Archive of Our Own

Warm breaths. Hands roaming over skin. Soft, plump lips moving languidly against Minho’s burning ones. 

The classic sound of party music, muffled by the walls surrounding them. Muffled enough for Minho to be able to pick up on every gasp, every whine that tears past whoever’s in Minho’s grip at the moment. 

He doesn’t know who they are but with the way their body seems to have completely surrendered to Minho’s touch, how that just feels oddly familiar to him, is enough to cloud his mind with dense, foggy lust. 

Their breaths leave them in thick, warm puffs which are felt all over Minho’s lips. The sensation is somewhat ticklish, and with Minho’s increasing arousal comes a sensitivity he’s barely experienced before on his lips. They’re tingling, even more so when the person surges forward again with intensified hunger and aggressively captures his lips with theirs in another, messier kiss. 

Spit makes its way onto both of their chins, and Minho can’t tell if it’s from him or the person who continues to attack him with rough and incredibly passionate movements. They’ve got a craze, he muses. 

The way they kiss is surprisingly familiar, almost as though the fervour he’s feeling here is a fervour he’s felt somewhere else. However, this particular passion lacks genuine feelings. 

It’s more of a lustful crave than anything, and Minho would be lying if he was to say that he didn’t feel somewhat off by it. 

His hands travel downwards, coming to rest on his partner’s hips while they continue to nibble and lick at his lips. 

Minho hisses when their crotches make contact, the sensation of that relieving pressure finally being delivered to him being enough to rip a low, guttural moan from deep within his throat. It’s a loud noise, too, and Minho probably should be embarrassed but considering he’s in a closet with loud music playing outside, there isn’t much to be embarrassed about. 

That is, until the other person abruptly pulls away with a sharp intake of breath. 

The atmosphere around them both drops significantly as soon as the kissing stops, and Minho is suddenly aware of how small the closet truly is. 

Because, even when apart, Minho can still feel their breath on his lips. 

Perhaps he was too loud—

“What the fuck?” The person incredulously laughs, arms around Minho’s neck dropping and giving him a not-so-light shove away. “You? Out of everyone out there?” 

Minho’s mouth falls open with a pop, and a funny, repugnant taste fills his tongue. 

Without hesitation it’s his turn to pull his arms away and take a step back, which isn’t far since, again, the closet is terribly tiny and obviously wasn’t made to hold two people with an appropriate distance able to be set between them. Especially— Especially not two people who hold distasteful, bitter sentiments about one another after a tumultuous ending to their relationship. 

Minho can’t help the scoff that leaves him. No wonder everything felt so familiar — he was making out with his fucking ex. 

They kissed in a manner so warm and full of fiery passion, while surrounded by a constant smouldering fire themself. A vigorous, burning hot fire of abhorrence; an ever constant resentment that Minho outspokenly — proudly — shared with them. To a higher degree, even, if it was possible. 

Hwang Hyunjin, art student and heartbreaker extraordinaire, is standing right in front of him and they had just been kissing Minho like their life depended on it. 

He hastily wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Minho’s so thankful he can’t see their face. Kissing them was enough to send him stumbling to the nearest garbage bin so he can lose his lunch and he just cannot imagine what he’d do if he had to see their stupid, stupid face up close. 

“Me?” Minho gasps out, biting back a sneer when he feels them jerk away. “I’m not exactly jumping with joy that you’re here.” 

An uncomfortable moment of silence follows his words; just the muffled party music seeping through the cracks of the door and filling the air resting between them. Feeling as though his air has become limited, Minho parts his mouth open ever so slightly and exhales in faint frustration. 

He can’t stand being in this damned closet. Especially not with Hyunjin pressed right against him. Their presence alone is beyond irritating, and apart from the light glint coming from their hair as whatever outside light coming through the top of the door hits it, Minho can’t see them. He can’t see them, and somehow, almost miraculously, they’re still managing to present an extremely aggravating image. 

Minho can’t fight the grimace that leaves him at that thought. After all, he used to think of Hyunjin as perhaps the best person to have ever come into his life, right when it was at its most dull. Now, however, he’d like to think that Hyunjin has become the very cause of their shared distaste for each other. 

(Breakups are always a horrible play of the blame game.)

Another sigh leaves him, harsher this time, and Hyunjin’s hands are on his chest again. 

“Get away from me. I can feel your breath on my face and it’s fucking disgusting.” 

Minho reels from the shove. It’s stronger than the last one, meaning it’s safe to assume that they’re also growing as irritated as he is, if not more. He braces himself against what he can only assume to be some random shelves, hands finding purchase on the edges as a few items are knocked over and roll onto the ground with a barely audible clatter. 

With a huff, Minho straightens up. “Funny. I don’t remember you complaining when you were just shoving your tongue down my throat.” 

“If I had known it was you I would’ve spat in your stupid face.”

“Oh yeah? You’re into that, aren’t you?” 

Hyunjin growls, arms flying out and scrambling to find something. Even with the muffled music, Minho can hear their sleeves rustle and the exasperated groans as their arms move almost erratically, nearly hitting him in the face on several occasions. 

But, he has no doubt that they would enjoy that thoroughly. Maybe more so than they enjoyed kissing him in a frenzy just moments before. 

Another swipe of Hyunjin’s arm and Minho is quick enough to dodge it. He’s rather pleased with himself, especially when Hyunjin lets out another noise of annoyance and he’s able to piece together that perhaps they were just making attempts to hit him while searching for whatever they’re looking for. 

Minho has the audacity to grin, “You missed.” 

“Shut—” Hyunjin’s arms finally stop their movements, and Minho braces himself for the next swing “—up.” 

There’s a split second of darkness and then, blinding light. The swing never comes. Instead, Minho’s eyes flutter repeatedly as he adjusts to the light and is gradually, perhaps a bit too gradually, met with Hyunjin’s piqued face. 

Their eyebrows are slightly furrowed together — well, from what Minho can see since they’re mostly covered by the fringe parted over their forehead. The haircut was new; Minho can distinctly remember from the group’s get-together just two weeks prior that Hyunjin’s hair had fallen past their shoulders. 

From what he could hear them telling Jisung over by the bonfire, their hair was severely damaged and had settled on cutting it all off to save themself the pain of spending unnecessary money on expensive hair treatments. And now that Minho recalls it, their hair had indeed suffered tremendously in the months following the breakup. 

Their hair, which now rests shorter than Minho’s, is enough to temporarily distract him. 

He’s disturbingly reminded of the haircut Hyunjin wore when they first met and if it wasn’t for the look of unwavering disdain sitting on their features Minho could’ve tricked himself into believing that these past few months were just a strange dream. 

As Minho glances back to their face, he can barely suppress the grimace at the unconcealed eye bags that sit under Hyunjin’s eyes. They’re dark, terribly so to the point where Minho can’t see the mole that rests on the left eye, and for a second he worries about their very obvious lack of sleep. It comes to him that if it wasn’t for the supple roundness of their cheeks, Hyunjin’s face would’ve looked sunken in and unhealthy. 

Well, it still looked somewhat unhealthy, but not too much. 

“Glad to see you still look fucking stupid.” 

….and Minho’s worry instantly fades away. 

He pulls away from Hyunjin’s space as best as he can and gives them a quick once over, a sneer slipping onto his lips before he could stop it. “Guilt keeping you up at night?” 

With a quiet scoff, Hyunjin averts their gaze and instead looks at a spot behind Minho. “From ever dating you? Definitely.” They reach over and nudge Minho with their foot. “Move over, there’s something behind you that I want to get.” 

Minho obliges with a roll of his eyes, taking a step to the side so Hyunjin can get whatever they’ve zeroed in on. 

Tired of being in the stupid closet, Minho grabs the doorknob and tries to turn it. However, it jams halfway through and he’s just barely able to hear the lock click in place. Frowning, he wiggles the doorknob over and over again in hopes of getting the lock to fix itself, but it doesn’t seem to want to budge. 

Huh?

“The fuck…?” He whispers to himself, leaning forward to see if putting his weight on it would do something. Another violent wiggle, and nothing happens. 

Groaning, Minho gives the doorknob one last shake in desperation but all he gets is a still-locked door and a snicker from his ex. 

He’s trapped. He’s trapped in this stupid closet with his stupid ex who, when he finally turns around and catches their eye again (though not before slamming his forehead against the surface of the door a couple times), is snacking on fucking gummy worms with a sadistic curl to the corner of their lips. 

Hyunjin slurps up another gummy worm and runs their tongue across the inside of their cheek. “Well, looks like Changbin did, in fact, not get the door fixed.” 

“You seem way too smug for an idiot stuck in a closet.” 

“And you are…?” 

“Stuck with you, unfortunately.” Minho replies swiftly, “And all you’re doing is eating gummies instead of being helpful.” 

Tossing the bag back onto the shelf, Hyunjin crosses their arms over their chest in an almost defensive manner and sighs heavily. Even with the few inches of space between them, Minho can feel their breath on him. The sigh they let out is one part peeved and another part tired, as though being in Minho’s presence has drained a considerable amount of their tolerance and energy. 

And as though that isn’t sufficient, Hyunjin has the audacity to give an exaggerated roll of their eyes along with a shake of their head in obvious disapproval of Minho’s jab. 

What seems to be a millennium ago, that shake of the head would’ve stemmed from playfulness. Minho would usually coax out that side of Hyunjin with his jokes, silly remarks that were intended to make Hyunjin want to roll their eyes at the absurd delivery of his words. Silly remarks that, within time and unfortunate circumstances, turned into bitter, spiteful jabs intended to make Hyunjin want to keep their distance. 

