Work Text:
MH
Minho can’t breathe.
The air is stagnant, warm, and stifling when Minho’s life comes crashing down in the cramped single bathroom hidden away in the corner of SIT’s administration building. A bead of sweat collects itself on his brow and slides down his left eyelid, dispersing itself on a thick curtain of lashes that is twitching near imperceptibly.
Minho cannot breathe.
He can’t even blink. His phone has long since slipped out of his grasp, falling to the tile floor with a resounding clatter close to where he kneels. His hands remain frozen in the air, positioned as if he were still clutching the device that had delivered the news of the end of his world. He thinks his hands are shaking. He’s not sure. He’s not sure of anything anymore.
There’s a comforting hand rubbing his back, the one point of contact grounding Minho to reality as his breaths come out in short, rapid gasps.
“Minho,” he hears. No answer. “Minho, listen to me.” The hand on his back stops suddenly, but the warmth returns when Minho feels calloused palms pressed to his wet cheeks. His face is turned gently, and finally, Minho raises his gaze to meet brown topaz. Seungmin.
Seungmin is kneeling in front of him, eyes searching his for signs of life flickering behind dark irises. “I need you to breathe with me, okay?” His thumbs press on the apples of Minho’s cheeks a bit firmer and he sucks in a breath exaggeratingly. Minho clutches onto this reality and breathes with him.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
Minho’s breathing evens out. For that moment, it feels almost like the danger has passed. As if everything would be okay. Minho exhales with something that feels close to relief, and his head tips down slightly, breaking eye contact. More hot tears spill over his bottom lashes, streaking down his face slowly.
Seungmin tips his head forward and rests his forehead against Minho’s. His stare is hot, and Minho can’t help but raise his gaze again to meet the heat. They’re close. So close.
Seungmin is still holding his face, the two points of contact burning themselves into his skin. Hesitantly, Minho lifts his own hand, clasping it over one of Seungmin’s. His hand is warm.
“You okay?” A pause. Minho’s lips part.
“No.” His voice comes out in a whisper. Something flickers in Seungmin’s eyes, and he drops his hands from Minho’s face. The loss of contact doesn’t last long, because then Seungmin is pulling Minho gently to rest his head in his lap, fingers carding through his hair, stringy with sweat.
(To have and to hold from this day forward)
Minho closes his eyes and buries his face in Seungmin’s sweater, memories rushing through his head. Seungmin. A sudden push. Seungmin. A video. Seungmin. A threatening text. Seungmin. A life-rending e-mail. Minho breathes in the scent of coffee. Seungmin. A familiar emotion bubbles up in Minho’s gut. Anger.
“I hate you.” The hand in his hair pauses for a split-second before it continues its movement.
“I know.”
“I hate you so much.” Minho feels tears prickling at the corners of his eyes again, his face scrunching up with frustration. “Why are you even here? Why did you do this to me? Why did you take that video? Am I that horrible --”
“Yes.” Minho sucks in a gasp, reeling. His answer is a vat of boiling water poured over Minho's body, opposite of cold realization. Seungmin’s grip in his hair tightens near imperceptibly.
“I didn’t intend it to turn out this way, but Minho, you are awful.” His fingers sweep over Minho’s hair. “But, I’m not much better. That’s why you’re stuck with me, the way it’s always been.”
Silence. Minho chokes out something that sounds like a chuckle. “Birds of a feather, huh?” Seungmin hums.
“Lee Minho, disgustingly wealthy, and Kim Seungmin, decidedly not.” Minho hears the smile in his voice.
(for richer, for poorer)
“I did this to you because you are horrible, and I am with you now because I am the same.”
(in sickness and in health)
Kim Seungmin is many things to Lee Minho. He's the familiar scent of roasted beans permeating his senses from his position of nosing into his sweater. He's the comfort that something he loathes will always be there for him, bitter as the blackest beans, scalding as the boiling water of his words.
Minho has no one and nothing left but this acidic embrace. He finds himself treasuring it dearly, clutching onto it as his last lifeline.
(to love and to cherish)
"’til death do us part, you think?" Minho says with humor he’s not sure he’s capable of. His fingers are digging into Seungmin’s sweater now. Please don’t leave me don’t leave me I’ll have nothing--
"...whatever you say, princess."
Silence. Minho exhales with relief, body relaxing into Seungmin’s hold.
“Then, I'll be okay. Then, we'll be okay.”
(And that is his solemn vow.)