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Technically speaking, Minghao had been the first one to leave the morning they called it quits.
It had been unlucky from the start. Mingyu and Seokmin, both in inexplicably sour moods, started the day off on the wrong foot. They were cramped in their tiny bathroom, hissing about something Minghao couldn't exactly make out, not with the toothbrushes in their mouths and the door shut behind them.
Minghao hovers by the threshold, anxiously waiting his turn. It wasn't the first time they'd kept him out of the loop like this. And maybe they'd caught him on the wrong day. He tries to be a virtuous person, but he's never been too good at practicing patience. He's not sure if he could stomach this any longer.
So, in a spur of the moment, Minghao skips his usual skincare routine and opts to wash his face in the kitchen sink. Then he heads to work early, even taking the long way to enjoy the blazing sun while it's out.
Outside, the spring air grazes Minghao's dry skin as he has to shove their janky front door three times to shut it. He puts an earbud in, and the mellow guitar immediately floods his senses when his boots hit the pavement. The strange neighborhood cat loiters around the steps as usual, smugly raising its fluffy orange head at Minghao.
He finds himself smiling back.
Wеlcome to the other side, the low voice drones into his ear as he chases the cat down the sidewalk, stepping around the dandelions blooming from the cracks.
I keep losing my temper for you.
Minghao's steps falter. He quietly watches the tabby cat disappear into the corner as he comes to a full stop. Inside, his heart lurches and he's pausing the music before he realizes it.
It's frustrating. One moment Minghao’s oblivious of his feelings. The next moment it’s all in his face—wholly and utterly inescapable.
Minghao ends up staying at the firm too late.
When he's done sifting through as many case files as his brain allows him to, he belatedly remembers to check his phone. Seokmin's worried messages pop up on the screen, timestamps spread out an hour apart:
Minghaooo
Did you eat yet? Think you forgot about our lunch plans but that's ok ╥_╥
Gyu said he didn't see you at our spot. What's going on?
Shit. He hurriedly sends Seokmin a text telling him he's on his way home and then checks his message thread with Mingyu. Nothing. Minghao sends him a text too.
It's eerily quiet when he arrives at their apartment. Where Minghao would usually find Mingyu and Seokmin cuddling or trying to jump each other's bones, he finds the mismatched beige loveseat empty, old cushions slightly dented with the soft impressions of somebody's weight.
Minghao locks the door behind him and slips off his boots before sauntering over to the living area, the sound of socks padding the wooden floors echoing into the emptiness.
"I'm home!" he yells, more for his boyfriends' sake than his own.
Seokmin comes trudging out of the room a few moments later, Mingyu's oversized t-shirt hanging from his shoulders. His hair is in disarray and he's rubbing at red-rimmed eyes. He doesn't say anything. Just looks at Minghao, like he's searching for something on his face.
"Oh. Seokminnie," Minghao reaches out with a sympathetic hand, "What's wrong?"
Seokmin's bottom lip starts quivering a little. "Mingyu—he, uh." He lets out a shaky, fragile breath like he's trying to keep it together and he's incredibly angry that he's failing at it. Minghao knows what that's like.
He sighs. "Mingyu said he's—he's done."
"Done with what," Minghao says.
Seokmin’s trying his best, but he’s never been good at holding back tears. "Done with this," he chokes out, laughing wetly, exasperatedly, as Minghao feels his blood turn cold. "Done with us."
Mingyu hides.
Wonwoo lets them know he's staying with him over a text message, which does very little to soothe Minghao. He spends the rest of the day nursing growing pains in the low lights of his bedroom, trying to drown out the sound of his internal dialogue altogether.
He's tired of having space, he wants to be held, to fall asleep in his boyfriends' strong arms. He feels so stupid, wanting something that's across the hallway. But Seokmin needs quiet and Minghao has too much pride, so they stay where they are. Together, they stay alone.
The next morning, Minghao finds himself standing in the doorway, still in his pajamas. He'd woken up to the sound of sure footsteps and creaky cabinets opening and closing—sounds of a decision.
On the other side, Seokmin fidgets with an overnight bag in his hand, telling Minghao he'd be staying with Jeonghan for a few days.
"Just to get my head screwed on right," he says apologetically, averting his eyes before dropping a guilty kiss on Minghao's morning-greasy forehead.