But Hyunjin is here, mere inches away, and they’ve been keeping up a front: unnerved, smug, and horribly annoying. 

It’s enough to offend Minho, who straightens up. 

“What? Too useless to ask for help?” He asks, watching as they pinch the bridge of their nose and school their expression. 

“I’m not doing this.” They reply, “Absolutely not. It’s like— Ugh. Listen, I’ll text ‘Lix, alright? He can come save us and you can go and continue your mission on finding someone to fuck.” 

“Oh thank goodness because I am really starting to lose my mind.” 

“Yeah? Well I didn’t ask to be here with you, either.” 

“I’m sorry, remind me of who was just making out with me a few minutes ago?” 

“All because someone wasn’t able to stop thinking with his dick for five seconds!” Hyunjin’s hands fly to their temples, the bottom of their hands pressed right against them. “And you constantly bitch and moan to Chan hyung about no one wanting to date you — this is why!” 

They groan in frustration after that, turning to face away from Minho. 

“You’re just too proud.” They’re not shouting anymore, but their voice is still louder than usual and it irks Minho to no end. “It makes it difficult to have a proper conversation with you.” 

Silence. And then, after a breath passes through each of them—

“You’re so fucking annoying, Hyunjin.” 

The words come out of him before he’s able to catch himself, and they’re disgustingly — horrifically — familiar. 

Hyunjin’s reaction shouldn’t be difficult to see, but it is. 

“You’re so fucking annoying, Hyunjin. Next time, don’t try to help, yeah?” 

Minho feels a lump form in his throat. 

“Maybe then people would like you.” 

Their upper body collapses in defeat as soon as the words register, hands falling from their head to dangle limply at their sides. They continue to stand tall, but it’s obvious to Minho that their demeanor has been completely reoriented. 

No words come out from either of them for a few moments, just barely there (and somewhat ragged) breaths from Hyunjin. 

Minho finds himself wishing for a laugh from them, even if it’s bitter, because he’s not particularly fond of the oddly placed guilt settling right in his stomach. The silence is awful. 

And in some terrible way it’s funny; the irony of finding their silence dreadful when all he’s done is tirelessly pray for it. 

In their right hand is their phone, displaying what appears to be a text conversation and Minho feels an odd pull to his chest. The pull becomes a violent yank when Hyunjin faces Minho again with an emotionless expression. And somehow, their bags appear darker. 

Hyunjin glances at Minho with sad, unfocused eyes but they seem to keep a bit of their front steady if the slight glare directed at him says anything, “So I’ve been told.”

Their voice comes out significantly quieter, maybe too quiet, and Minho can’t look at them for long. 

A faint crinkling of a package tells Minho that Hyunjin has reached for the gummy worms again. His throat runs dry when he remembers just how much they loved gummy snacks, especially the gummy rings they’d endlessly beg Minho for whenever they would visit the convenience store. 

It’s a fond memory, he has to admit; Hyunjin’s smile as they dumped nearly half the store’s supply of snacks and left Minho with no choice but to pay for everything. Everything except the ice cream they’d get, easily slapping down some money for their favourite frozen treat. 

“You make me pay for all this, but not the ice cream?” 

A tiny smile tries to tug itself onto Minho’s lips. Tries.

“The gummies taste better when you buy them for me.” 

A gummy addict. That’s what Minho would often call Hyunjin before slipping a gummy ring onto their finger and taking a bite out of it to mess with them. 

(And, it seems as if their obsession hasn’t tapered in the slightest.)

Hyunjin slowly chews on the candy and by the time Minho is able to bring himself to look at them again, their gaze has diverted to the floor. 

If it wasn’t for the slight tremble in their hands as they lift yet another gummy worm to their lips, Minho would’ve been fooled into believing that they were fine and… maybe even serene . But when they glance back at Minho and their eyes meet his, there’s a glimmer of loathing laced within their irises. A loathing that also comes in the form of tears welling up against their waterline, just barely at the edge. 

The front flickers.

They’re there for a second and when Hyunjin blinks— they’re gone.

….and it comes back.   

The closet suddenly feels smaller and the air between them is impossibly scarce. 

“Listen, Hyunjin, I—” 

Whatever Minho felt the unexpected urge to say is interrupted by the doorknob rattling quite violently. Just how Minho had shaken it before, except this time after a few more shakes and a pull, the lock makes a click sound and the knob fully turns, allowing for the door to open. 

Felix appears on the other side, hand curled around the doorknob with the face of a golden haired, befreckled hero — Minho’s hero — painted all over his features. He smiles at Minho as a greeting, though it’s somewhat stiff and before Minho can properly wonder as to why, Hyunjin is pushing past him and quietly thanking Felix with a curt nod of their head. It’s a tense gesture, but Felix doesn’t appear to take offence to it. 

Instead, he gives their shoulder a squeeze and points in the direction of the back door, where they’ll surely be able to leave the party without bringing attention to themself. 

With a soft ‘goodnight’ to Felix, Hyunjin then leaves, not sparing an eye back towards Minho. The bag of gummy worms, with only a few left over now, remains clutched in their hands. 

After they’re out of earshot — which isn’t far since the music has been nothing but stupidly loud for hours now — Felix sends Minho a grimace. 

“What was that all about?” He asks, sparing no time for bullshit. “Why the hell were you two in Changbin hyung’s shitty closet?” 

“I…” Minho can’t bring himself to answer. Everything within his mind is nothing but jumbled — a complete, erratic mess of conflicting feelings and thoughts after his unexpected encounter with Hyunjin in this stupid, stuffy closet. 

He tries to speak, to say anything that could appease either of them, but after a few seconds of trying he gives up and snaps his mouth shut. 

Their shared animosity didn’t feel as natural as it had on other occasions. Perhaps it was the fair bit of alcohol running through their systems or, more logically, the completely unexpected and embarrassing circumstances in which they found themselves in. After all, Minho hadn’t exactly wished to toss himself in such a humiliating predicament and so he could only figure that Hyunjin had been taken aback by the situation much like he was. 

It wasn’t everyday that you mistakenly make out with your ex that you supposedly hate very much; particularly so with the unmistakable amount of aggression and desire which had flowed between their locked lips. 

But Hyunjin just didn’t appear… right. 

Those eye bags weren’t there the last time Minho could bring himself to directly look at Hyunjin in the eyes. 

(It had been during one of their many spats. Started by a snide comment by Hyunjin as he’d been reaching for the popcorn Chan made, Minho simply found it fitting to retaliate with harsh words of his own and it escalated from there. It’d come natural to him, and the longer the argument dragged on the more he saw it easier to look right at Hyunjin’s face as he spat insult after insult right at them, much to the protest of the others. 

Hyunjin had remained in their spot on the sofa for a considerable amount of time. Their face was, for the most part, unnerved. Their eyes appeared uninterested. 

It deeply irked Minho to see them look so unbothered by his petty, perhaps even childish insults. He wanted to get a reaction out of them for his own bitter satisfaction even if it meant receiving a stern, lengthy lecture from Chan the following day. 

Minho doesn’t remember what exactly he said to Hyunjin, but their immediate reaction was to violently flip the bowl of popcorn and get up from their seat. They had left the room eerily silent as Minho and Jeongin (who had the displeasure of sitting between them) were covered in kernels and crumbs. 

After maybe a few seconds of tense silence, Jeongin ran after them. He spared a glance towards Minho as he stood up, an expression of disappointment written right across his face. 

Felix followed soon after with a grave look on his own face.)

Minho doesn’t remember what he told Hyunjin, but he does remember seeing how their eyes dimmed considerably. In fact, he can distinctly recount Hyunjin’s demeanour slowly shifting from stoic to defeated, the same amount of defeat as he’d shown just moments prior in the closet. 

Their eyes had never looked heavier— 

“So I’ve been told.”

—until now, unfortunately.

Did Minho say something about them being annoying?

“I’m going home.” He finally says, “Tell Changbin ‘happy birthday’ for me, yeah?” 

Felix gives him a confused look. “It’s not his birthday.”

“Well, now it is.” Minho pushes past his cousin and makes his way over to the back door. Felix follows him, a faint frown on his face as Minho pulls the door open and gives him another glance. The moonlight appears, highlighting the shine of Felix’s golden hair while partially obscuring his face. The freckles on his cheeks distantly remind Minho of the stars littered above them. 

With a hand on the side of the door, Felix tilts his head to the side. 

“You didn’t say anything bad to them, did you?” 

A lump forms in Minho’s throat — larger than the one before. 

“Goodnight, Yongbok-ah.” 

Without another word, Minho hops off the porch and makes his way over to his car, digging the keys out from his pocket. As he unlocks it, he tilts his head upwards to look at the massive array of stars having over him. But as his eyes start to shift upwards he catches sight of Hyunjin’s car still sitting in the driveway with the interior lights on. Minho gives a small frown as he notices that Hyunjin’s sitting in the driver’s seat, slumped over one of their many, many sketchbooks. 

They’re furiously scribbling. And if Minho squints he can see that they’re shaking. 

They scribble and scribble and scribble and scribble — until they viciously chuck the pencil against the page and fall forward, forehead landing on the steering wheel. The sketchbook then slips from their grasp. 

Minho can’t seem to look away. 

Not when Hyunjin’s hands come up and grip the steering wheel painfully tight. Not when their mouth falls open in a scream or a sob or something agonising that seems to rob them of their air, chest heaving at a rapid pace for more air to let out another cry and another after that. 

