To be able to find himself in this very moment along an alternate timeline: one with Mingyu in his arms, Seokmin on the couch next to them, the three of them doing their yearly rewatches of the Harry Potter series. The nostalgia of the memory, combined for the longing of what could be, stabs at his chest with an intensity that makes all of him burn.

Then, for the first time in months, he feels tears start to fall down his face. He hears Seokmin whine as he realizes, feigned anger dissolving as he reaches out for Minghao, but Minghao steps back.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, in between sobs. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, Seokmin-ah. I feel like I’m a half of a person walking around, lying to myself and lying to everyone else about who I am. I don’t know how to fix all of this, it’s all so overwhelming. I feel so alone.” And in his daze, he’s not sure what the this in question is, praying Seokmin doesn’t bring up Mingyu again, fearing that any mention of the breakup will threaten a full blown breakdown.

But, Seokmin doesn’t say anything, opting instead to bring Minghao into a tight hug, the hug that he missed so much, the warmth that is ever so familiar to him. It’s like breathing in the first traces of spring breeze, promising happiness ahead. “I missed you, Minghao, so much. You’re never alone.” Despite initially relaxing into his hold, Minghao shakes his head and pushes him away, Seokmin staring at him with wide eyes.

“Why are you doing this? Why is everyone being nice to me? I, I fucked up so bad,” he takes a deep inhale, voice cracking on another sob. “I don’t deserve your kindness, or anyone’s. I hurt so many people, why-” He begins to lose his words, legs eventually giving out as he crashes onto the floor, realizing he’s in the same position he was almost six months prior.

Seokmin crouches down, sitting next to Minghao, being careful not to touch him lest he overwhelm him even further. “Please don’t say that, please,” Belatedly, Minghao realizes he’s crying too, which only makes Minghao cry even harder. “I just don’t know why you did what you did, and I’m not asking you to tell me now. I was mad, I am mad, still, honestly, but you just, you made a mistake, you don’t not deserve to be loved because of that.”

Then Seokmin laughs gently, nudging Minghao on the shoulder playfully. “I have way too much love in my heart for you, Xu Minghao, there’s no way I could just get rid of it all like that.” He lets Seokmin pull him into a hug, although with their positioning, it's more like he wraps his arms around the ball of limbs Minghao has formed.

Seokmin takes him to the bedroom, scrambling through his linen closet for the white fluffy blanket that they used every time Seokmin slept over, big enough for the three of them. He grabs Minghao’s laptop from the desk and a collection of snacks (half of the bags were open, Minghao wants to glare at him for his ever annoying habit of opening snack bags, then deciding he didn’t want that snack anymore before going to open another one).

“Harry Potter?” Seokmin offers. Without thinking, Minghao shakes his head. “Doesn’t feel, um, right,” Minghao replies, and Seokmin nods in agreement, smile gentle, but slightly sad. The bed feels too big for just the two of them, despite someone always falling off when it was the three. Seokmin ends up picking To All the Boys I’ve Ever Loved Before, snuggling close to Minghao as if nothing ever happened.

However, just as Peter and Lara Jean are beginning to devise the rules for their relationship, Seokmin abruptly sits up and pauses the movie. Minghao looks at him confusedly.

“Can you just tell me why?” Seokmin asks, biting his lip, eyes pleading. Minghao sighs, looking away to stare at some random corner of his room instead of the hardcore puppy dog eyes Seokmin knows Minghao is weak to. “I think I deserve to know, honestly.”

“You know he hasn’t told anyone what actually happened that night? He just came into my apartment with two bags, told me you broke up with him, and left it at that. I don’t think even Jeongguk knows,” Seokmin adds. Minghao pauses.

“I’m not the right person for him, Seokmin, he deserves-” Minghao begins to say, before meeting Seokmin’s eyes again. Seokmin is looking completely unimpressed, eyes narrowed. Minghao forgot Seokmin knew him like the back of his hand, rehearsed script rendered absolute bullshit to the older. Minghao closes his eyes, internal warfare threatening to force him into another breakdown, before some impulsive part of him says: “I had to leave him before he left me.”

Facing the truth after running from it for so long is.. strangely anticlimactic, Minghao realizes. Then, he wonders if he had ever been running, having been truly aware of it along, it simply sitting dormant in his heart. But saying it out loud settles something within him, the words starting to actually not make any sense at all to his ears who are currently trying to process them.

Seokmin doesn’t say anything for a moment, looking at him knowingly, as if he was one hundred percent aware of Minghao’s current series of thoughts. Eventually, he says, “He always talked about marrying you, you know.” Minghao looks up again to meet his eyes.

“I honestly don’t think you need this extra confirmation, because you know what I’m about to say perfectly well, but I can safely guarantee he would never leave you. He’s entirely, hopelessly, in love with you. I think it’s one of his biggest crutches, but also one of the best parts of him. You bring out the best in him. No matter what difficulties came out, he would always try to work them out with you. But he puts everything into loving you, and that’s why he’s so completely broken now.” Seokmin is silent for another moment, and Minghao doesn’t say anything either, knowing the older wishes to add something daring, and if Minghao interrupts now, he might never say it again.

“If I was a different, not necessarily bad, friend, but different, I would say the breakup was good for him. That he needed to learn again who he was beyond you. That’s what some of our friends had been saying, you know, to make him feel better. But-” he pauses again, collecting his thoughts. “I disagree, it may have seemed like he was putting too much of himself into the relationship, but I think that’s just the way he is. I think he’s a perfectly individualistic person, that the insinuation that Kim Mingyu is codependent on anyone is insulting. I think, I think I know why you did what you did. And I think all of your problems, your insecurities, and his too, could’ve been sorted out if you talked. I know you guys fought a lot, but you didn’t really talk about these things, did you?”

Minghao hadn’t been expecting Seokmin to bring up that the breakup was good for Mingyu, but Minghao agreed with him. Wonwoo had brought it up to him before, a few years back, asking for Minghao’s opinions on the matter when really he was just asking Minghao to take a step back. However, he shook off Wonwoo’s concerns, asserting that Mingyu was most definitely his own person, had always been, and would always be. Mingyu just loved very hard, with everything in him, unabashedly and openly. And continued to do so, despite the many heartbreaks he’d faced; familial, platonic, romantic. Some would say it was self destructive, but Minghao admired it deeply: Mingyu loved people until they gave him a reason not to.

Seokmin was right again in that the two of them never talked about those sorts of things. Of course, they shared their stories, their insecurities, anxieties, but never truly how that relates back to the two of them. Seokmin was forever their mediator, Mingyu’s choice of residence and Minghao’s first phone call whenever the two of them fought. He always had urged them to see what the inner nuances were of the fight, but Minghao realizes how surface level everything had been. Perhaps they could have salvaged so much pain over the years had they just dared to search deeper once or twice, perhaps all of this wouldn’t have happened.

Because, Minghao didn’t actually know of Mingyu’s insecurities in their relationship, or that he had any, until Seokmin implied it just now. And he was sure Mingyu had no idea of his. How were they ever going to continue to build a relationship on a foundation that had been bound to crumble?

“You can still salvage it, you know,” Seokmin says quietly, after a significant silence. “I know you don’t want to hear the whole try and get back together with him speech, but I just want you to remember it’s not too late. At the very least, you should just talk to him, give him an explanation. If I deserved one, then he does at least a thousand times more.” Seokmin sits up and presses play on the movie again, curling back up into his side.

Minghao falls asleep like that, mind slowing down until the last thing he sees is an image of Mingyu from that afternoon, face beautifully scrunched up in laughter. The ache in his chest gives another kick as it fades away with the arrival of sleep.

---

Junhui is currently tossing Minghao’s entire closet onto the floor, as Minghao sits on his bed, staring devastatingly at the way Junhui is manhandling his clothes.

“Hyung, I can do this myself!” Minghao whines. Soonyoung tuts from where he’s standing in the corner, nodding along to Junhui in encouragement as the oldest mutters curses to himself.

“No, you most certainly cannot. This is Xu Minghao’s first appearance to the public in months. What kind of hyungs would we be if we let you wear just anything?” Soonyoung says. Minghao hates it when the two of them are in the same room, absolute menaces.

“We all know I have the best style out of the three of us, by far,” Minghao mutters. Junhui suddenly gasps, pulling a very sheer black long sleeve from the back of Minghao’s closet (it was there for a reason). Soonyoung claps his hands in glee, starting to scour the floor, before uncovering a cropped leather jacket from the pile (which had also been at the back of the closet). Junhui grins and shoves the two pieces, along with a pair of simple black jeans at Minghao, before pointing to the bathroom as an indication for Minghao to go change.

“No.” Minghao says, crossing his arms. Soonyoung pouts, but Junhui just holds the ensemble out in front of him. “It’s a party at your apartment, not some idol’s comeback stage.”

“Get together,” Junhui corrects. “And who said this was up for discussion? Go change, Soonyoung and I will pick your accessories.”

The older two were already dressed, running over to Minghao’s apartment urgently when they heard he hadn’t picked an outfit yet. He knew they were trying to get him to dress in a way that would seduce a certain ex boyfriend, but he honestly had no desire to fight them, all his energy going into not vomiting all his meals from the past few days at the thought of having to see Mingyu after his conversation with Seokmin.