Understanding is dreary and cold as it settles Minghao's stomach. Seokmin isn't brave in the reckless way Mingyu is, isn't brave enough to do something drastic. Maybe he wanted to give Minghao an out first. Maybe—
Don't go, Minghao wants to say. Don't go, because you should be here with me.
But the words get strangled and lodged in his throat. He falls behind and watches Seokmin leave. Then he goes back inside to get himself ready for the day.
Minghao returns to an empty husk of a home, and that's when he just about breaks in half.
He's retracing his footsteps, he's shell-shocked and still trying to make sense of everything. Frantically, stupidly, desperately racking his mind for logic and reason. Maybe he ought to reevalute the structural integrity of their now-fragile triangle, but he's no architect. That's always been Mingyu.
Nobody texts or calls that night. Minghao's already been kept in the dark for some time. He knows that much. Wonders if that's his fault, too—he'd been so busy with this stressful internship and bills and missing out on sleep—or theirs. But he just can't make sense of it on his own.
Instead he pushes past his hurt and video calls Junhui. Wishes him good luck on his upcoming performance. Tells him he misses him very badly, doesn't tell him about his trainwreck of a love life. Junhui still smiles with all his teeth and blows him a sweet kiss through the screen before Minghao has to call it a night.
One time in junior year, Minghao had gotten rejected from an internship he didn't necessarily even need or want. In a fit of pique, he couldn't stop whining about it over brunch with Junhui.
"Xiao Hao Hao, you want so much," Junhui had said to him that day, breezy and bright blue. He said it lightly, benevolently, like it was just another unshakeable truth about the universe.
And there’s no use for deniability when it's too true to ignore. Minghao is teeming with desire. He wants a lot of things. He wants to be good. He wants to do good. He wants—
He's not sure if that matters anymore.
Back then, Minghao had simply brushed Junhui's words off and continued moodily stabbing at his food.
Now he's alone, wrapped in his bed covers, watching the horizon change colors through his window. Wondering if he's wanted too much all this time.
Wondering if he and Seokmin and Mingyu had flown too close to the sun together, hand in hand in hand.
Three lives, interwoven:
It's a known fact that Mingyu and Minghao's jobs are through their alma mater. It's also a fact that Seokmin still frequents the arts department to meet up with Seungkwan for lunch. And the three of them liked being dormmates enough to decide they’d try it again in a nearby apartment after graduation.
When all was said and done and they had made their mutual feelings clear to one another, dating seemed like a natural progression of things. An inevitability that felt like settling and planting roots, just to keep each other in their lives. Individual strings tethered to a single fixture, sprouting away in centrifugal motion.
Minghao's running out of analogies at this point.
When you're twenty-something, roots get torn out of the soil while other flowers bloom in spring. Cornerstones don't last forever. The immediacy of a shitty little apartment can't keep people together on its own, not when you start to grate against one another, edging on incompatibility.
The truth is, none of them had planned for a break. Minghao could've continued to avoid things as much as he wanted to, but shit happens anyway. Like it's meant to be, except it shouldn't be. But it just is.
Maybe a rude awakening, in any shape or form, was somewhat inevitable. It had only been a matter of time before they stretched too far and split apart.
Summer before their senior year, a spontaneous trip in between visiting family and work. The water was kind, the sun even kinder. One night they found themselves laying on a huge towel by the shoreside in their swim trunks, passing around a bottle of red and smelling like salt air and sunscreen.
"We'll be real adults after this school year," Minghao had mused, swirling his cheap plastic cup. "That's so scary."
"Real adults," Mingyu repeated, slower this time.
Seokmin tugged at his ear and stuck his tongue out. "Scary adults!"
Minghao laughed mirthfully. "Hey, Mingyu, I think Seokmin's had too much to drink."
Seokmin clutched the wine close to his chest, pouting despite the wild drunkenness in his eyes. "No, no, no!"
"You're cute," Mingyu said with a fond smile. Then he turned on his back, laying his head flat on Minghao’s bare thigh and looking up at both of them. The kind of look that made Seokmin want to indulge him and made Minghao want to run away.
It had been before any of them even confessed to each other. But Mingyu was never good at hiding his feelings.
“Adults,” he breathed out again. Like he was reminding himself of what came next. “Does that mean we have to stop doing this," Mingyu whispered. He’d never been good at mincing words either.
They didn't have to ask him to say it again. This. The budding sprout of what they had then, new and gentle and soft.