Minho tears his gaze away when his vision becomes blurred with burning tears of his own. 

(And, unbeknownst to him, it’s at that moment that Hyunjin lifts their head up just in time to see Minho wipe at his eyes and shut himself in his car.)

“You really need to get that lock fixed.” 

Changbin looks up from his laptop, eyes visibly focusing on Minho. “Oh, right. Sorry about that, it keeps slipping my mind.” He then mutters something incomprehensible about baseless assignments and shakes his head, glancing back towards the screen of his MacBook. “My gummies went missing, by the way. Do you know if someone stole them?” 

Minho has half a mind to rat Hyunjin out, especially since he’s positive some of those gummies may have been… labelled … but decides against it. Instead, he shakes his head with a casual pucker of his lips. 

“No idea,” He lies rather smoothly, “I only got locked in there for a few moments.” 

Prior to his haste retelling of the previous weekend to none other than the owner of that stupid closet, Minho settled on only telling a half lie to anyone who wasn’t Felix. 

Everyone knew of his tense situation with Hyunjin — they all knew very well of what happened between the two, maybe even too well, and had made it clear to Minho that any offensive behaviour from either person wasn’t going to stand well with the rest of the group. Well, this was told to Hyunjin, too, but when Minho met Chan’s unusually firm eyes he felt as though the consequential hostility would be more towards him than his ex-partner. 

He thought it was stupid. He told Felix the evening after and his cousin only made a pained noise when Minho offhandedly mentioned his displeasure.

“Breakups are messy like that.” Changbin told him with a heavy sigh as soon as Minho came to him with his complaints. “And yours is as messy as they get.” 

And it’s obvious the two of them did have a particularly terrible breakup. There’s no doubt about it. Not when Hyunjin can barely last a minute before breaking out into a nasty sneer and eyeing Minho like his mere existence offends them. The temperature of the room could drop a few degrees from such a nasty look and Hyunjin could keep it plastered for as long as Minho is in close proximity. 

But usually, Hyunjin prefers to completely ignore Minho and even go as far as to speak over him on several occasions. 

The first time it happened, Minho levelled them with a rough clearing of his throat and a small comment about bumbling idiots in the area and their lack of manners. The second time, Minho had thought about slapping a hand over their mouth but as soon as he’d raised his hand Hyunjin inched back as though burned; though, they quickly regained their composure and swiftly pulled away from the conversation not too long after. 

After that, Minho decided on being the one to pull away. 

He’d notice the glances thrown at him by Hyunjin afterwards, no matter if they thought they were being discreet. Their eyes, although continuously latched onto the sadness obscured by a perpetual glimmer of loathing, did carry some tiredness within their irises. The tiredness only flashed for a split second before being replaced by Hyunjin’s never ending detestation. 

The stupid sneer would crawl onto their face and stay there. Then, they’d slip away from the room. 

“Put the lock at the top of your itinerary.” Minho says, ignoring Changbin’s dismayed wail at the closet being important but not engineering homework. “What if you accidentally lock yourself in that shitty place on your way for some protein powder?” 

“Honestly, hyung, if you were that concerned about the door you could’ve just kicked it down.” 

Not fucking likely when Hyunjin was pressed right against me, Minho muses with a faint bittersweet aftertaste on his tongue. 

Placing his pencil down, Minho firmly closes his overstuffed notebook and slides it aside. His laptop remains open with the screen displaying various tabs and windows all opened and related to the infuriatingly simple homework assignment that Minho’s professor had sworn up and down would take them weeks to complete. 

Initially discouraged, Minho realised relatively quickly that he could just look up future placements of certain stars instead of waiting for the nights to occur. Unlike Changbin, who’s been swimming in engineering assignments for the past three months, Minho now has nothing to do for quite a while thanks to his… shortcut. 

With a sluggish hand, Minho clears everything, closes his laptop, and places it atop the notebook. 

As his mind gradually empties out, Minho can’t help but think back to the closet. He can’t erase the subdued look that had vividly — albeit briefly — crossed Hyunjin’s features amidst the warm light that’d surrounded their entangled bodies in a gentle, though tense embrace. An expression, caused by a mere adjective, that had managed to pretty much stupefy Minho in the middle of his all too repetitive exchange of not-so-friendly words with his ex-partner. 

(An expression that Minho has seen on their face already, right when their house of cards toppled over and Minho ended up sitting at the centre of the aftermath, confused and utterly heartbroken.)

Most dauntingly, however, he can’t seem to forget the sensation of having Hyunjin all over him again. It was as though they never left and the passion that once danced between the two was lit aflame again—

Minho instantaneously remembers Hyunjin’s breakdown in their car and stiffly grimaces. 

The flame was long gone. 

“Is Jisung on campus today?” He asks after another beat of silence and promptly ignores the obnoxiously loud typing happening just a few metres away. 

Changbin doesn’t tear his eyes away from his precious homework as he lifts a brow and flips to another page, “If he is, he’s probably with the others. Why are you asking for him, anyway—?” 

Minho’s already shoving his things into his bag when Changbin abruptly stops talking. He doesn’t have to glance up from his bag to know that he’s being given one of Changbin’s many looks of incredulity, one that is unfortunately very familiar to Minho since he’s known the younger for years now. Though that exact stare has been thrown towards Minho numerous times for many, many different reasons, this time it’s because Changbin, being the genius that he is, has answered his own question. 

Slowly glancing up, Minho finds that Changbin’s expression has shifted from disbelief to one of solemnity. 

Something slightly unpleasant churns in Minho’s stomach. 

At times, he finds himself really hating that they all know.

“They’re not going to want to talk with you.” Changbin states the obvious, leaning away from his homework. “Jisung won’t allow it, too.” 

Ah, yes, the infamous enemies turned fiercely protective best friends dynamic those two have. An annoying relationship is what Minho likes to think of it as. Fondly, though. Never negatively. Both Hyunjin and Jisung are known to be incredibly passionate and emotional people, and the friendship they have is nothing but admirable and precious. 

(Knowing their bond, Jisung has often expressed concerns over wanting what’s best for Hyunjin and if Minho can somehow convince him that ‘borrowing’ his ex-partner will be beneficial to them…)

“I can try.” He replies firmly, grabbing his bag by the straps and swinging it over his shoulder. “I have to talk with Hyunjin.” 

Does he have to? Or does he want to?

“I’m gonna take astronomy.” 

Hyunjin peels away from Minho and a sly grin slithers onto their face. “May I ask why?” 

Glancing between at their joined hands, Minho gives Hyunjin’s large, bony one a tight squeeze and lifts it to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it. It’s a gesture he does often, finding that the resulting shy giggle and eye smile he gets from his partner is a reward bigger than any sum of money available. 

(Truthfully, anything involving Hyunjin’s happiness is priceless.)

Minho relishes in the small laugh that comes out of Hyunjin’s mouth, eyes fluttering shut momentarily before he looks over at the sky above. A sky filled with dancing stars, all glittering brightly. Though none could ever be as brilliant as the dozens of constellations shimmering within Hyunjin’s eyes.

“I want to learn all the stars for you.”

He doesn’t find Jisung. 

Instead, he stumbles upon an open art studio.

It’s a familiar, cozy sort of room tucked into the right farthest corner of the art building’s second floor. While the outside looks rather plain, the wall that Minho can see is decorated with countless dashes of paint and random convenience store stickers. There’s an easel with what appears to be a half finished painting right by a storage closet, easily positioned right where the light can hit the canvas the best. Various unfinished projects lay scattered around the easel, and Minho feels his eye twitch at the faint familiarity. 

The door has been left ajar, most likely from a haste exit by whatever disorganised artist the studio belongs to, and Minho quickly scans the hallway for any potential passerbys before unceremoniously poking his head into the room. 

His hands come up to grip the doorway and his hold tightens significantly once he takes in the interior in its entirety.

The room was overwhelming. Though in a good way.

It smelled sweet, too. Like…

Minho decides to snoop around, gingerly stepping over some discarded sheets of paper that are scattered right by the door. They’re stained with what appears to be watercolour, though every stain doesn’t seem to be more than a mere thick stem with half assed leaves poking out at awkward angles. Each unfinished paper is messier than the next — the stems dwindle until there only remains a murky green blot at the centre of the leftmost paper, the paintbrush discarded carelessly just a few centimetres away. 

Tearing his eyes from the floor, Minho is met with an abundance of portraits. 

They’re made from a variety of mediums, but oil on canvas looks as if it’s the more popular choice for the artist responsible for the mess. Each piece is significantly extraordinary from the last, but as Minho takes careful steps around the room to closely inspect each painting, he finds that the colours vary less and less until he ultimately stops in front of a forlorn grayscale portrait. 

The oil appears to be blended messily, almost as if the artist had no regard for making the piece flawless. Perhaps they were too preoccupied with something, Minho considers as he leans in closer and narrows his eyes at the figure painted amongst the greys. 

A perfectly crafted face — however hasty the brush strokes might’ve been — encased by a tangled, dark nest of what he can only assume to be hair. Eerie, bony hands are precisely placed over where the mouth would be and their grip is anything but delicate. The nails are digging into the skin, practically drawing claw marks from how tight the hold is. 

The eyes are obscured by a disastrous bunch of hair.

Minho swallows.

Should he know this person?

He glances at the other portraits, comparing the bright hues to the dreary artwork right beside him. The first out of the many portraits hangs right by the doorway, filled with brilliantly bright colours that would’ve surely winded him had none of the other pieces shared a similar colouring. But, the grayscale painting was the only one of its kind in the chaotic studio, thus making it sorely stand out. 