As he pulls on his clothes, Minghao thinks about how it's just strange, the way Minghao started the day yesterday adamant that he would never get back together with Mingyu, the sentiment he had held for the past half a year. Yet, he finds himself teetering closer to the Take Me Back Please side, emboldened by a combination of actually seeing Mingyu, and realizing the reason behind the failure of their relationship, and how redeemable everything is. How easy it would be for Minghao to seek Mingyu out tonight and talk to him, explain to him, ask him to give him another chance. At this point, there’s not that much stopping Minghao from doing so.

He fumbles with his hair, running through his fingers through the strands to secure them just as he likes, dark bangs beginning to fall too far in front of his eyes, yet he can’t help but think he looks better like this, a sort of mysterious allure to his whole look. He smudges slightly at the eyeliner Soonyoung had put on him an hour ago, going for a blurred effect. And in a brief moment of boldness (or Junhui had finally figured out how to implant his spirit into Minghao’s brain), he swipes some of the stray glittery eyeshadow which had been left to catch dust on the corner of his counter. He tilts his head, taking in his appearance, realizing he actually looks good. Really good.

Straying his eyes down to his torso, he suddenly feels embarrassed at the sight of the shirt (if he could even call it that) leaving nothing up to imagination. Minghao silently thanks the workouts Soonyoung has them do before practices that gives him decent ab definition. He makes a note to self to not drink so much tonight, unsure if he’d be able to get these jeans off and then on again if he has to go to the bathroom, among other reasons, of course.

Bracing himself for the response of his loud friends, he sighs and steps out of the bathroom, to the expected whoops and whistles. They’re running over to him, multitasking between shoving random silver accessory pieces onto him and shouting embarrassing compliments. Minghao prays his neighbors are out right now.

His stomach is in knots by the time he’s ready to leave. Soonyoung and Junhui had left an hour prior to go set up, leaving him to his lonesome. He has half a mind to take everything off, throw sweatpants on, climb into bed, and watch an entire season of New Girl: a peaceful, no-Mingyu, night. But he knows his friends will kill him if he doesn’t go, so he downs half of a bottle of tequila, note to self thrown into the mental trash can and set on fire. Who was he kidding, there’s no way he’s going to get through this night without substantial amounts of alcohol in his system.

When he enters Junhui’s apartment, Joshua is the first to welcome him, throwing his arms around Minghao, body reeking of some fruity sort of vodka. Minghao looks around, not at all shocked by the sheer amount of people there. Junhui had promised no more than 20, but Minghao knows to at least double that number, this lot seeming more like triple. He’s not even sure how Junhui manages to fit that many people in his apartment. Junhui knows too many people.

Minghao mindlessly scans the rooms for any sign of Mingyu, and comes up short. He lets Joshua drag him into the kitchen, with the promise of several shots lined up for him. Leaning against the counter is Chan, who offers a friendly grin and shout of welcome to Minghao. Nayeon, Chaeyoung and Momo are pouring drinks, and Momo makes a noise of joyful surprise when she sees him, waving him over. He’s happy to see her, having danced with her for years, her being one of his biggest inspirations as a fellow foreign dance student.

Minghao walks over to them, but his heart catches on a beat when he sees who’s next to him. Hansol and Seungcheol, two of the three people who he’s not seen yet, are staring at him. Hansol, the wonderful person he is, is grinning widely at Minghao, pulling him into a hug like nothing happened. Minghao is sure some combination of Joshua, Soonyoung, Junhui, Seokmin, and maybe even Wonwoo have been feeding their friends positive things about Minghao, diluting the animosity over the months.

Then again, he’s not too sure of this as he looks over his shoulder to see Seungcheol giving him an indiscernible look. Seungcheol rivaled Wonwoo and even Jeonghan for being most protective over Mingyu. Seungcheol’s protectiveness came from a different place too, him and Mingyu always being more of an older-younger brother relationship than just a mere friendship. They were all family, at this point, but those two had a different dynamic. Minghao had always been glad Mingyu had someone like Seungcheol, but looking at Seungcheol now made Minghao gulp. He braces himself for something, not quite sure what that is. Seungcheol was definitely the most likely out of the ten of them to actually punch Minghao.

“Minghao, it’s good to see you,” Seungcheol says. Minghao stares at him, taken aback by the friendliness in his voice. Though, he supposes, it’s been half a year, and if Jeonghan can be cordial to him, anyone can. “We missed having you around.”

Minghao nods and smiles. “You too, hyung.” Seungcheol gives him a clap on the back, before turning back into the living room, presumably to find either Jihoon or Jeonghan.

Minghao turns to Hansol, who’s still smiling at him. Bless his heart. “How much convincing did it take him to not kill me when he saw me tonight?” he jokes, taking a sip from the drink Joshua had handed to him.

Hansol laughs. “We’re getting into that already?” Minghao laughs too and shakes his head in agreement with Hansol’s sentiment. “We really did miss you, hyung. I don’t mean to get sappy, but we were all really sad. Not just about the breakup, but you leaving, too. I’m really glad you’re back,” Hansol adds softly. Minghao’s heart gives a brief pang of guilt, before being replaced with a flood of relief and fondness. Minghao can’t help but pull Hansol into another hug, who ends up giggling cutely against his shoulder.

He follows Hansol into the living room, to a series of more shouts from his friends, most of them perched on the couch. Junhui jumps out and gives a little flourish in regards to his outfit, as if he’s showing off his work. His friends all clap like they’re watching a performance, and Junhui bows dramatically. He hates him, he thinks, a wide smile forming on his face as he takes in all their faces in one place.

He grabs Hansol’s hand and sits on the couch next to Seokmin, who unashamedly drags his hand down Minghao’s chest before Minghao cringes away, Hansol and Seokmin laughing at his response. He scans the area, watching Wonwoo and Seungcheol engage in light conversation with some of their other college friends, Hoseok and Namjoon. Wonwoo turns to Minghao briefly to offer him a kind smile. Jeonghan, Soonyoung, and Sana are trying to pull Jihoon into the center of the room to dance. Jihoon has a lot of power for such a small figure, Minghao thinks, watching the three of them try in vain to move him from his seat on the couch.

Mingyu is still nowhere in sight, and Minghao is able to breathe easier, as he lets himself fall into simple conversation with the people around him. Wonwoo, Seungcheol and Jeonghan are talking to him like they always did before, Seungcheol even bringing up the exhibition to the excitement of the people around him. Minghao feels relaxed, normal, for the first time in months.

Momo and Sana pull him and Chan into the center of the living room, being currently dubbed as the ‘dance floor’. Junhui seriously knows how to maximize his space, Minghao thinks. He even lets himself get pulled by a guy, who he briefly recognizes as being in one of his recitals junior year (seriously, how does Junhui find all these people?), into dancing with him. Minghao hadn’t danced like this in a long time, not since before Mingyu, a time period that feels like it didn’t exist. Dancing with a near stranger, no purpose or aim, just moving harmoniously with them, tempting each other in an inexplicable way. has some profound and thrilling feeling attached to it. He throws his arm around the guy’s neck, pulling him closer, and the guy makes a brief noise of surprise before relaxing into his hold.

Over the guy’s shoulder, his heart skips a beat when he finally catches sight of Mingyu, flanked by Jeongguk and Seungkwan, talking animatedly to Jihyo and Taehyung. Of course, Seungkwan has deemed himself Mingyu’s bodyguard for the night, definitely considering all their other friends’ eventual warming up to Minghao to be a deep sign of betrayal, himself being the most loyal of them. Mingyu has always mentioned how alike he thinks Minghao and Seungkwan are, Minghao always just laughing at his accusations, feigning offense at the notion. But, he sees it now, the utmost stubbornness, the final boss. Seungkwan and Minghao always got along the least among out of their friends, never being able to spend time in the same room without Mingyu. Seungkwan had even, on several occasions, tried to convince Mingyu to break up with Minghao. Maybe he had the right idea.

On Mingyu’s other side is Jeongguk, looking as handsome as ever, blond hair now styled to artfully frame his face, tattoos stark against his skin, showcased by the tight black shirt he was wearing. Minghao would feel that familiar pang of jealousy if not for his conversation with Wonwoo that night, but something stirs in his chest all the same.

For all his attempts to avoid looking directly at him, Minghao’s gaze inevitably trails to Mingyu, heart melting at the sight of him. His hair is styled the way Minghao loved it best, in that comma style often worn by idols, bangs framing his forehead with a flourish. His outfit is simple: dark blue t-shirt with black jeans, collection of chains and dainty bracelets making Minghao’s heart pound faster. He’d always love to play with Mingyu’s jewelry, the other always adorning himself with a heavy collection of accessories whenever they went out. Minghao would always convince Mingyu to keep the chains on when they got home, loving the way they contrasted against his skin as it got deeper with red as Minghao took him apart.

Minghao’s increasingly heated thoughts are interrupted as the worst possible thing happens: Mingyu turns his head ever so slightly to the right, and catches Minghao’s eye, staring right into him. Yet, Minghao can’t seem to bring himself to look away, seeing the way Mingyu’s eyes shine with some sort of hopefulness, until he sees what exactly Minghao is doing, arms still wrapped around the guy he’s dancing with. Minghao is suddenly all too aware of his position, the guy’s breath now evidently ghosting against his neck, their movements quickly getting more urgent.

They were clearly approaching the point in the encounter where something either happens or doesn’t, and Mingyu realizes it all too well. His expression falls almost immediately, lips parting in a brief surprise, before they purse. He mumbles something, most likely excusing himself, before turning around into the kitchen. Jeongguk quickly follows him, but Seungkwan follows his previous line of vision, making eye contact with Minghao for himself. Seungkwan’s eyes blaze, and shakes his head in disappointment. To Minghao’s surprise, he makes a brief glance at the hallway, before looking back at Minghao.