Early mornings of Seokmin sliding under Mingyu’s covers and shyly requesting him to cook kimchi jjigae, simply because he’d missed the taste. Late evenings where Minghao came home with quiet tiredness weighing on his shoulders as he eagerly asked them both about their day over dinner and drinks. Starting and ending the days with the sound of Seokmin's singing, like a clock of their own. Knowing someone's there to push back strands of hair as they made a mess of themselves over the toilet bowl. Touches that spoke of something deeper than familiar domesticity between friends.
This. It had always been them—it had always been Minghao and Mingyu and Seokmin.
Minghao’s hand rested on Mingyu’s cheek and jaw, both drunk enough to excuse it. He wiped off a dusting of sand with a gentle finger.
“Minggoo,” he said softly.
Mingyu shut his eyes. Painfully shut and scrunched up, he murmured, “Just tell me it doesn’t have to be over.”
And when Minghao couldn’t find the right thing to say, Seokmin had spoken for him. Latched onto Mingyu’s arm and brought his face down to his face, soft breaths cutting through the night air as their hesitant words laid in wait.
“Minggoo,” Seokmin assured him, and then the scared little lump in Minghao’s throat dissipated like dust. “Don't worry. We'll stay here."
"Really?"
"Of course." Seokmin pursed his mouth and nodded vigorously, pointed nose skimming Mingyu's reddening cheek. Like trying for a kiss. "Forever, and ever, and—"
Mingyu shot up and smacked his arm, face cracking with a wolfish grin. "Hey, now you're just making fun of me!"
Seokmin and Mingyu got childish after drinking too much. Minghao tried to calm them down with an amused grin tugging at his lips until they decided to direct the racket at him. He laughed as they drunkenly tackled him, pinning him to the towel and kissing his cheeks while kicking up sand.
The ocean is cruel when it wants to be. But at that moment, it acted as Minghao’s companion. All he could hear were its whispers in the distance and the persisting roar in his chest.
Seokmin and Mingyu finally released him and came up for air. The three of them, sun-kissed, drunk, lips bitten red and cheeks tinged with telling pink. At ease by the water. The three of them, staring at each other with some kind of awe.
"I'm happy here," Minghao said, the words light on his tongue yet heavy in his chest. "Aren't you?"
Seokmin nodded and smiled, pressing chapped lips to his jaw. Mingyu dropped his head on Seokmin's shoulder. Together, they breathed, and Minghao finally stopped aching.
"Do you really think we'd be good together?"
"What?"
"Like, compatibility-wise? Are we all good matches, for each other?"
"Seok—"
"I'm serious."
"I mean, it's a pretty good question."
"Well, it's definitely a question, I'll give you that."
"Shut up."
"Okay, well. I don't think any of that matters."
"That's a dumb response."
"Hey, don't be mean."
"It isn't mean if it's true."
"Oh my god. Can you just finish what you were saying?"
"Oh, yeah. I don't think it matters because you choose anyway, right? It's not always about matches. Sometimes, you just have to make these things work."
A voicemail finds Minghao a few days later.
Dial tone. "Minghao, babe, you know I love you both but you've got to do something about Seok—"
"—Jeonghan?"
"Goddamnit." There are shuffling sounds for a brief moment, then Jeonghan sounds far away from the mic. "Seoku, how are you feeling? Did you eat? Good. You can have a seat there, that's fine. I was just about to clean up anyways. No, no, you're my guest. You don't have to do that. Yeah, I'm serious. Go sit down."
"Minghao." Jeonghan's voice returns to its original volume, hissing, "He's fucking miserable. You need to fix—"
Minghao hangs up. Swallows spit, deletes the message. It's his day off and he's fucking tired.
He goes back to sleep.
When Minghao wakes up again, it's to the sound of rummaging in the kitchen.
He startles awake with gross breath and a razor-sharp feeling of panic shooting up his spine. This can't be happening, his foggy brain howls brokenly as he scrambles out of the sheets. This can't be happening.
But he knows better than to make noise, so he bites down on his tongue and creeps along the edges of his bedroom, slowly reaching for the box cutter on his desk. Thankfully, the bedroom door is already open. He tiptoes his way to the kitchen on the hardwood, freezing up at the tiniest sound and—
There's someone in a black sweatshirt cooking. Beside him, a fresh plate of noodles and cut fruit.
Minghao almost drops the box cutter on his toe. "Fuck," he hisses as it fumbles in his hand.