It was, unsurprisingly, depressing to see. And just being near such a painting has left Minho with a nasty, vaguely familiar feeling in his stomach. 

Minho looks back to the painting, eyebrows drawing in close when he happens to find the signature just at the bottom rightmost corner of the canvas. 

‘Hwang Hyunjin’

…flowers. 

The room smells of flowers. 

Of course. Minho should’ve recognised the room as soon as he saw the disaster laying on the floor and by the storage closet. Before his breakup with Hyunjin, he’d only been to their studio about a handful of times. Hyunjin had never expressed any desire in forcing Minho into the studio; they only left him an open invitation and since Minho did take up on their offer a couple times he found the studio to be the perfect place to nap. 

The faint scent of flowers that’d flow throughout the cozy atmosphere, paired with gentle humming from Hyunjin as the radio played whatever was charting at the time, all made for a great ambience to fully relax and enjoy living — even if it was for just a second. 

As Minho continues to stare at the messy, almost shaky signature, he wonders where the warmth has drifted off to. 

“I didn’t expect you to remember your way here,” a soft voice tears through his thoughts. “Much less come in.” 

Minho feels his throat go dry. “The door was open. I came to see if you were nearby.” He turns around and locks eyes with Hyunjin, who tilts their head curiously.

“Why?” 

Hyunjin doesn’t sound snappy; they’re genuinely interested. Their voice is a stark contrast to the defensive, hoarse tone they’d taken during theirs and Minho’s shared time in the closet. The front they usually put on clearly isn’t there, but Minho has no doubts that it’ll return if necessary. 

Minho takes a second to study the gentle features of Hyunjin’s face — something he hasn’t had the pleasure of doing since their breakup. 

Especially when all he’d been receiving from Hyunjin were hardened stares and uncomfortable sneers that’d morph into glares when either of them toed the invisible line drawn between them. Any of those expressions just seemed so unnatural for Hyunjin. But over the lengthy months Minho had grown used to seeing them even if they didn’t belong on such a kind face. 

As Minho’s eyes flicker from Hyunjin’s wide eyes to the slight pout of their lips (a habit they had developed while dating Minho), there’s an odd twist of his stomach that tells him this looks natural and comfortable for the younger. 

(Well, almost natural. The dark circles don’t look any better than last time.)

Minho licks his lips, “I wanted to talk with you.” 

There’s a slight furrow of Hyunjin’s brows but nothing that indicates the front slipping forward. Minho has half a mind to breathe out a sigh of relief but he can still feel himself close enough to the line that anything he can say could be taken the wrong way so he steels himself and proceeds to try and pull back. 

“Back at Changbin’s party — I saw you. In your car. After we got out of the closet.” 

Minho has never had a more catastrophic way with words, honestly. 

Hyunjin stiffens. “Have you come here to make fun of me?” They scoff, and Minho feels his stomach lurch as the front rushes forward and the once soft features of Hyunjin’s face turn hostile. “I’m sorry some of us are more in tune with our emotions, Minho-ssi, but that doesn’t mean you have any right to come into my studio to laugh in my face.” 

“That’s not what I’m trying to do!” 

“Then what are you trying to do?” They sneer, “You’ve never been civil towards me since our breakup and now you want to talk?” 

“You haven’t been much of an angel yourself, y’know.” 

“And whose fault is that?” 

“Yours.” Minho replies almost immediately, mind brushing over the way Hyunjin appears to stiffen significantly tighter. “You broke up with me, didn’t you? After that argument? Obviously I was going to be angry with you!” He huffs out the last bit, trying to keep his anger under control for his sake. Barely breathing, Hyunjin only stares at him, face devoid of emotion as their posture remains painfully rigid. 

Minho chooses to glare at the floor, wishing he could burn a hole into the hardwood and let it swallow Hyunjin whole. He catches a glimpse of one of the many unfinished artworks scattered on the ground. There’s a thick sheet of watercolour paper with a half finished head of hair laying close to his foot. 

He feels compelled to pick it up but holds back. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” Hyunjin whispers, and Minho continues to try and set the floor on fire. “The argument was both our faults. You know that.” 

“It was.” Minho, in spite of himself, easily agrees, “But it was you that ended everything.” They both said hurtful things; why did Hyunjin have to end it when they’ve had worse arguments? 

There’s a heavy sigh, and Hyunjin slowly retreats over to one of the studio’s corners. They mutter something to themself before reaching towards a bottle of acrylic and scanning the label. 

The silence stretches on for another second until— 

“Are you just doing this because you miss… fucking… me?” 

Minho has never looked over towards Hyunjin as fast as he does at that moment. “What are you talking about?” He asks, aghast. 

Hyunjin shrugs, “Like I said, you’ve had all this time to do something and now, after nearly fucking me in a closet, you feel this sudden urge to talk.” 

“Well it’s not like I could’ve cornered you considering everyone turned themselves into the Hyunjin Protection Squad just five seconds after finding out about our breakup.” Minho bites back a snarl, but he doesn’t hide his anger, “Back at the party Felix wanted to interrogate me but not you after rescuing us from that stupid closet which, by the way, I would not have dragged you in if I knew it was you all along.” 

“You certainly weren’t afraid to rub yourself against me, though?” Hyunjin jeers, “You had me all pressed up against a shelf. You enjoyed it, don’t lie.” 

Minho managed to bark out a hoarse laugh, “Really, Hyunjin? If I had known it was you I wouldn’t have kissed you. And I definitely wouldn’t have touched you.” 

Their eyes widen slightly, and the acrylic bottle in their hand caves with the fierce clench of their fist. The silence returns once again, tense and suffocating, reminding Minho of that terrible closet’s stuffy air. 

Hyunjin sets the bottle on the ground with a slow hand and removes the canvas sitting on the easel. Another unfinished art piece joins the others on the ground, making the overly large hoard grow impossibly bigger. Despite his rising anger, Minho glances at the grayscale painting next to him and winces. 

So much for stepping away from the line.  

“I’m so tired of this.” Hyunjin finally finds their voice, much to Minho’s shock — it’s trembling. It’s trembling and they look half a second away from collapsing on the ground from exhaustion. Their eye bags look heavier for a split second, heavier than they had been in the closet, and Minho’s eyes flutter shut to avoid gaping at such a distressing sight. 

“All this arguing and for what?” They continue, setting an empty canvas on the easel. “Okay! We hate each other! Let’s just avoid each other and leave it at that.” 

Minho opens his eyes, “Maybe there wouldn’t be anything to hate if you weren’t so insufferable, Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin’s face falls impossibly farther. 

“Stop. Just— Stop.” Their voice drops down to a whisper, “I get it, okay? You don’t have to keep repeating it.” Now empty eyes flicker over to the grayscale painting, and Minho feels a sudden wave of nausea run through him at the pained expression that settles on Hyunjin’s features. 

“Everlasting burden.” They say with a wry, wry, wry, barely there smile. “That’s what I am. I get it, Minho.” 

Minho, taken aback, manages another glimpse at the painting. When his gaze lands back on the angular face scribbled at the centre of the canvas, there’s a rush of guilt and anger that washes over him, drenching his entire body and mind in a dense, cruel cold. The nausea becomes an urge to vomit, and he can only take a few steps back before he finds himself glued to the ground and forced to stare at the portrait. 

There, underneath one of the obscured eyes, was the telltale mole of Hwang Hyunjin. 

How could he have missed it? 

The person in the painting is Hyunjin. 

“What?” Minho doesn’t know how his voice can remain so steady as he feels another surge of anger run through him. “What’s this?” He crudely gestures to the array of paintings, starting from the brightest to the grayscale. “What is all of this, Hyunjin?” He doesn’t care if he sounds exasperated; he can’t find it in himself to care about how angry or tired he might sound, especially when the sardonic smile remains in place on Hyunjin’s face. 

“Conditional happiness to Everlasting burden.” Hyunjin replies. 

Minho gives him a puzzled glare. 

“Conditional happiness was originally called Eternal love,” They clarify, “But after our breakup I changed the name. Each of these paintings reflect a core memory from our relationship starting from the beginning to the end over there where you are.” 

They shake their head and turn their attention back to the empty canvas. “It’s stupid, I know, but I like being sentimental.” They make no move to grab any sort of paint. Instead, they simply stare at the off-white canvas with a now blank expression. 

Minho feels his throat go dry again, but thankfully the nausea simmers until it’s slightly tolerable. However, disbelief takes over and there’s suddenly so much confusion running through his mind. 

Hyunjin cared about their relationship. 

He almost had the nerve to laugh. This was incredibly Hyunjin of Hyunjin — finding the beauty within turmoil and creating beautiful, breathtaking works of art out of it. Each piece was obviously created with a tedious attention to detail as if Hyunjin, in their typical style, had put all their thoughts and feelings into every stroke they’d taken across the canvases. 

They paid an awful amount of attention to the colour schemes, too, and Minho can’t help but appreciate the descent of the colours as his eyes pass by each canvas until he ends up face to face with the grayscale painting once again. 

Everlasting burden — a name guaranteed to make anyone wince, especially with such distressing artwork attached to it. 

He thinks back to the party. To witness Hyunjin have a breakdown in their car definitely wasn’t the prettiest sight to see and it really, really wasn’t pleasant to watch. 

Out of some horrible presumption Minho thought it would’ve been satisfying to see them in such a state considering that Hyunjin had done nothing but provoke him in that stupid, horribly stuffy closet. But upon seeing his ex-partner carelessly toss aside their sketchbook — something they valued so much — Minho felt conflicted. 