Minghao stares dumbly at him, as he walks toward where he had gestured to him, realizing Seungkwan actually wants him to follow him. It’s time, Minghao thinks. He’s getting the hit that’s been gearing up for months. He sends a prayer in thanks to heaven that it’s Seungkwan delivering the blow, and not Seungcheol or Wonwoo, like he’d initially expected.

He excuses himself from the guy he was dancing with him, who just stares at him blankly as he walks away, obviously anticipating their escapade eventually translating to getting Minghao into his bed. He finds himself in the hallway, standing in front of the door to the guest bedroom, Boo Seungkwan staring accusedly at him, eyes beginning to drag up and down Minghao’s body.

“Aren’t you dressed to impress, hyung?” Seungkwan says, crossing his arms. Minghao scoffs.

“What do you want?” Minghao says. They are far past being polite to each other.

“Either do something, or leave him alone,” Seungkwan says, plainly. Minghao pauses, unsure how exactly to reply to that. It wasn’t really like anything any of his other friends had said. “You refuse everyone’s suggestion to talk to him, then show up like this and dry hump some random guy in the middle of Junhui hyung’s living room.”

“How is doing.. that, not leaving him alone? That has nothing to do with him,” Minghao replies. Seungkwan laughs shortly.

“Right, it has nothing to do with him as you check him out while you do so,” Minghao looks down, guiltily. “Look, I’m not going to take a side either way on the two of you getting back together. But if you have no intention of doing so, leave him alone. He was just starting to get over you until the other day too.” Minghao makes a noise of indignance.

“That was not my fault,” he says. Seungkwan sighs. “Well, duh, I don’t think you wanted that to happen either. Just saying.”

But did he? Did he not want it to happen? As taken aback as Minghao was in that moment, he’s felt a strange sense of relief since yesterday, a sort of weight being lifted off of his chest. He feels almost as if something has clicked, something that makes him question if he does have any intention of doing what Seungkwan said.

Seungkwan takes Minghao’s silence as a desire to conclude the conversation, sighing as he puts a hand on Minghao’s shoulder. “Like everyone else in the universe, I don’t know why you did what you did. hyung. So I can’t ethically hate you. But I have to be there for him. I don’t mean to be rude, or anything, really. I just want the best for him, and I don’t think that’s not you, necessarily.” Minghao nods in acknowledgement, not sure, again, how to verbally respond to that. Seungkwan returns his gesture and leaves the hallway.

Minghao takes a deep breath and decides to return to the couch, sitting in between Seokmin and Jihyo, who, Minghao belatedly realizes, regret filling his body, are currently having a high note battle. He’s able to escape after being forced to judge the final round, giving the win to Jihyo just to get back at Seokmin for the shrimp cracker incident. He then finds himself back in the kitchen, letting Joshua and Junhui make him a drink (which he recognizes as his second biggest mistake of the night, as he takes a sip of the concoction born straight from hell), talking to Jimin and Soonyoung about their upcoming showcases.

Junhui teases him about the scene on the dance floor, Joshua pointedly not participating in the conversation, still adamantly on team Mingyu/Minghao. Junhui has repeatedly claimed he just, quote, wants Minghao to get laid again. Jeez.

“He asked me for your number, you know,” Joshua says, judgement laced in his voice. Minghao doesn’t reply, downing the reminder of his devil juice, opting to remove himself from this volatile environment to return to the living room. He engages in conversation with a plethora of random people he knew from college, eventually falling into a steady conversation with Jihoon and Yoongi that ends up in him absentmindedly listening to them talk about their recent production projects.

Seungkwan’s words continue to sit in his head, along with the alcohol that’s currently muddling his senses. He probably should just leave Mingyu alone, he realizes. Mingyu doesn’t deserve any of this, never deserved to be on the end of the cruelest of Minghao’s storm of insecurities, from the breakup to the months of dealing through his issues, to now, unable to figure out what he really wants. He probably should just leave Mingyu alone, let him move on like he so desperately convinced himself he wanted for so long. But the idea of officially cutting Mingyu out of his life is the worst pain of all. Because he knows, he’s the reason Mingyu hadn’t moved on. Something about their breakup had never felt final, even with Minghao claiming to be leaving for China, there was always an ellipsis at the end, the possibility for a different ending, and the both of them are holding onto that. Minghao truly doesn’t know what to do with it, because he knows it’s ultimately up to him to finish the sentence.

A chorus of cheers catches Minghao’s attention, as he looks to the middle of the room, where a circle of people are crowded around Junhui and Soonyoung having a dance off in the center (Minghao doesn’t know how Soonyoung manages to be literally everywhere always.) Somewhat against his will, his eyes find Mingyu’s figure again, who’s currently leaning against Jeonghan and Wonwoo at the time, body wracked with laughter.

Minghao doesn’t know why, but he feels a wave of sadness overcome him. The reminder that that could be him, next to Mingyu, that he’s missed out on six months of hearing Mingyu’s laughter every day, a billion times a day, makes the ache in his chest a level of unbearable that hasn’t plagued him for many months. Everything feels wrong, he thinks. The relaxation he felt a few hours ago is all gone, replaced with the all encompassing knowledge that this isn’t how things should be. Should be. He should not feel like everything in his life is hanging on by a thread, that everything he does is a mistake. He should be with Mingyu.

All of a sudden, the air gets thick, and he’s all too aware of the amount of people in this tiny ass apartment. He excuses himself, and scrambles his way to the balcony, grabbing onto the railing as he takes heavy, scattered breaths. Some amount of time later, he’s not sure how long, he hears the door crack open. He turns around abruptly, alarm only increasing when he sees who it is.

Out of all people in the fucking world, Minghao sees Kim fucking Mingyu’s concerned head poke onto the balcony. He slowly walks in, closing the door behind him, fumbling his hands together and curling his shoulders in on himself the way he does when he wants to make himself smaller.

“I- I saw you come out here. And I wasn’t sure if anyone else noticed, so I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” Mingyu says, softly. Minghao feels like he can’t speak, his heart racing so fast. More than anything, he wants to sob, scream at Mingyu for caring about him so much even after everything. Kim Mingyu is too good, Minghao wants to hide him away so nothing in the world can ever hurt him. Except Minghao is the thing that has hurt him, the thing that keeps hurting him. He feels so sick.

The alcohol is really starting to hit his brain, its effects combining with the panic attack he’s just had to overcome all of his senses into a state of complete mush. He has no grasp over his words, his thoughts, everything seems to want to fly out. Which is why he says: “You’re such an idiot, why would you follow me out here? It’s so, so effortlessly you, to do something like this. You come out here, and I don’t even know what the fuck to say to you! Apologize? Beg for you back? Tell you to leave? There’s so many things I want to do at once!” He runs a hand through his hair before groaning in frustration. “Goddamnit! Why do you have to be this way?”

“Be what way?” Mingyu asks, softly. God, Minghao wants to kiss him so badly, there’s literally not a bone in his body that is making any attempt to stop him from doing so.

“So good!” he says in a near yell, making Mingyu wince, before staring at him in confusion. “You make me love you so much, it makes me so scared. If you never fucking showed up, if you never made me fall in love with you, then I wouldn’t be so scared all the time! You’re too good for me, for anyone, if you left me, I wouldn’t know what to fucking do with myself. I had to save myself the heartbreak, I couldn’t just sit around, like an idiot, waiting for that day to come when you realized what I had known all along.”

“I will never leave you, Minghao, never,” he says, earnestly, so, so genuine, that it makes Minghao want to throw himself off the balcony. Will, he says. Not past tense, Minghao notes, because Kim Mingyu is so stubborn, he will never give up on them, he couldn’t. Whatever moving on Seungkwan had mentioned he was doing was completely feigned. Minghao groans again and walks past him, straight off the balcony to seek out Junhui and tell him he’s leaving.

What he doesn’t expect is for Mingyu to follow him, cursed long legs catching up with him at the couches, pulling him forcibly back to face him. Everyone’s eyes turn to look at them in surprise, anticipating the next move. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Seungcheol and Joshua walking towards them, but he pays them no mind, pulling his hand out of Mingyu’s grip.

“You’re making a scene,” he hisses. Mingyu scoffs. “And what have you done for the past half of a year?” Minghao glares at him, the two of them caught in a battle of sorts, stubbornness unwavering. Eventually, Joshua comes to hold onto Minghao’s shoulder, just as Seungcheol does for Mingyu. Minghao shakes his head, mostly to himself, mindlessly grabs his coat which was hanging off one of the couches, and storms out of the apartment. He briefly hears a mixture of voices calling after him, but he ignores them, slamming the door shut.

He hadn’t realized until this moment how drunk he actually was, staggering through the hallway, arm flailing about to grab hold onto something. His senses are all muddled, and he opts for just sitting down next to the elevator, which he somehow managed to reach. He bangs the back of his head against the wall, crying out in pain, the sensation only clouding his mind even further.

Suddenly, the door to Junhui’s apartment swings open, loud music flooding out as, for the second time tonight, Kim fucking Mingyu strides urgently towards Minghao. Minghao groans and slides farther down to the floor.

“What are you doing, Mingyu.” Minghao says, tiredly. Mingyu crouches down to his eye level, reaching his hands out to pull Minghao up, and at this point, he has no strength left in him to fight what would most definitely be a losing battle.