Mingyu whirls around where he stands, thoroughly frightened. "Hao? I didn't know you were up—hey." He shuts off the stove and points at the blade. "Put that thing down. Please."
Minghao shakily lowers the box cutter, exhaling. "What the hell is this, Mingyu? You couldn't fucking call? You scared the absolute shit out of me."
He's in bad shape. His under eyes swell with bags Minghao hasn't seen since finals week of senior year. His face looks paler. He's wearing a cap under his hoodie, and that could only mean his hair has gone a few days without a wash.
It's unsettling to see him like this. He wants to reach out and touch his arm. Make sure he's really there.
Carefully, Minghao sits down at the table.
Mingyu scrubs his face with a hand. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry I—uh, I know I shoulda called."
"Yeah, no shit."
A heartbeat.
"Why are you here," Minghao spits out.
The words don't go down so smoothly. He furrows his brows. "Minghao, I—"
Minghao's eyes flick up to him, expectant.
"Wonwoo doesn't eat real food, and I got hungry." Mingyu sheepishly gestures to the plate to his right. "I also thought you'd get sick of ordering takeaway, so."
"You got hungry," he repeats, letting out a sour laugh. Minghao can't believe his ears. "You came back because you're hungry."
"Please," Mingyu's got an ironclad grip on the counter. He exhales slowly, like it pains him to do it. "Let's not do this right now."
Something heavy and sick settles in Minghao's stomach. Suddenly he's got enough power to fuel a shouting match, he realizes. "Oh, you've got some fucking nerve. You left Seokmin here, you left us—"
Mingyu sets his jaw. "If we're gonna talk, the least we could do is get Seokmin, then."
Minghao's cried his eyes out all week, but he's still blinking back frustrated tears. "No, you don't get to do that. You don't get to be rational. You left us," he cries out. "Is that fucking fair?"
"Alright." Mingyu's cheeks flush with fierce, hot red. "You know what isn't fair, Minghao? When you forgot our goddamn anniversary last month," Mingyu chokes out, nostrils flaring angrily as he forces out the words. "When Seokmin tried to calm me down and I listened. He told me not to confront you about it yet and I listened to him because I thought I was making the right fucking decision for once."
His words are a sucker punch to the gut. Whatever anger was left in Minghao swiftly exits his body, exorcism-style.
"I don't think we ever asked for too much," Mingyu shakily whispers, shrinking in on himself. "You— you let us down, and you didn't even notice that something was wrong."
Minghao stares down at his hands, swallows down his shame, his resentment. He's an idiot. He worried about all the wrong things. He never thought he'd—
"Seokmin's at Jeonghan's, right?” says Mingyu. It isn't really a question, but Minghao nods anyway. Hangs his head like a cornered dog, unable to make eye contact.
Mingyu just sighs and wraps Minghao's plate with foil. "Let's go get him, then."
A shock of auburn hair and wide eyes appear in the window as they approach the driveway in Mingyu's car.
Mingyu presses the doorbell. Minghao stays in his shadow, and they wait at the doormat for a few moments.
Jeonghan opens the door like he's been waiting for them. He pokes his head out with a small smile. "Oh, great. You bastards made up."
Mingyu tuts. "Well, not exactly."
Minghao hates how badly the words sting. He averts his eyes, shrinking into himself on instinct.
And nothing gets past Jeonghan. He eyes Minghao warily. "Ah, I changed my mind. I don't wanna hear about it,” he decides, throwing his head over his shoulder. "Seoku! Get down here! You've got company!"
"You gonna let us in while he gets his stuff," Minghao hedges, shifting from foot to foot.
Jeonghan gives him a look. "Absolutely not. We don't want your bad juju," he explains matter-of-factly, waving his hands around for effect.
Mingyu nods shortly. "It's cool, we'll just wait out here."
There's some shuffling from the living room, loud steps echoing. Seokmin walks towards the foyer, overnight bag in hand. He looks a little worse for wear, but still more put-together than Minghao and Mingyu. He stands in the doorway, eyes gleaming with something sweet and bright.
Seokmin bites his lip. "Hi," he says gently as Jeonghan claps him on the shoulder.
Minghao swallows hard and the dam breaks. Fuck. Seokmin's got him talking before he realizes it.
"Seokmin, I— God, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Minghao glances at Mingyu, lowering his head. "I was being an ass. I'm really sorry to you, too. I just wish you would've told me about... so we didn't have to do..." He gestures frantically between the three of them. "Do all of this."