Hyunjin had kept an insufferable, deflective front for such a long time. So much so that Minho had angrily convinced himself that they didn’t care about their relationship or even seem interested in reconciling their friendship and to see them finally break… maybe it hadn’t been the first time they’ve crumbled. 

Everlasting burden seems to taunt him for just another second and it suddenly hits Minho like multiple high speed trains — it wasn’t the first time they’ve crumbled to pieces. 

But why—

“Why?” Minho surprises himself by speaking. “Why do you have to act like… like this ?” Like an asshole, as if you really do hate me when I feel like I’ve only been pretending—

Hyunjin scoffs. 

It’s a bitter sound; rough and tearing at the edges much like the canvas they’ve decided to rip a hole into with the blunt end of their paintbrush just now. It’s not a pretty sound, either, and it definitely doesn’t do anything to keep Minho’s nausea at bay. He peers over towards the corner they’ve secluded themself in and feels mildly disgruntled to see that damn sneer slowly crawling back on their mouth. 

But their face isn’t relaxed. Minho can clearly see that they’re grinding their teeth together in frustration.

“None of your business,” comes their grim reply, “Get out of my studio.” 

“Get out of my house.” Minho whispers, voice all but strained. “I don’t want to see you ever again.” 

Hyunjin only continues to stare at him, eyes filled with tears. There’s a shine in them, an angry one, and Minho has to wonder where they’ve gotten the audacity to be angry when all… all this mess was their fault. Theirs and his, truthfully, but in his emotional state Minho can’t help pinpointing all the blame towards the younger. 

A bitter part of him snaps at his mind, telling him that maybe if Hyunjin hadn’t pushed Minho more than they should’ve, then everything would’ve been okay fine. But a more rational part tells him that—

“I was only trying to help.” Hyunjin suddenly spits, a lone tear falling down the side of their face. “But since you’re so stupid and dramatic and I’m so annoying I’ll leave you alone.” 

Minho screws his eyes shut, knowing fully well with a pang to his chest that they were right. 

“Yes. You’re so fucking annoying, Hyunjin. Next time, don’t try to help, yeah?” He feels another jab in his chest at the quiet, strangled intake of breath above him. “Maybe then people would like you.” He doesn’t mean it, he doesn’t mean it, he doesn’t mean it — he’s just so tired and stressed and— and— he doesn’t mean it. 

But his anger was stronger. And Minho hated how easily it could control him and get him to say such untrue, hurtful words. 

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything in reply. They’re painfully silent and all Minho can hear is his laboured breathing and the sounds of his heart slamming against his chest. His eyes close by themselves and the image of the carpet underneath his legs is replaced by a pitch black darkness that does nothing but make his heart and mind race against each other. 

Distantly, he can hear the retreating sounds of footsteps. 

They’re sluggish, almost uneven in pace, and Minho knows that he’s not the only one failing miserably at keeping it together for the sake of the other.

Coming from the front door is a noise that resembles a stifled sob. It’s slightly and poorly muffled, perhaps from Hyunjin’s trembling hand being slammed over their mouth to keep themself from joining Minho on the ground in a pathetic heap of anger and disbelief. Minho almost wants to turn around and reach out in some stupid, desperate attempt to keep Hyunjin with him, to find some way to fix this because he still loves them too much to let them go so easily, like mere grains of sand, but…

“There won’t be a next time,” Hyunjin’s gentle words flow through the tense air like some sort of profanity, “I hope you find someone better.” 

Minho finally finds the strength to whirl around and when he does, he’s met with Hyunjin’s normally soft features turned hardened and scarily dim. Their eyes hold no life, just anger and distrust in overwhelming amounts Minho has never thought to be possible for somebody so capable of loving as passionately as they did. 

A thick layer of nausea easily finds itself at home within his stomach, and Minho is rendered humiliatingly helpless as he watches Hyunjin give the shared apartment one last pained sweep of their eyes before opening the door and leaving with a soft click of the lock.

They didn’t look back. 

Since then, the stars haven’t glowed as beautifully as they once did. 

“Felix told me something funny yesterday.” Chan says as soon as Minho takes the seat across from him. He’s holding two glasses of orange juice, no pulp, and filled to the rim with crushed ice. Minho thinks he hasn’t seen something so wonderful-looking since the dry ham and cheese sandwich he managed to scrap together from whatever was left in his refrigerator that morning. 

(First up on Minho’s Vitally Crucial To-Do List — grocery shopping.)

Minho accepts the glass from Chan’s extended hand, “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Chan replies with a grunt once he’s seated in his own chair, “What were you doing locked in Changbin’s fucking closet with your favourite person ever: Hwang Hyunjin?” A grin easily finds its way onto his face and Minho can barely restrain himself from reaching down and throwing the drink in Chan’s face to wipe that shiteating expression off his stupidly handsome face. 

Of course Felix would go running to tell his boyfriend. There isn’t anything that Chan doesn’t know thanks to Felix, who can’t seem to keep his mouth closed around those big arms and that gorgeous hair by his words and absolutely not Minho’s. 

Though, he did have to shamelessly agree that Chan’s natural hair is a sight to see. Aside from that, however, Felix should’ve kept his mouth shut for Minho’s sake.

His eye twitches.

(Second item of business on Minho’s Vitally Crucial To-Do List — fistfight Felix.) 

“There may have been an incident.” He mutters, staring anywhere but at Chan. He definitely wasn’t about to tell him how he was a second away from fucking his ex at a party. It was horridly typical as it was embarrassing. “And we may have spent an uncomfortably long amount of time pressed against each other in that stupid closet.” 

Chan blinks, “And you argued.” 

Minho doesn’t know whether he should be grateful or annoyed that Chan knows both the former couple and their drama as well as he does.

He nods, finding Chan’s shoe to be very interesting.

“I think you two are just way too defensive around each other.” Chan says after a beat of silence, “You can’t exactly blame Hyunjin for expecting you to start insulting them since that’s all the both of you do, hm?” 

“I talked to them in their studio.” Minho’s eyes finally find Chan’s own, and they’re wide at the abrupt confession. It would be funny if it wasn’t for something within Minho telling him that his oldest friend had perhaps never expected for either him or Hyunjin to be willingly civil with the other.

And as mildly annoying as that is, it's also strangely somewhat encouraging. 

When it becomes clear that Chan is too surprised to reply, Minho continues with a sigh. “They ended up kicking me out but— they have whole paintings dedicated to our relationship, hyung, and—” He can’t help the slight strain in his voice when he swallows the sudden lump in his throat and looks away from Chan and back to the floor. “—they’re beautiful.” 

Chan makes a faint, thoughtful sound. 

Minho licks his lips, idly tapping his fingers against the arm of his chair, and slowly asks, “Hyung, did you know?” 

With a sharp intake of breath, Chan stiffly nods and glances at something just over the younger’s shoulder. “I can’t count how many times Hyunjin has come to me, crying because they can’t—” He suddenly cuts himself off and clears his throat, “You two have been hurting in very different ways, but I think Hyunjin found a way to release their pain through art.” 

“I still study astronomy,” Minho says, “I think that’s been my way of coping with all this.” He doesn’t mention how astronomy has become his major now. It had been an impulsive (mostly from grieving anger) decision, switching from veterinary science to astronomy, but damn it Minho made a promise to learn all the stars and he never plans to ever back out on it. 

“I want to learn all the stars for you.” comes the sudden memory paired with a heart wrenching image of the bright, brilliantly beautiful smile Hyunjin had given him. 

He grits his teeth. 

“Take a sip of your orange juice before it gets too watery.” Chan chides him. Though he seems to be ignoring his own advice as his drink still sits completely full on its coaster, the crushed ice is practically halfway gone. 

Minho would snort in amusement if his mind wasn’t busy comparing that brilliant, brilliant grin to the hurt, angry faces Hyunjin had no issue giving him all the time. 

But as he remembers the paintings, Minho doesn’t think such expressions came so easily to them. He thinks back to the closet, their breakdown in the car, Everlasting Burden, and all of it does nothing but confuse him impossibly further. These aren’t the actions of someone who is truly filled with hatred for their ex; they can’t be.

“Hyung…” Minho hesitantly cuts through Chan’s ramblings about the disgusting taste of watered down orange juice and how his drink was utterly ruined— “Did Hyunjin… ever really… hate me?” 

The silence that immediately fills the room speaks far more words than either of them could possibly hope to comprehend. 

The next time Minho finds Hyunjin, they’re sitting alone on one of the countyard’s many benches. 

Surrounded by bristling, vibrantly green branches of the trees above, Hyunjin pays them no mind as they remain hunched over one of their larger sketchbooks. 

Minho feels a tug to his stomach when he recognises the sketchbook.

A monstrosity, as Minho (fondly) called it one time when Hyunjin had come home from grocery shopping, excitedly telling Minho how they’d gotten the thing on sale. It was awfully too large to fit in a bag and it seemed to be nothing but a hassle to carry around. Hyunjin, however, was adamant on keeping their most precious ideas solely for the paper abomination and so Minho never saw them often with that particular sketchbook. 

Minho watches, wide eyed, as Hyunjin’s hand moves fluidly, with utmost ease, over the page. Their movements appear to be nearly memorised, giving off an impression that they’ve drawn this particular piece countless times. 