“I couldn’t just let you go home alone like this,” Mingyu replies, giving Minghao a moment to adjust to the new altitude. “So get someone else to do it,” Minghao says. Mingyu gives a groan of his own and shoves his hand through his hair.

“I know you can’t stand the sight of seeing me. But someone had to do it,” he says, anger beginning to slip into his tone. Minghao sighs, exasperated.

“Did you not hear me like, five minutes ago? I don’t hate you, or anything.” I wish I could, he wants to add, but some remnants of logic tell him that it wouldn’t come out exactly the way he wants it to.

Upon taking in the sound of Mingyu’s slow, slightly heavier breaths, Minghao becomes all too aware of how close they are at the moment. He lets his eyes flutter shut, heart acting for him as he briefly savors the moment, not knowing when they’d ever be this close again, if they would ever be. He unashamedly takes a deep inhale, breathing in Mingyu’s delicious strawberry and rose smell, which blends effortlessly with his natural body scent. He opens his eyes slowly to see Mingyu staring down at him, the look he gives Minghao fond but hungry. His heart continuing to take control over his entire body, Minghao stretches a hand up, eyes still on Mingyu’s, and rests it ever so gently on the corner of his jaw. Mingyu doesn’t move away from the touch, even relaxes into it, giving a sigh of his own.

“What are you doing?” he whispers, but he doesn’t seem angry, just hopeful, anticipating the next moment. However, neither of them make a move to escalate the situation, content with their current positioning, chests pressed together. Mingyu slowly reaches his hand up to encase Minghao’s wrist, holding his hand in place. His skin of his face is soft, Minghao notes, careful skin routine kept over the months. But the palm of his hand is slightly rougher, warm and large against Minghao’s thin wrist. The contrast gets Minghao’s heart racing faster, their slight size difference the cause of many a heart flutter over the years.

They’re both far too drunk, Minghao doesn’t know how Mingyu ever single handedly expected to get him home, both of them currently losing their balance as their grips on each other strengthen ever so slightly. Minghao thinks he could stay like this forever, letting the world get reduced to just the two of them in each other’s arms the way it used to be. If he closes his eyes, he could be back in the studio of their apartment, soft music and lights encompassing them in a bubble of bliss, fully detached from the rest of the world. Minghao wants him so bad, in every single way possible, the feeling is threatening to consume him, threatening to make him do things he’d very much regret in the morning. He forces himself to take a few deep breaths, just to calm himself, but ends up inhaling more of Mingyu’s scent, driving his senses even more crazy. He doesn’t know exactly what they’re doing, not even sure how much time has passed, knowing very well they could be caught at any moment.

Which, they nearly are, as the door to the apartment slams open again, startling the two of them. Minghao can’t help but frown at the way Mingyu jolted away from him like he’d been burned, disappointment coursing through his veins.

“Hyungs, is everything okay?” The voice belongs to Hansol, who’s flanked by Junhui and Seungkwan, both of them having one eyebrow raised. Seungkwan stares accusingly at Minghao, trying to remind him of their prior conversation, while Junhui just looks like Christmas has come early this year.

The both of them nod in unison. “Sorry, just needed some air,” Minghao replies. That obviously isn’t enough to placate the three of them, because if that were it, then Mingyu’s presence is still left unexplained. Minghao is still confused about that himself, avoiding the urge to look at Mingyu and gauge his expression, his reply. But, Mingyu says nothing in return, just walking past the four of them to return to the party. Minghao feels his heart crash, feeling like he’s wasted a key chance to do, well, something.

Hansol and Seungkwan follow him inside, but Junhui remains in the hallway, staring pointedly at Minghao. “You gonna tell me why you ruined my party?” he asks. But his tone is far from accusatory, joyful grin still on his face.

Minghao scoffs. “You know I didn’t ruin your party. Or, I thought it was a get together?” Junhui rolls his eyes, and pulls at Minghao’s arm. “Soooo, what happened?” he drawls. Minghao stares blankly at him.

“Nothing. Why should anything happen?” Minghao says, feigning ignorance. Junhui pouts in disappointment.

“Maybe because when I walked in you guys were wound together like a scene out of a drama. Heart eyes and all, I mean, it was a true Kodak moment. Strange place to do it though,” he says. Minghao says nothing in reply.

“He’s drunk, I’m drunk,” is the only response he gives in explanation. “C’mon, let’s go back. Sorry to drag you away, I’m fine. I probably should just go home now.” Junhui obviously doesn’t seem convinced, but he relents, following Minghao back into his apartment.

Minghao goes back in, Joshua and Soonyoung immediately coming up to him concernedly. He simply offers half-hearted reassurances in response, forcing smiles to accompany them. They don’t seem convinced either, as he hugs them in goodbye. He gives final greetings to the rest of his friends, refusing Momo and Nayeon’s attempts to get him to take a few shots for good luck before they’re whisked away by Jihyo, who gives him a small smile in apology. She’d always been good to him, but was, again, closer with Mingyu, clear resistance in her demeanor towards him.

Seungcheol and Wonwoo try to talk to him as well, much to his surprise, but he waves them off, giving them similar excuses as he did for the others. Minghao hadn’t truly realized how much they care for him, but upon reflection, he notices how much he enjoys spending time with the other two. He makes a mental note to have lunch with them sometime, hoping to repair some of those ties he so desperately misses.

Through his rounds, he pointedly refuses to make eye contact with Mingyu, heart still racing from their encounters, not knowing what he’d do now if they were to interact again. Every cell in his body is aching to go back to that moment in the hallway, to be given the chance to escalate matters, and try again. He passes those thoughts off as effects of the alcohol. Yet, he can’t get the shine of Mingyu’s eyes out of his head, the way his lips parted gently as he looked at Minghao with such adoration still. His heart aches in desperation as he sighs, giving a final wave as he turns towards the door

“Hey, Minghao, wait up!” a voice calls. Running towards him, haphazardly throwing on his coat is Jeongguk, a bright smile on his face. “Let’s walk home together.” The other is practically bouncing on his toes, ever Mingyu’s twin golden retriever, even more so with the blond hair.

Minghao looks at him puzzledly, not sure why Jeongguk would want to walk with him. “We still live in the same complex, I think. Plus, you look like you’re in need of an escort.” He gives a small laugh and opens the door, leaving Minghao no room for refusal.

He’d forgotten Jeongguk and he lived not four floors apart. Mingyu had been so excited when he was moving in, bouncing off the walls about being an elevator ride apart from his best friend. He’d joked about that being the real reason he accepted Minghao’s offer to move in, which did nothing to placate Minghao’s ever growing jealousies.

The two of them walk in silence for a while, the quiet not being too awkward, but not too pleasant either, not the way it was with Jihoon. Eventually, Minghao clears his throat and attempts to break the silence. “So, blond, huh?” He’d been thinking about it for a while. Last time he’d seen Jeongguk, the other was attempting to grow out his hair, searching for a new look. Although he’s never been close with him, he feels sort of proud of Jeongguk for growing confident enough in his looks to take on such a bold change. He’s definitely handsome enough to pull off anything, Minghao thinks, but from what he’s heard from Mingyu, Jeongguk had always had a self confidence issue. He’s happy to see Jeongguk growing out of it.

Jeongguk laughs again, a light and dainty, quite pleasant sound, absentmindedly running his hands through his hair, picking at the strands sheepishly. “Yeah, Mingyu and Taehyungie hyung have been trying to get me to dye it for months, so I thought, go big or go home.” Minghao laughs at that.

“Well, it really suits you,” he says, honestly. Jeongguk smiles widely at him. They fall into silence again, this time it being more peaceful, equally content with just walking with each other.

They stop in front of the elevator of their complex, facing each other. Minghao can tell Jeongguk wants to say something, that he’s been grappling with whether to say it or not.

“Spit it out,” Minghao says. Jeongguk looks at him, eyes wide. He bites his lip, another habit he and Mingyu share.

As a gag gift for Christmas, Minghao had bought Mingyu a 100 pack of chapstick (for a joke, it was quite expensive), as a way to reprimand him for constantly worrying at his lips, forcing them into a perpetual state of chappedness. Unfortunately, the gift backfired on him, as Mingyu kept on actually using the chapstick, walking around 24/7 with his full lips always covered in a light, gorgeous sheen that made Minghao want to kiss him all the time. Very unfortunate.

Minghao comes back to his senses as he realizes Jeongguk still hasn’t said anything. He half expects Jeongguk to just turn around and go up to his apartment. Eventually, Jeongguk furrows his eyebrows, lips beginning to part around a word.

“Please, just talk to him,” he ends up saying, more like whispering. It’s said softly, almost desperately. It’s clear it wasn’t what he wanted to say in full, but he seems confident in saying it, looking up at Minghao to gauge his reaction.

Minghao wants to say that he has, just thirty minutes ago, actually, and everyone saw how that went. Yet, he knows that’s not what Jeongguk actually meant. That he has yet to talk to Mingyu. Jeongguk isn’t implying they should get back together, but rather just sort things out, work through the millions of things they’ve left unsaid in the past six months. Minghao doesn’t even think Jeongguk is asking just on Mingyu’s behalf, it’s as if he wants the best for both of them.