Mingyu ducks his head. "No, yeah, that's on me. I'm sorry for walking out like that," he murmurs. "It wasn't right."
Minghao lets out a sobering breath.
Seokmin's watching them excitedly and it's nerve-wracking. It's terrible, hopeful butterflies flittering about in Minghao's belly. "Is it okay if I hug you both now? I'm still kind of mad, but I missed you and—"
"Yeah, yes. Of course."
They awkwardly laugh together and take turns sharing cautious looks, shuffling closer in front of the doormat. Seokmin shoulder-checks Jeonghan and reaches around Mingyu and Minghao's backs.
"I love you. Let's promise to never do this again," he whispers into their shirts, gripping with all his strength.
Mingyu and Minghao nod eagerly, heads bowed into each side of Seokmin's neck. "Never," Minghao agrees quietly.
"Do you really need to do this on my porch?" Jeonghan complains tiredly. He glances up at the unpromisingly gloomy clouds before looking at them again. "I feel like I'm watching a cheesy drama right now."
Minghao lets out an honest-to-god snort, gracefully muffled by Seokmin's chest. "Why don't you fuck off somewhere, Jeonghan? Don't act like you don't secretly like it."
"This is literally my house," Jeonghan whines.
Mingyu lifts his head. "No, it's Seungcheol's house. You're just the worst freeloader ever."
Jeonghan leans back against the doorjamb, dismissively waving a hand. "Ah, that's all semantics. I pay him in undying love and affection, so."
Seokmin breaks out of the hug to pat Jeonghan's fluffy red head. "Thanks for letting me crash at Seungcheol's house," he says happily.
"Quiet, trespasser," Jeonghan demands, knobby hands rattling his door by its hinges. "Don't you people have homes of your own? Go! Get out of my sight."
The quiet drive home gets eclipsed by storm clouds looming above. They come back to a jammed handle, which Mingyu has to practically wrench loose just to open the door while Minghao and Seokmin putter about, anxious to escape the oncoming rain.
Seokmin's nose immediately wrinkles as he steps inside the apartment. "Hao, did you take out the trash? It's starting to smell in here."
Minghao doesn't reply. Without them around, he'd been wandering around the space like a ghost.
Mingyu sets the keys down and moves to get the kitchen garbage underneath the sink. "Seokminnie, you get the bathroom then." Seokmin hums an affirmative.
The sink, Minghao notices belatedly, is shiny and clean in the way only Mingyu knows how to accomplish. The sight makes him want to scream and cry.
"No." Minghao stops Mingyu in his tracks. "No, please, let me do it."
Mingyu retracts his hands. "Minghao, you don't have to. It's okay. We can clean it up." He scratches his head. "I shoulda done it before."
Minghao furiously shakes his head as a fresh tear slides down his face before he can stop it. "It's not fair." He feels so cared for. He feels pathetic. "I keep doing this to you, and it's just not fair," he whispers, rubbing at his leaky eyes.
Seokmin settles beside him instead. "Hey, don't worry about cleaning right now." He pushes Minghao's trembling hand away, wiping the tears for him. "You want a bath?"
That's a pretty low blow—Minghao really does want a bath. The day has been something of an emotional rollercoaster, and he thinks he's crashing.
But he's not sure if he deserves it yet.
"Come on." Seokmin takes his hand and pulls Minghao up. He looks at him intently before his eyes flick over to where Mingyu's watching them, anxiously working his bottom lip.
Seokmin's voice is quiet and kind—so kind it makes Minghao ache—when he says, "There's no point in punishing yourself anymore."
That night, Seokmin carefully washes Minghao's overgrown hair in the bathtub, spindly fingers tenderly massaging his scalp.
Minghao holds his knees up to his face in the soapy water and cries and cries, getting the last of it out of his system.
Once Mingyu finishes up cleaning and reheating food, he slips into the bathroom and hovers by the toilet seat to wait his turn. He leans down, gently kissing Minghao's bare shoulder.
No one says anything. They don't really have to.
Later, they eat together at their warmly lit kitchen table in comfortable silence. Minghao slowly sips on scalding tea, letting his eyes linger on Seokmin and Mingyu as they share makgeolli with water from their hair steadily dripping down onto the wood.
Outside, it rains down on their patchwork home. In the slippery hands of spring, they come to life again.