But however familiar this drawing must be, Hyunjin’s movements are still somewhat sluggish and a bit angry, just like the drawings scattered about the floor of their studio. Minho wonders if this one will end up half finished like the rest, but the thought comes and goes as he witnesses how Hyunjin’s right arm moves more aggressively than it had been just moments — mere seconds — before. 

They scribble, scribble, scribble, scribble until the tip of the pencil snaps and the world comes to a pause. 

The wind picks up ever so slightly, lifting the corner of the sketchbook page and jostling the branches above. Hyunjin remains still, head bowed down and the hand holding the pencil slowly comes down, but they don’t start drawing again. They can’t, obviously, but they make no visible effort to at least sharpen it. 

Another caress of the wind, and Hyunjin’s shoulders start trembling. 

However, there’s no sound coming from them.

Minho cautiously takes a step closer, making sure to stay hidden. As soon as Hyunjin’s drawing comes directly into his line of vision, he can barely gather enough strength to resist the gasp that tries to tear through him. 

As the wind blows across the courtyard, it manages to flip a few pages of Hyunjin’s sketchbook. Drawing after drawing appears, all of them made from pencil and furiously scribbled over like the artist themself was trying to destroy their art but couldn’t bring themself to tear every piece out of something they saw as endlessly valuable. A few corners have some amount of damage to them, as though Hyunjin did initially attempt to ruin their drawings, but nonetheless they remained within the confines of the sketchbook’s spine. 

Though that isn’t what nearly makes Minho stagger back a few steps. 

The drawings, completed in pencil and holding the scars of their worth, are all of Minho. 

All of them seem to be done from Hyunjin’s point of view — each page containing some of the happiest moments they’ve shared with him. 

Minho, grinning up at Hyunjin while he lays on the ground, his cats all over his tummy while Hyunjin kept their distance because they were allergic but still insisted on tagging along to visit Minho’s parents since Minho’s smile, according to them, was most beautiful when he was home.

Minho, sleeping on Hyunjin’s childhood bed with Kkami right next to him with a mess of blankets and pillows strewn all over the bed while he laid curled up, head on his arm while the tips of his fingers just barely rested atop Kkami’s small head. 

Minho, wearing that stupid hat he wore during their first date, holding that stupid, bitter americano he ordered to look cool and Hyunjin, bless them, simply never had the heart to say he looked so dumb— 

Why did he ever let this go?

The touch of the wind turns needle sharp and the nausea returns to him just as he hears a quiet, choked sob from the bench. 

The first time Minho sees Hyunjin after their breakup, they don’t glance at him. They don’t even acknowledge his presence sitting just a few feet away in Seungmin’s too clean living room.

Minho, absentmindedly accepting a handful of Skittles from Jisung, never takes his eyes off them. Despite telling them he never wanted to see them again, he watches every tiny move of their hands; the way they tuck a few strands of hair behind their ear in an all too familiar gesture of anxiousness; how their fingers ghost over their bottom lip, bitten raw from that very same nervousness. 

Regardless of the nasty, nasty sneer that crosses their face when they finally do look at him, Minho only sees it as beautiful. 

“You’ve returned.” 

Hyunjin’s voice, although quiet, still carries an edge to it.

Minho kicks at an imaginary pebble, hands in his pockets with his shoulder pressed against the studio’s doorway. Looking anywhere but at Everlasting Burden, Minho blinks a few times and lets out a breath he had no idea he was holding, “Yep.” 

It had taken him quite a while to track down Hyunjin as Jisung was adamant on not telling Minho where his ex was and Seungmin pretty much kept chucking cold fries at Minho until he had to resort to begging for mercy from the both of them. He’s sure it was quite the spectacle, Minho falling forward while Seungmin and Jisung — set on humiliating him in front of the student body — tormented him with fries and silence. 

“I need to talk with them, please.” He said, forehead stuck to the table’s surface while Seungmin reached over with an evil grin and ruffled the back of his head. “Fucking— Seungmin, get off— Can you just tell me where they are?” 

With a snort, Seungmin pulled his hand away before Minho could reach up and smack it away. Next to him, Jisung regarded Minho with slightly narrowed eyes before sighing and making a vague gesture with his hand. 

“The studio, where else? Seriously, hyung, aren’t you supposed to know them better than us?” 

Isn’t he? 

They’re sitting in front of the very same canvas from the other day. It’s empty, save for a stray pencil mark, and there’s nothing in either of their hands that says they were preparing to paint. No brush, no pallet — just their hands laced together in their lap while bouncing their right leg. 

The hole in the middle seems to glare at Minho.

On Hyunjin’s person is a pair of overalls Minho recognises with a swift bite of his lip; they’re the pair he decided to gift them for their birthday a few weeks fresh from the breakup. 

He’d begrudgingly shoved the box into their hands, muttering a curt ‘happy birthday’ before moving past them into Chan’s living room. Back then he only figured to purchase such an expensive piece of clothing to avoid Chan’s sharp look of disapproval if Hyunjin followed Minho into the living room with empty hands. 

Chan had stressed just the day before how it’d be rude of Minho to turn up to Hyunjin’s birthday party without a gift despite fully knowing that showing up with nothing would be perhaps the least terrible thing either of them have done lately with their shared animosity. Seeing the look of satisfaction that crossed Chan’s face upon entering the living room with Hyunjin right behind him, holding a box, and watching it turn into a wide smile when Hyunjin opened the gift and pulled out a pair of white overalls with daisies sewn all over didn’t feel as gratifying as Minho would’ve liked. 

No. What felt gratifying was watching how Hyunjin’s eyes widened ever so slightly and shined as they ran a hand over the denim material of the overalls and traced over one of the daisies. 

What felt gratifying was Hyunjin glancing over at him when their gaze landed on the price tag, that glimmer of loathing they’d always have in their eyes nowhere to be found. Instead, there was a flicker of wonderment — appearing one moment, disappearing the next — and their eyebrows furrowed pensively when they turned their attention back to the overalls. 

Hyunjin had taken their time in folding the overalls and putting them back in the box, pausing for a split second to stare at nothing before closing the box and putting it on the table with the rest of the gifts. 

Minho was the only one to notice; the others had gone back to whatever conversations they were having before he arrived. 

Throughout the party he felt heavy. 

And as he watches Hyunjin now, daisy-covered back turned to him, the heaviness returns in full force. 

He thought he only got such a present to satisfy Chan, but perhaps it’s time to accept he did it because he cared. 

He’s always cared, as has Hyunjin. He was just too stupid to realise it sooner. Maybe they were both stupid. 

But that doesn’t matter now. All Minho wants is to talk with Hyunjin and hopefully— hopefully get somewhere. Somewhere, anywhere, where they can both talk about everything, about their relationship and all that follows, without having to resort to petty insults and end up with yet another wall rising high, high, high between them. 

“I’m sorry.” Minho blurts out, deciding to forgo small talk to avoid another mess like last time. The words carry a weight on his tongue, but it’s not a bad sort of weight. More like the weight on his shoulders is finally, though slowly, being released. “I’m sorry for everything, Hyunjin-ah.”

There’s a prolonged silence that follows. Hyunjin remains staring at the canvas in front of them.

Minho’s jaw clenches, then unclenches. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, Hyunjin turns around in their seat and looks right at Minho. Their face, instead of carrying sharp, distasteful features, is soft and tired. The eye bags are still there, dark and daunting, but they’re not as heavy as Minho had seen them before. Hyunjin’s eyes themselves show nothing but an exhausted sincerity as they give Minho a once over and shake their head. 

“I’ve never hated you,” They reply, lips trembling ever so slightly, “I could never hate you.” 

Minho feels as though another train, once again going at impossibly high speeds, has hit him. 

The terrible, terrible, terrible nausea returns and Minho has to grip the doorway to keep himself from swaying and toppling to the ground. He remembers the paintings; the drawings; the pained looks Hyunjin would give him in between breaths during their spats; what Chan told him just a few days before — and it all makes so much sense.  

Chan, fiddling with his hands, not looking at Minho as he tells him how Hyunjin comes crying to their hyung because they can’t bring themself to actually hate Minho in the way he, presumably, hated them. 

Hyunjin, twirling pencils and paintbrushes between their fingers as they draw yet another piece inspired by Minho even though they were supposed to loathe his very existence. Canvas after canvas, sketchbook after sketchbook, all filled with countless paintings and drawings of Minho in many, many forms. Be it in the form of a memory, secretly treasured as though it were a taboo because they were supposed to hate him. 

Or even in the form of expressions, each created by their continued feelings for Minho like as shown in Everlasting Burden. 

But no matter the form, Hyunjin had never let their despair show. 

All because they were supposed to hate him. 

“Why?” Minho finds it in himself to ask, not caring if his voice was shaky, “Why did you— Why did you pretend?” 

Hyunjin glances at him again, expression indifferent. 

“Why did you?”

Minho shakes his head, swallowing past the lump in his throat and letting out a shallow exhale. “Because it was easier than admitting I still care.” His eyes flicker to Conditional Happiness and then to Everlasting Burden. “It was easier than accepting that I was so wrong about everything.” 

“The argument wasn’t entirely your fault.” 

“Oh no I definitely believed you were entirely to blame for a good while.”

Hyunjin laughs. They laugh and it’s so refreshing to hear. “I blamed you for a couple months after we broke up, I’ll have to admit.” A smile finds its way onto their face and Minho is struck with the fact that he had no idea how much he’d missed seeing them give him their stupid little lopsided grin. “I guess I just started blaming myself after…” They trail off, clearly hesitating. 

“After…?” Minho gently prompts, taking a step forward.