He knows he’s right, he knows the only way life is going to move on, whether it be in their relationship’s favor or not, is if they talk. They’re stuck in this frustrating limbo, a halfway point, and they won’t ever be able to escape it until they face it. Minghao is reminded of the shadow he perceives to be constantly looming over him, resisting the urge to look up, see how it’s warping around him, see if it feels threatened by the idea of Minghao taking it on first hand, threatened by the newfound courage beginning to pool in the bottom of his heart.

However, he can’t help but realize these are things he’s known all along, so why has it taken Jeongguk, out of all people, confronting him to do something about it? His closest friends have told him to do this very thing, for months, giving a plethora of logical reasons to do so. Why in this moment, has he finally decided to take action? Maybe because it is Jeongguk, out of all people. Mingyu’s closest friend, the friend who’s known him for the longest, knows him inside out through and through. Jeongguk giving him the go ahead, the suggestion, with no other intention than having Mingyu’s absolute best interests in mind. Jeongguk who speaks so genuinely, who has decided this is what Mingyu needs, and is practically begging Minghao to act.

He thinks of Mingyu tonight, vibrant and bright, to the point where it’s almost blinding. But also Mingyu, gentle and thoughtful, the way he peeked his head out of the door, eyes dripping with concern. The way he kneeled down to Minghao’s eye level, longing and care expressed through every aspect of his demeanor. He relives the small bout of happiness he felt at finally seeing Mingyu’s eyes on his, wanting to chase it into the sunset, hold onto it, and keep it for himself, forever. He thinks of every part of Kim Mingyu, every unique, beautiful, and absolutely genuine part that makes up the greater whole, and he wants nothing more to have him by his side. Familiar thoughts of an ending have been cast out the window, thrown into the eye of the storm as he forces it all out of himself. All he can think of now is the continuation, the words after the ellipsis, and the sentence that he decides, he never wants to end.

Minghao just nods in reply, and it's truthful. He’s set the intention to do so, and he’s promising himself and Jeongguk at this moment. Jeongguk’s concerned expression fades to a mixture of relief and joy. His eyes are thankful, but he chooses to say nothing. They nod at each other again, before offering small final greetings, as if Minghao didn’t just have another series of life realizations in front of Jeongguk’s eyes.

He chooses to take the stairs back up to his apartment, steps light as air. He begins scripting in his head a list of things he wants to say to Mingyu, but his mind keeps traveling to just picturing Mingyu instead. Memories from their three years together flood back quite rapidly, but Minghao just smiles, memories all fond, all so beautiful.

He thinks it's rather cheesy, the way he enters his apartment and takes in the spaces in a new light. It all feels empty, still painfully empty. But instead of an emptiness that festers fruitlessly, it’s an emptiness waiting to be filled, anticipating its rebirth. He smiles at each picture of him and Mingyu that adorns the many surfaces and walls. He feels thankful that he’d never taken them down. Every time they’d been in his hands, ready to go into a box, he’d stare down at it for a significant amount of seconds before putting it back in its place. His apartment was stranded enough as is, it didn’t need to lose the memory of Mingyu as well.

Minghao lets the feeling of missing Mingyu eat him whole as he lays in the… empty bed. He shamelessly caresses the pillow on Mingyu’s side, indented at the middle for how hard Mingyu shoves his head into it when he’s in deep sleep, which is always. He thinks, if he inhales hard enough, he can catch traces of strawberries and roses, coming from his own clothes, the pillow, the room itself, somewhere.

It’s all encompassing, beautiful, and not overwhelming in the slightest. He basks in it, allows himself to feel everything he’s repressed for months. He’d thought he had been pretty good about being open with his emotions recently, having really no reason to hide them away, but as the wave of feeling gusts over him, he realizes how much he’s avoided. The longing, jealousy, nostalgia, desire, depthless sadness, fear, anxiety, everything.

Belatedly, he realizes he’s crying, as he touches his hand to his face. He stares at the vestiges of tears on his fingertips, curious as to what they mean. He’s not sad, but he’s not necessarily happy either. Everything is still uncertain, but at the same time, nothing is. The hope that sits in his chest, is new, however. It’s blooming, seeds having been planted, ready to be sown. And hope, Minghao thinks, is the most beautiful feeling of all. Mingyu is hope, he’s always been the hope in Minghao’s life. One cannot do without hope.

---

Unfortunately, Minghao doesn’t have much time to plan a meetup with Mingyu (that seems like an entire week’s work of project planning with careful development on its own), with the exhibition finally getting underway. Which is what he tells himself to avoid thinking about it.

Truthfully, there’s plenty of time. He has about a good month before the exhibition could even be poised to begin. But, he chooses instead to engross himself in mindless things, visiting the gallery everyday or having extensive phone calls with Joshua, which are of no real use, but he can trust Joshua to talk to him for a far too long period of time over something simple, effectively distracting himself from any Mingyu related thoughts.

Truthfully, there’s plenty of time. He knows this, because he continues to go to dance, and continues to meet up with his friends. He’s even taken on a side project, when Seungcheol asks him to record vocals for one of his Chilli solo tracks. Minghao is taken aback, to say the least. He doesn’t have a bad voice, not at all, in fact, he’s done several dance performances where he’d been singing as well. But there are most definitely people in their group with better voices than him, people who sing for a living, at that.

“Me?” Minghao asks, genuinely shocked when Seungcheol asks him at a small gathering at Soonyoung’s.

“Yeah, you have a really gorgeous airy tone to your voice. I think you’d be perfect for it,” he says. Then he suddenly turns red slightly, and begins rubbing the back of his neck. “Unless.. you don’t want to, of course.”

Minghao immediately shakes his head. “No, hyung, I’d love to. I’m flattered you asked me.”

Seungcheol perks up, all puppylike. Minghao thinks his and Mingyu’s big brother-little brother thing runs deeper than he’d initially thought. “Great! I was also thinking, um, well. I have it produced, raps written and recorded, but well, I don’t have the chorus or any of the vocal parts written. I was wondering if you’d like to write the parts.”

Minghao widens his eyes again. He’d really never written song lyrics before, the furthest he’d gone was cheesy small poems he’d stick into Mingyu’s jacket for him to find later in class, and that was only during the phase where he was obsessed with reading Alexander Hamilton’s letters to his wife Eliza, wanting that same level of romance. (Minghao chooses to ignore how big of an ass Hamilton was and how the fate of their relationship fared. That’s not the important part.)

Seungcheol was never the type to meddle, but Minghao has been increasingly suspicious of pretty much anything his friends said or did to him. He wonders if he has an ulterior motive, before passing the notion off as ridiculous and a product of his overthinking. Still, it’s all too curious. “Sure, hyung, when do you need to record?”

They work it out, Seungcheol sending the raps he’s written to Minghao so he can get an idea of what the song is like. When the older leaves to go talk to some of the others, Minghao sits on the couch, eyes scanning over the lyrics. His heart pangs, something pulling at its strings. It feels like Minghao is looking into a mirror as he stares at his phone, words reflecting perfectly how Minghao was feeling, how he had felt laying there in bed as he let everything wash over him that night.

He reconsiders his theory of Meddler Seungcheol being officially activated. Minghao briefly wonders if someone else put him up to this, but, no, this was a pure Seungcheol way of doing things. Using Minghao’s passions to make him have realizations, an artistic and intricate way of pushing him on the right path. No one is aware of Minghao and Jeongguk’s conversation, the aftermaths of it all, the decision Minghao has been sitting on for about three weeks now.

Mingyu isn’t present at this gathering, which he’s expected. It took him a few hangouts to realize, but Mingyu’s made a pointed and obvious affair of avoiding Minghao. He’s never around when Minghao is, and Minghao always sees him in videos on Snapchat at the hangouts Minghao isn’t able to go to. He wonders who’s his little insider bug. Probably Seungkwan.

Although Minghao thinks he’s not at all prepared to face Mingyu for real, he still feels slightly frustrated at himself for letting it all drag on for this long. He feels that if he were to see Mingyu again, live and in front of him, he’d finally be able to act. It’s done wonders for him the past two times.

A more anxious part, the one the shadow has a vicious grip on, the one always threatening to teeter into the storm and pull the rest of him along with it, of Minghao fears that this is Mingyu making the decision to move on. That something about the night at Junhui’s pushed him over the edge, and he’s throwing in the towel. Minghao chooses not to entertain that thought.

Minghao goes home that night and immediately works on the song, listening to Seungcheol’s raps and the smooth production over and over again, hand flying as he scribbles down words and words. Hours later, when the clock strikes around four in the morning, Minghao stares down at the notebook, content with what he’s written down. Minghao, being less of a composer than a lyricist, was given a vocal guide by Jihoon as well, what Seungcheol roughly wants the song to sound like, so he’s able to match his lyrics with the rest of the song. He rather likes what he hears, the flow of his words providing consistent and pleasant transitions for Seungcheol’s raps.

His voice hauntingly resonates with the messages of the song, having experienced these very emotions for so long. He almost feels a wave of sadness listening back to it, at just how truly fervent his longing sounds in his phone recording. He put his heart into the lyrics, not really knowing how else to do this. His heart gives another signature pang at the thought of Mingyu surely listening to this song as soon as it's released, probably even before. Nothing is left to imagination, all of Minghao’s feelings, the deepest confessions of his heart left bare.