The smile turns sad, “After you called me annoying for the first time since our breakup. When I threw the popcorn, remember?” 

Now Minho remembers. 

An argument gone wrong in the middle of a movie, unpleasant words exchanged between Minho and Hyunjin in what would be their first ‘conversation’ since their breakup. Minho remembers grabbing a handful of popcorn and chucking it at Hyunjin, ignoring the looks from the others as Hyunjin retaliated with a few words and suddenly, out of immense frustration, Minho raised his voice and called Hyunjin a selfish, annoying brat. 

Annoying, as Minho had called them just moments before they chose to slam the door behind them, leaving Minho in the middle of the ruins belonging to their house of cards. 

Annoying, Minho called them while properly looking into their eyes for the first time in a while, not just idle glances but full on eye contact.

Everlasting Burden appears to dim. 

“I’m so sorry.” He chokes out, “I’m so fucking sorry.” 

Hyunjin’s brows furrow. “Like I said, neither of us are entirely to blame. We’re both at fault for how things turned out. I should’ve never provoked you and I really shouldn’t have pushed you out of your comfort zone.” 

“Yes but stress isn’t an excuse for all this—”

“No one said it was,” Hyunjin affirms. They stand up from their seat and take a step towards Minho, hands clasped together behind their back. From here, Minho can see just how the legs of the overalls fit them just a bit too long and how they’ve folded the ends into cuffs so the tops of their converse are visible. “I’m sorry that things between us became so…”

Another bout of silence, and Minho doesn’t dare take his eyes off Hyunjin.

They visibly hesitate again, twirling on the spot and facing one of the many paintings scattered all over the wall behind them. The air isn’t tense, but it’s heavy with unspoken confessions and dozens of refrained apologies that it’s still enough to make Minho somewhat lightheaded. 

Apologies could only do so much for either of them after all the months they’ve spent pretending. 

Hyunjin bites their still trembling lip, “Hating you was easier than admitting that I still love you.”

Oh God.

Minho nearly sinks to the ground. 

Eyes filled with astonishment as bony hands hold on tight to a pair of daisy covered overalls because Minho was supposed to hate them. Wounded looks whenever they’d start up another argument, gone within seconds to put up a front and shove down their feelings—

“Hyunjin…” Their name comes out weak, almost strained. 

“Did you expect that?” They reply with a breathless, but empty laugh, “I walked out on you but look at me; still having feelings for you after breaking your heart. Isn’t that what you said once?”

Yes. That’s what Minho said once, twice— hell, countless times. Back when the blame was entirely on Hyunjin, back when Minho couldn’t bring himself to look at them without scrunching his face up in pain because there they were, smiling and laughing into their drink without a care in the world. 

To Minho, when on a couple drinks, it looked as if Hyunjin had never cared to begin with; almost as if them walking out on Minho was probably the least terrible thing they’ve ever done. 

But Minho wasn’t looking hard enough. He never picked up on the side glances, the slight fall in their expression whenever Minho rolled his eyes at whatever they had to say, or even the way they’d sometimes very briefly pause their tirades, nearly stumbling over their words if they made eye contact with Minho — even if it was for the slightest heartbeat. 

He understands now.

The breakdown in the car, the paintings right in front of Minho — he understands everything. 

Minho wasn’t the only one left heartbroken; Hyunjin was just as torn apart as he was. They broke each other’s hearts, and they had wanted the other to feel as much pain as they did through petty gestures and even pettier arguments. 

“After everything?” Minho asks in disbelief, “I’ve said a lot of shitty things to you, Hyunjin, how can you—?” 

“So have I.” 

They finally turn around, and there’s a huge grin on their face. 

It’s enough to knock the wind out of Minho, who simply gapes with his mouth open as Hyunjin makes a couple steps towards him. They come close so that Minho can see the mole under their eye and the one on their cheek, but they’re far enough that he can’t feel their breath on his lips like back in the closet. Hyunjin’s hair, black as midnight, falls over their eyes just a bit. 

It’s enough to partially conceal them, but Minho catches the faint glitter that finally, finally waltzes in their irises. The loathing has been completely wiped away. 

Hyunjin fiddles with one of their rings, “I’m so tired of this. The fighting, the pretending, the avoiding — I’ve been tired of it all.” They put their hand down and nibble on their bottom lip. “I almost cried when you came back here because I thought we’d fight again and I’m so sick of it—”

Inhale. 

“But imagine my surprise when you just started apologising.” They let out a soft laugh, “After I… broke down in the car I had a pretty long talk with Chan hyung and, well, I told him about these paintings. I told him everything and he told me to talk with you about it. I wasn’t too sure about that, of course, since civil isn’t exactly what we’re known for so I put it off.”

Another step closer.

“And then you came to the studio and I know that you tried but I was still so tense from the party that I said all that when I didn’t mean to and…” Hyunjin trails off, and Minho doesn’t need them to continue. He gives them a nod, not sure how to respond. 

Exhale. 

“We’re such a fucking mess, aren’t we?” 

Minho finally allows himself to laugh. A deep sound from within his chest, bubbling upwards and pouring out of his mouth as a happy, lively waterfall. He feels tremendously lighter, as if nearly all the weight that’d been destroying his shoulders has been lifted and disposed of. Of course, there’s still some weight that’ll fade away over time, but overall Minho feels… good. He feels good. 

Hyunjin releases a breath of their own, gazing at Minho almost thoughtfully. 

“I’m sorry for being such an asshole, Minho hyung. I’m sorry for leaving you when you needed me.” 

Ignoring how his heart skips a beat at the honorific, Minho shakes his head and closes the space between them. In an impulsive move, he grabs their hands and laces their fingers together. It’s painfully comforting, and it’s obvious that Hyunjin wasn’t expecting such contact either if the widening of their eyes is anything to go by. However, they don’t try to leave Minho’s grasp; they simply stand still and decide to look at the floor. 

They’re standing on one of the many unfinished flowers. 

“Was it easy?”

Minho blinks, “What?”

“Hating me,” Hyunjin looks up, eyes searching, “Was it easy?”

No, it was so difficult, is what Minho has an urge to say, but that would be nothing other than a lie. It’d be meaningless to say such a thing, especially when Minho couldn’t feel anything but hatred for Hyunjin during the following weeks after their breakup. Disproportionately misplaced anger that would flare up whenever Minho caught a mention of them or maybe even a passing glimpse in the campus library — hating Hyunjin was no difficult feat. 

What was difficult, however, was seeing his own fault in their tumultuous ending. Given that Hyunjin was the one who walked out, Minho latched onto that and let it fuel his bitterness. It was easy to blame Hyunjin, it was easier to be angry with them than himself. Because, all things considered, to admit his wrongs meant that Minho would have to accept that he’s also broken their heart and he wasn’t ready to admit such a harrowing failure. 

It was easy to hate Hyunjin whereas it was difficult for Minho to face his feelings, opting instead to shield himself behind a wall of anger that’d been chipped at the edges and slowly, slowly crumbled away after the night of Changbin’s party. 

But Minho never hated them. 

Truthfully, he doesn’t think he ever could. 

“You broke my heart.” Minho finds himself whispering, pretending that he doesn’t notice how Hyunjin flinches, “But I broke yours, too. Over and over again, actually.” 

Annoying, annoying, annoying, annoying—

He fucking hates that word. 

“I can’t lie to you and say that trying to hate you wasn’t easy, because it was,” He continues, “but that doesn’t mean that I truly did hate you.” Eyes flickering down to the flowers they’re standing on, Minho licks his lips. “I was more hurt than anything — hell, I was properly pissed that you left me and I guess, because of my anger, it never crossed my mind that you were equally as hurt as I was.” 

Blinded by anger, Minho silently muses as Hyunjin gives his hands a subtle, barely there squeeze in acknowledgement. He doesn’t dare look at it, but he still can feel the damning, cold existence of Everlasting Burden; the hands of its presence leaving a sharp, heavy sensation all over his body. 

Stupidly blinded by anger. 

What’s left of the nausea stirs, but it doesn’t rise. 

“I’m so sorry for calling you… yeah.” Minho finally manages to get out after a few seconds of internal struggle, unsure if Hyunjin would appreciate him saying ‘annoying’ even if it was to apologise. “It was so wrong of me, especially when you’ve done nothing to deserve it back then and now. I’m sorry for belittling you, and I’m so sorry for yelling at you when all you were trying to do was help. I understand now why you left, Hyunjin-ah, and—” 

“Stop.” 

Minho stills, “What?” 

“We’re gonna end up going around in circles at this point.” Hyunjin says, a small smile on their face. “I forgive you, Minho hyung. I really do.” Their eye bags loosen, as if their forgiveness has made them lighter to carry. “ I should be the one apologising for leaving you, for pushing you when you were clearly stressed and tired… I really am so sorry for everything.” 

Minho studies them for a moment. 

Sincerity takes the space the perpetual loathing once held, something so familiar to Minho and something terribly missed after endless months of being looked at with nothing but bitter anger. It was oddly… comforting. A warm touch, much like the hands in his grip. 

Of course, Minho muses with a squeeze of his own hands, Hyunjin would always be nothing but genuine. That was the whole reason why he’d fallen for them in the first place. 

It’s also why he doesn’t think he could ever stop loving them. 

Even when that lovely, endearing sincerity morphed into forced hatred, Minho would often find the smallest of moments where Hyunjin would let down their front and briefly display their true feelings. Mostly conveyed through their eyes, Minho wasn’t unfamiliar with flickers of remorse or grief aimed right at him. They’d come and go almost immediately, but he managed to catch all of them. 