As if things couldn’t get worse, Chilli has even more of a larger fanbase than they did in college. Minghao thinks it’s an absolute shame none of them chose to pursue it as a real career, thinking they have some serious potential to be huge. But, the four of them decided it was better off as sort of a side hustle type thing, a method of escape, releasing songs, albums even now and then, still performing ever so often at local gigs. But, nonetheless, they’re popular, no doubt, garnering millions of streams on every song. Any other day, that reminder would fill him with pure pride, but not now. Now, he feels completely vulnerable, but he sends the lyrics, along with his rough recording to his group chat with Seungcheol and Jihoon.

He leans back in his desk chair, takes a deep breath, and shuts off his phone for the night, trailing off to bed. The last thing he sees before his eyes flutter shut is the picture of Mingyu and him in the corner of his room, heart feeling as heavy as ever.

---

Joshua is jumping around him excitedly as the staff places the final paintings in place. The exhibition is set to open in exactly 6 hours, 53 minutes, and 7 seconds. 8 seconds. 9. Minghao isn’t nervous.

He walks around the gallery, doing final scans on the positioning and lighting. He’s arm in arm with Joshua who’s making exaggerated gasps and whispers at each painting like he hasn’t seen them enough times to not be thoroughly tired with looking at them. Minghao greatly appreciates the bit of joy, nerves a mess, body feeling like a jumble of skin and nothing else.

His friends all promised to be there at the opening, Jeonghan and Seungkwan even giving the RSVP. Jeongguk, who’s he actually met up with several times since the party, seemed quite excited to come, despite Minghao having not made a single action towards achieving their agreement yet. Which, is something that returned to his mind as the date of the opening looms over him. Minghao is sure Mingyu knows about the exhibition, knows everyone is coming. He can’t help but wonder if Mingyu will too.

The thought makes him ill, the thought that Mingyu coming to one of his exhibitions would ever be something up in the air. What has his life become, he thinks, as he stands there in the middle of the gallery, surrounded by the utmost manifestation of his hard work and imagination. Yet, he’s Mingyu-less, and so nothing else truly seems to matter.

People begin flooding in right after the food and drinks are set out, delicate finger foods, that his college self would turn his nose up at the sheer pretentiousness of it all. (You’ve always been the more pretentious one, you little shit, he thinks in response). His friends all trickle in slowly, their reactions mixed in enthusiasm (the Soonyoung to Wonwoo scale is an excellent measure of this) but equal in positivity. They all hug him, enjoy the free booze, and speak a little too loudly, but Minghao is thoroughly enjoying himself. He entertains the company of many esteemed artists in the Seoul area, basking in their compliments, collecting business cards as he goes. His eyes continue to dart to the entrance, every part of him aching to see the familiar figure walk in.

But, he never does. The rest of the group had filed out, only Junhui, Joshua, and Seokmin staying behind to help him clean up for the next day. On his way out, Seungcheol mentioned that the song should be going up soon. Minghao couldn’t ignore the way his eyes glinted with a distinct Jeonghan-like mischief, but he ignores it for now. He doesn’t have time to decode Choi Seungcheol, again, for now.

Before they head in their separate ways, Seokmin stops in front of him at the corner of the street, turning to him with a sad smile. “I’m sorry,” is all he says, and Minghao knows. Minghao shakes his head.

“He doesn’t owe me anything,” Minghao replies. Seokmin frowns. “He still should-” he pauses before giving a slow shake of his own. He then pulls Minghao into another hug, and whispers, “I’m proud of you,” into his ear gently, before walking away.

Minghao’s less than a mile from his apartment when soft flakes begin to fall in front of him. He’s inadequately dressed for this, to say the least, valuing fashion over comfort any day. His thin materialed sweater does nothing to protect him from the bitter cold, and as he attempts to pick up his pace, the cold bites at his feet, making him wince with pain at every step. As he finally reaches his complex, panting as he leans against the wall in the elevator, he stares down at his fingers, prickling still.

He furrows his eyebrows at the small marks of paint on the sides of a few of his fingertips, wondering how the hell he always manages to have paint on him somewhere, despite not having picked up a brush in weeks now. He thinks back to the paintings that faced the public’s scrutiny this evening, every detail of them ingrained in his mind from the sheer amount of time he spent staring at them, deciding whether or not to exhibit them.

The fulfillment he feels is indescribable, quite puzzling, given the fact Mingyu was not present. But, for the first time in a long time, perhaps the first time ever, his body swells with pride for himself. He started the evening feeling incomplete, but now, he realizes he’s created a happiness independent of Mingyu. Minghao wants to be able to give Mingyu all of himself and then some, but he wants to be able to keep himself whole as well.

The shadow is receding, not disappearing completely, but it's finding itself in the recesses of his body. It’s not forced there either, waiting, stewing, preparing to form the storm, rather, it’s sitting contentedly, accepting its fate. Minghao doesn’t think it was a magical thing either, suddenly coming to him. It’s been gradual, slowly occurring with every seemingly redundant moment of realization he has had.

He continues to look at his fingers, turning them around as he considers the places they’ve been, the things they’ve made, the things they’ve done. The paintings they’ve produced to stellar grades and praises running for miles. The gentle, invisible lines they’ve traced on every expanse of Mingyu’s skin, as if he’d been trying to commit his figure to muscle memory. The way they’ve caught the air, whipping through it as he dances; sharply, yet gracefully. The places they’ve been, the things they’ve made, the things they’ve done. And, more significantly, the places they will go, the things they will make, and the things they will do.

The hope in his chest blossoms and blooms into hundreds of vibrant, awe inspiring flowers.

---

“23 year old Chinese born Xu Minghao impresses with a tasteful weeklong exhibition at the Hong gallery,” Hansol reads out loud excitedly. Minghao takes the magazine out of his hand and scans the article, heart soaring with joy. The article discusses his keen use of color, managing to keep his works interesting while using the same shades throughout, as well as his relaying of emotions. Minghao focuses on that buzzword, longing, that the article cites as the key theme. Well, they’re not wrong.

The gang is currently gathered at Minghao’s own apartment following the closing of the gallery for the night. There’s a one day Monday break before it kicks up again for the next week, and he’s anticipating a larger crowd of people. Joshua even talked about extending the whole thing for another week, but Minghao feels something initially unplanned like that takes away from the allure of his mage. He’s sitting on the couch, absentmindedly sipping on his wine as his friends read the article out loud to each other, listening to the conversation shift from the exhibition to whatever else his friends are all working on.

They’re all pointedly ignoring the fact that it feels terribly strange to be in what everyone wordlessly still considers Minghao and Mingyu’s apartment without Mingyu. If the two of them haven’t moved on from the relationship, their friends certainly haven’t either. They keep on making subtle (which are, in reality, not subtle in the slightest) connections to the themes of Minghao’s paintings and the breakup, but Minghao entertains none of these suggestions, refusing to let anything develop into yet another confrontation. He’s had his soul bared out for him enough times in the past nearly seven months to last a lifetime.

It’s even worse at this moment, given the fact it escaped Minghao’s mind (thanks to his forever deficient levels of self preservation) to take down the pictures of Mingyu all over his apartment before his friends arrived. Junhui, Soonyoung, and Seokmin were the only three to have been here since the breakup, thankfully, and slightly uncharacteristically not saying anything about Minghao’s decor. But on their way in, Jeonghan, Seungcheol, and Seungkwan all offered him pointed looks as they took in the sight of his living room, which is practically a Mingyu Museum.

Despite how often he sees him photographed, Minghao has yet to see Mingyu’s face since the party, and if it weren’t for his name being thrown around on occasion throughout conversation, Minghao would think he vanished off the face of the Earth.

Seokmin nudges him on the shoulder, pulling him out of his thoughts as he realizes how long he’s been silent for. Seungcheol and Junhui shoot him worried glances but he waves them off, settling into a discussion with Jeonghan and Joshua over something or the other.

Minghao’s new found relationship with Jeonghan is perhaps the most puzzling subject of the past few weeks. He and Jeonghan seem closer now than they ever did before the breakup, actually, moreso even since the beginning of the exhibition. It seems that Jeonghan knows everything about Minghao, knows about the development of his life recently and has decided he is now worth actually being friends with. He doesn’t know how to feel about it. Minghao brought it up to Joshua offhandedly one day, before opening, but Joshua waved off his slightly ill feelings towards Jeonghan.

“Jeonghannie is... protective. I don’t think he decided you were worth it, he’s not like, malicious or anything. I guess, maybe he’s recognized the seriousness of your intentions or something. Not saying it's one hundred percent healthy at all times, but he cares fervently for his friends. He cares for you too, whether you’d like to believe it or not,” Joshua had said.

Now, he accepts the new lack of animosity gracefully, enjoying a peaceful conversation with the older. At least, for a moment, because, Yoon Jeonghan is Yoon Jeonghan.

“So, Minghao, I listened to the song you did with Cheollie,” Jeonghan says, with a characteristic smirk on his face. Of course he did, Seungcheol would never dream of doing anything in this world without Jeonghan knowing about it. Minghao hadn’t even heard the finished product yet, Seungcheol asserting it would be best if he did when the rest of the public did. For whatever reason. “The lyrics are so.. real.”
Him and Joshua share a knowing glance. And again, of course, because Jeonghan would never dream of holding a piece of information without Joshua knowing about it. He curses the trickle down dynamics of his eldest friends. Because, when Joshua knows something, everyone knows about it.

Minghao chooses his next words carefully, searching for the best way to smoothly remove himself from this conversation. Anything that starts with Jeonghan speaking in that tone is volatile, a true recipe for disaster. Minghao thinks Jeonghan should write a cookbook: Stirring Up Trouble -- Yoon Jeonghan’s ultimate guide to making your continued existence everyone’s problem.

“Thank you, hyung, I appreciate it.” Jeonghan frowns ever so slightly, unpleased with the lack of material he has going forward. Minghao soaks in the slight pause, beginning to get up off the couch. But Jeonghan’s not done.

“Did you have any particular… experiences in mind? It sounds quite specific,” he says, pointedly staring at the framed polaroid of Minghao, Seokmin and Mingyu on the end table next to them. It’s quite a blunt remark for Jeonghan, always the lover of frustratingly coded suggestions that leave the recipient wracking their mind. He’s a genius, Jeonghan is. Joshua nudges Jeonghan on the shoulder, whispering his name accusingly, but he has a smirk on face that almost terrifyingly matches Jeonghan’s. Minghao needs to exit this situation immediately.

“Well, everyone interprets music differently right? I’ll leave it up to you, hyung,” he says hurriedly, dashing to the kitchen to refill his wine. He ends up downing his entire glass in one go, wincing at the taste.

Truthfully, despite the image he’s developed, Minghao really does prefer soju, only developing his affinity for the other drink because of Mingyu. They were, as Seungkwan often complained, disgustingly pretentious. Mingyu and Minghao were the type to attend every exhibition and gallery that was held every weekend, indulge in the champagne and wine set out, comment on the notes of each drink as they gently sloshed around the liquid in the glass, take note of the choices of music and the way they contributed to the ambiance of the exhibition. High end fashion magazines on the coffee table, Saturday nights spend watching fashion shows, munching on macarons as they critiqued the collections (The “critique” in question was usually just cursing out Kim Jones for destroying the face of Fendi.) Complete snobs.

Yet, the synthesis of their passions brought out the best in them; Minghao could never get enough of Mingyu’s face as they (finally) came across a particularly stunning collection, gears in his brain visibly turning as his creative juices were working on high. There is so much of Mingyu he loves, Minghao thinks. Just so much.

The evening ends calmly, without much of a bang, as compared to the way their college hangouts would end.

(Soonyoung and Junhui wrapped around each other on the floor, in tears about how much they love each other while Wonwoo and Jihoon try to pry them apart. (“They’re trying to keep us apart!” “We’re star crossed lovers, fated to fall to ruins!”) Jeonghan and Seungcheol mysteriously never present. Joshua too, but that’s something Minghao has never dared to unpack. Seokmin, Seungkwan and Chan nearly breaking the karaoke machine from the sheer amount of songs they’re singing. Seungkwan and Chan nearly breaking the damn microphone from fighting over who gets to sing the next song, despite Minghao and Mingyu owning four karaoke mics. Hansol doing something completely random like attempting to solve a Rubik’s Cube while sitting in the bathtub. Minghao didn’t know he had owned a Rubik’s Cube in the first place.)

That night, however, everyone leaves only slightly tipsy. Minghao feels a pang of desire for his youth, thinking how they’d probably never be like that again. Seokmin stays behind to help Minghao clean up, but, seeing as there’s not much to clean up in the first place, he knows it's only an excuse for a movie night.

As they’re cuddled in Minghao’s bed, Minghao opens Netflix, preparing to choose the movie for the night (He lost rock paper scissors). He hovers the cursor over the first Harry Potter movie, not ever intending to click on it, just lingering as a reminder to himself of the thing he has to do that seems to be getting closer and closer, despite him not having a set date at all. Seokmin rests his head on Minghao’s shoulder and lets out a deep sigh.

“Soon,” he whispers. And Minghao nods. Soon, indeed.

---

Too soon.

Minghao glares at his expression in the mirror, thoroughly displeased with the outfit he’d picked out for himself the night before. He must have been drunk or something, because everything is unflattering, nothing matches. He throws off the shirt in frustration, going back to his closet to dig through for something. A brief glance at the clock tells him he only has 20 minutes before he has to be out the door, not nearly enough time. He wants to bang his head against the closet door.

He has to put together an art exhibitionesque outfit that he has not worn in the past fifteen days of the exhibition. So, pretty much impossible. After some desperate digging, he uncovers the pale green dress shirt he’d been deliberately avoiding wearing for some time. It had been, of course, a gift from Mingyu, a gift Mingyu had been so proud of, so Minghao tended to wear it quite often to please him. And not just that, but because it did suit him well, color flattering against his skin, and a perfect fit. He sighs, he’s desperate, and it’s a good shirt. If it’s a good shirt, he’s going to wear it. He ends up pairing it with some signature black jeans, really not having time for anything elaborate, throws on a dark brown coat, and heads out the door.

Per usual, the gallery opens at 7, and the masses slowly trickle in. He would consider this a particularly good night, despite it being a Thursday, having attracted even more attention from the few articles published over the weekend. He finds himself getting pulled aside to provide his commentary on his pieces more often, a sign that people are engrossed in his work, a sign that he’s likely to get even more attention. All in all, he feels good, body loose from the glass of champagne he’s been lightly sipping on. Joshua approaches him every so often excitedly, recognizing the quality of the night.

He’s engaged in delightful conversation with one of Seoul’s prominent sculptors when he sees a familiar huddled figure enter the gallery. His hat is pulled low, large coat shadowing his entire body, even went as far as to wear a mask, and Minghao would think some idol has come to his exhibition, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s committed that particular figure to memory.

Minghao is less shocked by the fact that Mingyu actually came than by the way he has chosen to attempt to conceal himself. Besides that Mingyu is easily the tallest person there, did he seriously think Minghao just wouldn’t notice him at all?

While deciding whether or not to approach him outright, or to give it some time, Joshua comes up again and looks descriptly in Mingyu’s direction, a silent question in his voice. His expression is exasperated, like he, like Minghao, can’t believe what Mingyu is doing. Minghao shakes his head, deciding he better make a move now before Mingyu realizes the ridiculousness of his appearance, or before he just chickens out, and leaves. He sets down his flute and charges determinant over to Mingyu.

“What’d you think?” he asks, standing next to him with his arms crossed. Mingyu literally jumps, startled, far too dramatic, as always. He doesn’t respond immediately, taking a deep sigh as he pulls the cap up, taking the face mask off.

“Seungcheol hyung told me it was stupid,” he mutters. Minghao resists the urge to laugh out loud in this very classy environment, giving a small giggle instead. “You really weren’t fooling anyone, Mingyu-ah.”

Mingyu blushes ever so slightly at Minghao’s use of his name, and Minghao’s heart races in response. “It’s all wonderful, Minghao, seriously. I think this is your best work. You should be really proud of yourself, it’s all-” He pauses again. It’s rare for Mingyu to be unable to convey his emotions, especially when it comes to art. Because how could he not know, not know when Minghao bared his entire soul onto these paintings and placed it in front of him. Minghao’s heart is beating so fast at this point, he thinks he could pass out on the spot. And him and Mingyu have barely spoken. Dear God.

“I should have come earlier. I’m sorry for, for not coming,” he says quietly. Minghao shakes his head.

“You don’t owe me anything, Mingyu. You shouldn’t have to do anything,” he replies. Mingyu lowers his head, fumbling with his fingers, slowly trying to make himself smaller.

“No, I, I wanted to. I love looking at your work, I’m sure you know that. It’s weird seeing all this for the first time through an exhibition, usually I-” he pauses. “But I was stuck in this limbo of not wanting to make a big statement or something, and I, I don’t know,” he sighs again. And then, in almost a whisper of a confession, he says: “I hate the way things are.”

Minghao doesn’t know what to say. Me too, take me back and I’ll make you happy forever. Well, it’s the utmost truth, but he chooses to say nothing in response, hoping somehow, Mingyu gets his message. He always has.

“Why don’t you stick around, we got half an hour until closing, then you can drive me home,” is all he says. Mingyu looks up at him and gives him a ghost of a smile, which is enough to get Minghao’s heart racing again. He sends Joshua over to keep Mingyu company in the meantime, praying the crowd will trickle out sooner than right at closing time.

As he busies himself with entertaining the guests that come up to him, he sneaks glances at Mingyu from across the gallery. The light above each painting highlights Mingyu’ skin so beautifully that Minghao wants to take one of the paintings down and put Mingyu up instead. At this point, his heart is having a field day, doing flips and turns around his ribcage as he simply watches Mingyu, who is looking at his art with an unveiled, deliberate pride and appreciation.

After what seems like an eternity, Minghao and Joshua are able to close the gallery for the night. Joshua hurries out as fast as his feet can carry him, leaving with a wink and a call of, “Use a condom!”, making the two of them blush terribly.

The car ride back is silent, both of them content with finally being in each other’s presence again, for real. Minghao watches Mingyu drive, (one-handedly, it’s doing something to other parts of Minghao, because he’s absolutely smitten for Mingyu and attracted to literally everything he does), looking at the visually appealing curves of his jaw, his lips, his nose. His side profile is as perfect as the rest of him. Minghao is drowning in strawberries and roses, and it’s the best he’s felt in months.

That is, until Mingyu pulls up to the curb of Minghao’s complex, and Minghao realizes that the make or break moment has finally arrived. None of them make a move to turn towards each other, and Minghao sure as hell is not getting out of Mingyu’s car. Eventually, Minghao accepts that he has to make the first move. Something he’s known all along of course.

“To start off, I’m sorry. I don’t know how much it means to you at this point, but you never deserved any of the things I did to you,” he says. Mingyu doesn’t reply, just nods, a silent cue for Minghao to keep going. “I honestly can’t fully explain why I.. broke up with you. I just, I want you to know it wasn’t your fault.”

And he lied, he’s lying and he doesn’t know why. Of course, he knows why he broke up with Mingyu, how could he not, at this point? Somehow, the truth he thought he’s faced a billion times seems just too scary to say out loud when it’s to the person who it's affected the most. The innocent civilian absolutely ruined by the storm. The beautiful boy who wears his heart on his sleeve who fell for the boy with the shadow that swallowed him whole, pushing the other boy out, and far away.

Mingyu groans in frustration, slamming his head down onto the steering wheel. “This! This is the problem!” he exclaims, so loudly it makes Minghao wince. He cannot make this a yelling match, right now. “You don’t talk to me, you don’t let me in! You’re sitting here lying through your teeth, because I can see there’s a reason, and it’s on the tip of your tongue, but after everything, you still won’t tell me!” Minghao opens his mouth to respond, but Mingyu keeps going.

“I’m not saying you have to sit down and tell me every deep dark insecurity you’ve harbored for the past 23 years, but if it becomes so big of a problem where it makes you feel the need to break up with me, you need to tell me! I’m not saying I’m perfect either, I could do the same thing, and it’s exactly where our relationship fell apart. So I’m sitting here, trying to communicate myself to you. Please, please, do the same.”

He’s begging, his eyes are pleading with such an intense desperation and Minghao almost can’t stand it. “I’m so scared. I’m so scared you’ll see how good you are and get up and leave. So I had to first. I’m sorry, for the way I did it. Truthfully, I regret doing it in the first place, because I think being with you is worth anything else, but I can’t help being scared. You’re… you’re so, you’re everything. And I’m, well.”

And now, Mingyu looks just sad, it’s not a pitiful sadness, just a pure desperate sadness, like he’s fighting every urge in his body to reach out for Minghao. Minghao kind of wants him to. “Do you not believe me when I say that I’m yours, all of me? Everything? When I say that I would never leave you, no matter what happens, I would never leave your side. It’s the only place I want to be.”

Minghao feels the profound words so ardently in his chest. They sink to the middle of his heart and are absorbed by every bit of his cells. So he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know why he shakes his head, and says, “I’m still scared. This is too scary.”

Mingyu drops his head down between his shoulders again and gives a ragged breath. Minghao realizes now that he’s crying, and he feels completely ill. How many times has he made Mingyu cry in the past seven months without realizing it? This beautiful, effervescent human being, should never be sad. Minghao has caused that. He feels like he doesn’t deserve anything now.

“Maybe. If I can’t be enough. If my words aren’t enough. Maybe we shouldn’t be together at all,” Mingyu says softly. Minghao, for all his preparations throughout the greater part of his relationship to hear those words come out of Mingyu’s mouth, realizes it’s no less painful than he initially thought it would be. It’s a hot knife, cutting all of him apart. But he’s tired, he’s so tired, he doesn’t know what to say to stop this conversation from going in circles. So he ends it.

“Maybe not.” Mingyu frowns, obviously not expecting Minghao to say that. Expecting Minghao to fight for him harder, Minghao had expected himself to do so as well. He’s always been good at disappointing himself out of all people. “Goodnight, Mingyu.”

Minghao ignores Mingyu’s desperate call of his name as he climbs out of the car, practically dragging himself up the stairs to his apartment. He feels the knife cut deeper as he walks past every picture of Mingyu and him. If he weren’t so tired, he may have felt compelled to stand there and smash all of them to the ground, to symbolize the ache in his heart absolutely consuming all of his senses.

He flops on his bed, pulling out his phone to check the time, when he pauses at the sight of an orange notification on the screen. It’s from Soundcloud, indicating Chilli’s uploaded a new song. Minghao’s breathing picks up its pace as he swipes open his phone, seeing the cover of his song glaring back at him. He takes a deep breath to ground himself, haphazardly throws his earbuds in, and listens.

The song starts with the crooning violins, a suggestion from Minghao to Jihoon. If he had to pick an instrument to master, Minghao thinks, he’d pick violin. There’s something profound about the sounds a violin can make, especially in relation to the sentiments of this song. Then, Minghao listens to his own voice come in with the first chorus, feeling rather proud of the way it sounds completed. Jihoon fitted it in perfectly, without taking away the initial qualities of his voice that Seungcheol valued so much.

However, Minghao’s heart stops when the rap begins. The lyrics are the same, but the voice is obviously different from the guides Minghao’s heard. Because that’s not Seungcheol’s voice, it’s Mingyu’s. Mingyu fervently, yet gently rapping about a desperate desire, akin to the feeling reflected in his eyes not fifteen minutes prior. Minghao scrambles to pick up his phone again, sliding down to the description of the song, searching for the credits. And there it is, lyrics, Xu Minghao and Kim Mingyu.

He reads Seungcheol’s little note at the bottom: Shoutout to our good friend Minghao for doing some of the writing and singing vocals! I hope this serves the purpose it was meant to. - Coups

Minghao wants to call Seungcheol and Jihoon (And Jeonghan, just for good measure) and curse them out, because, oh god this is slightly mortifying. Minghao and Mingyu singing about each other while obviously having no idea that their parts would be going on the same track. Belatedly, he thinks there’s something tragically romantic about it.

But he has no time to entertain that thought, because ninety percent of the cells in his body are devoted to storming out of his apartment and getting to Mingyu, just hoping he’s still there. He thinks it’s a fruitless pursuit, until he sees Mingyu standing in front of the door of his apartment, panting like he’s just run a marathon.

“Took the stairs. Elevator was taking too long,” he says in between breaths, practically folded over in exhaustion. And Minghao is so in love, it’s going to destroy him.

Minghao pulls him up, cups his cheeks, stares into his eyes for a few beautiful moments, before pulling him into an enthusiastic kiss. Mingyu makes a small noise in surprise before kissing back with equal fervor, their mouths moving heatedly against each other, getting even closer together as Mingyu puts his own hands around Minghao’s cheeks. It’s messy, downright gross, completely graceless, but it fills Minghao with an inexplicable emotion, beautiful and complete, and he welcomes it with all of him.

After a few minutes, they part, leaning their foreheads against each other, once again, like in the car, content with basking in each other’s presence and nothing more.

“You wrote lyrics for me,” Mingyu says, finally.

“And you did for me. And you just walked up five flights of stairs for me.” Mingyu laughs.

“Ran, actually. And, I’m always writing lyrics for you. You wrote lyrics for me, and you painted for me. You’re everything to me, I could never just let you go. Never. I will do my very best to make all of your fears go away. I take all of you, I accept and love all of you,” he breathes deeply again. “You’re everything to me,” he repeats, in a whisper, like it’s the only thing he needs to say. And it is, because Minghao reaches up to cup his cheeks again, smiling up at him.

He kisses Mingyu’s forehead, both of his cheeks, his eyelids, the tip of his nose, and finally plants a chaste kiss on his lips. Mingyu giggles, practically melts in his hold, and Minghao can’t believe he hasn’t done this in seven months. Didn’t know how he got up and lived and breathed without it.

“I love all of you too. I love every single part of you. You give me so much to love. None of this is worth it, who gives a fuck what the ending is going to look like? I want to be here with you. And that’s more than enough,” Minghao replies. They stand like that for quite a while, arms wrapped around each other like it always was before. It’s just them in the entire world, them and this apartment filled with their memories, filled with their love. That’s what they are, two people, in love. That will always be more than enough. The flowers in his chest dance to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

---

Minghao wakes with Mingyu’s arms around him. He lays like that, turning to see Mingyu’s face still overcome with sleep, the warmth of his body filling Minghao with pure elation. His black hair is returned to its rightful place, head fitting perfectly in the indent of his pillow. Completion. Everything is whole.

Seungcheol is the first person he texts that morning, a simple “Thank you.” to which he receives about a billion heart emojis and exclamation points in response. Always trust in the Seungcheol to everybody else pipeline, because within the hour, just about all of his friends have sent him excited messages. Junhui has even changed the name of the group chat with all thirteen of them to: GYUHAO RESURRECTION

Even Jeongguk texts him, his own bout of heart emojis, followed by a short message of “im so sos sos sosos sssososo happy!!!!!!!!!!!!!”. Which says a thousand words.

Minghao takes a deep inhale, strawberries and roses flooding his senses in the most perfect way, as Mingyu begins to become restless in the sheets, stretching his arms in the air with a yawn.

“Good morning, baby,” Minghao whispers. Mingyu hums in response, tightening his arms around Minghao again, smacking his lips sleepily. Minghao giggles softly, running his fingers through Mingyu’s hair gently. He presses a soft kiss to his forehead and Mingyu sighs in pleasure. “C’mon, get up, make me some pancakes.”

Mingyu makes a noise of indignation. “Is this why you got me back, so I can be your personal chef?” Despite his words, he begins to sit up in bed.

“You caught me.” Mingyu pouts, and Minghao kisses him deeply. They fall into the kissing for sometime, Minghao ending up on top of Mingyu as they lay in the sunlight, showing each other how much they love each other, how much they missed each other, with soft touches of adoration.

He has everything he could want and more, Minghao thinks, looking down at Mingyu, hair still messy, eyes still crusty around the edges. Nothing is more perfect than this. There are more memories and beautiful moments with the even more beautiful boy underneath him in bloom. He leans down to kiss his boyfriend again, the true personification of hope. And hope, Minghao thinks, is the most beautiful feeling of all.