He wanted to catch every single flicker. He wanted to see if they truly did not care about everything. 

But as it turns out, they did care. They cared so much more than Minho could’ve ever guessed and as much as it felt like a punch to the gut it was also incredibly relieving because Minho hadn’t been the only one suffering in silence all along. 

Letting go of their hand, Minho brushes some stray strands of hair from their eyes and swallows past the sudden lump in his throat. 

They’re staring at him intensely and the hand that remains in his hold is clammy. As much as Minho should be concerned, he figures they’re anxious for his answer to their apology. 

But they shouldn’t be; if they can forgive Minho, why can’t he forgive them? 

“It’s okay.” He finally answers, heart faintly clenching at the way their eyes immediately widen as if they weren’t expecting him to actually forgive them. “What matters now is that you fully know that I will never hold it against you ever again.” 

Silence and then—

“Thank you.” Hyunjin visibly deflates and they fall forward with a weary, weary, weary sob slipping right over the edge. 

“So are you two like, not going to kill each other if I leave you alone?” 

Jeongin, apprehensive to leave the room for a moment to go check if Seungmin needs help in the kitchen, stares down at Minho with an indecisive gaze. 

It’s obvious he’s torn between remaining in his spot next to Hyunjin, peering over their shoulder to sneak glances at whatever they’re drawing only to be redirected to look back at the television with a glare and a gentle shove, versus going over to make sure Seungmin doesn’t accidentally set the place on fire, which he’s been close to doing so on different occasions.

(It’s funny, since Jeongin has also nearly burnt down the kitchen a handful of times.)

Minho, twirling a pencil between his fingers, shakes his head. “We’ll be fine, Ayen-ah. Go and make sure Seungminnie doesn’t kill us all.” 

He flips the pencil over, eyes tracing the sticker label still stuck to the end. It’s peeled at one of the corners, perhaps from repeated use, and Minho runs his thumb over it to try and smooth it out. A charcoal pencil, it had slipped from Hyunjin’s pouch and subsequently rolled over to Minho who sat on the chair adjacent to them. 

Hyunjin hadn’t noticed but Minho — who had his eyes on them the second they came through the doorway in a far too early arrival for yet another party — let his gaze follow the pencil until it came and hit the edge of his shoe. 

It was a stubby thing, noticeably used more than the other pencils and pens stuffed inside the flower-covered pouch. 

“Innie-yah go and make sure Seungmin doesn’t sneak more chocolate strawberries for himself.” Hyunjin suddenly says, not looking up from their sketchbook. “I heard him muttering about giving us rotten strawberries earlier and I really don’t plan on being glued to my toilet for a week.” 

Jeongin grimaces, not pleased at the thought, and he finally tears his gaze away from Minho to turn on his heel and look for Seungmin. 

A few seconds pass before Minho gives an incredulous laugh, absentmindedly twirling the pencil again. “Seriously?” 

With a smile pulling at the corners of their lips, Hyunjin closes their sketchbook and gives an exaggerated shrug, “I didn’t lie about the toilet part.” 

“You’re gonna get that either way when Changbin comes with the drinks.” 

A full on smirk. “I’d keep an eye on Seungmin tonight.”

“I’d rather look at you.” Minho instantly replies, clamping his mouth shut upon realising what he’d just said.

It’s only been a week since the apologies at the art studio and Minho, embarrassingly, didn’t take long to start flirting with his ex again. And though they both had expressed that they very much still felt something towards each other, Minho wasn’t sure if there was any sort of boundary Hyunjin had set between them and if there was, he might’ve just crossed it with his stupid mouth and its stupid impulsiveness. 

His breath, caught within his throat, grows heavy as he tries to find the appropriate words to save himself and maybe not screw things up — again. 

“Listen, Hyunjin, I—”

“You’re stupid,” Hyunjin interrupts with a simper, “If you’re gonna flirt you gotta do better than that, hyung.” 

Minho gapes at them, “You’re… fine… with that?” He can’t believe that this is the same Hyunjin who’d roll their eyes at him for breathing. The Hyunjin who had pretended to hate him for months on end is now grinning at him and boldly requesting that he flirt with them. Just like old times, a voice at the back of Minho’s head wants to say, and he allows it to surface. 

“Just like before.” 

Tapping their chin, they shrug. 

“Mm. Even then you were bad at flirting.” 

Minho feels like he should be offended. After all, Hyunjin did just insult the flirting that he thought he flawlessly nailed way back then. But as he watches the brilliant beam on their face and the way their eyes form those pretty, pretty, pretty crescents he didn’t realise just how badly he missed until now, here in this shitty chair with Seungmin and Jeongin bickering in the background, he’s nothing but elated. 

Slowly and smoothly, warm familiarity seeps back into their lives. 

“Join me outside for a moment?” Minho holds out their pencil, giving a small, fond smile when their eyes widen ever so slightly at the sudden invitation. 

“Gazebo?” 

“Where else?” He replies, letting the smile grow into a grin.

Their hand reaches out and takes the pencil from his palm.

Nestled within the small garden Seungmin has been curating, the gazebo was an absolute blessing compared to Changbin’s closet. For one, there’s no doors ready to lock in an unsuspecting visitor and force them to spend time pressed against another unsuspecting visitor while simultaneously trying not to strangle each other for breathing too loudly. 

Aside from that, the gazebo was also secluded enough that anyone trying to listen in on whatever conversations would have a difficult time listening in unless they stood just a few feet away. 

Hyunjin steps in first, choosing to sit to the right. There’s a bit of distance from their seat and the entryway and Minho figures they want space so he opts to sit at the spot right in front of him. They watch him carefully, completely silent with their lips in a slight pout. 

“This is so much better than that stupid closet.” Minho immediately says as soon as he’s sat down, tucking his hands behind his head. “I’m gonna kiss Seungmin for getting this thing.” 

The most random thought ever and it manages to break the pout on Hyunjin’s face. 

As he watches the corners of their lips curl upwards, Minho feels somewhat proud of himself for making them smile yet again. 

Hyunjin pushes some hair out of their eyes, “Don’t think Jeongin will appreciate that.” 

“You think?” He turns and looks to the night sky, a silence falling upon the two of them. The stars are particularly bright tonight, almost too bright as they dance beautifully across the vast stage for their audience of two, twinkling with a profound excitement that would put anything else to shame if it did exist. But the stars are one of a kind and despite it being his major, Minho can’t help but be winded every time he’s met with such a sight. 

His eyes land on Hyunjin and whatever air’s left in him escapes in a rushed exhale. 

He doesn’t remember the last time he’s seen them so entranced.

“It’s like they knew we’d be out here.” Hyunjin mutters under their breath, eyes hopping from star to star in wonderment. Minho inhales, mouth dry. The smile on their face hasn’t faltered and Minho finds himself hoping it never does. 

He doesn’t ever want those dejected eyes aimed at him again.

With a barely there hum, Minho tears his gaze away from Hyunjin and glances back at the stars. Thousands upon thousands of beautiful, beautiful oddities scattered throughout the night sky, blanketing it in a comforting, familiar sight that always left him breathless. The stars continue to dance along with the chirping of the garden insects, occasionally giving them a playful wink, and Minho can’t help the laugh that escapes him.

It’s as if he’s on a high because really — he has never seen anything as beautiful as this. 

“Do you remember the promise I made you?” He asks after another moment of admiring the sky, giving out a faint chuckle at how quickly Hyunjin turns their attention to him, “About me learning all the stars for you?”

Hyunjin’s breath audibly hitches and Minho bites his lip. 

“I thought you'd forgotten.”

And that hurts. 

While he could never forget such an important promise, he realises that the petty dislike he had for Hyunjin, though fake, was real to them. As real as it was for everyone around them but even more real for them since they were the sole target for Minho’s hostility. His act had affected Hyunjin as much as theirs impacted him; too real and vivid enough to possibly forget something as trivial as a promise made back when they were stupid and in love.  

However, they’re still stupid and they’re still in love — or as in love as two heartbroken people can be. 

(Which is still a lot, despite all things considered.)

Minho releases his lip, “I could never forget.” 

Never, never, never. 

Even as they’re sitting a good distance from him, Hyunjin manages to catch every ounce of Minho’s attention. Stars be damned, Hyunjin looks absolutely gorgeous underneath the subtle moonlight seeping through the gazebo. Their features soften considerably, shining even with the dimmed twilight, and they break out into a lovely, lovely smile. 

The sight brings him back to when he first made the promise.

With soft, pink lips stretched wide, Hyunjin nods towards the stars and says, “For me?” 

It’s Minho’s turn for his breath to catch in his throat.

No matter how many times they’ve forgiven him, Minho still feels an abundance of remorse for the past year. Terrible, terrible untrue words thrown around like nothing; discreet glances being the only way either of them could look at the other because anything else felt too inappropriate; the countless nights Hyunjin probably spent awake scribbling their frustrations only to toss them aside because they shouldn’t be feeling anything towards Minho other than hatred hastily put together at the last minute for display.

And something tells Minho they’re feeling the same despite the way they constantly insist that everything would be fine now. He can see in their clear hesitation to come near him, no doubt out of worry that they’ll be overstepping an invisible boundary by touching thighs with him.

So, he opts to slide over to them and give them a warm smile, hoping to convey nothing but sincerity. 

“Always.” 

The word carries a significant weight to it. Millions upon millions of promises spoken at once, each channelled through the reply that leaves Minho’s lips in a breath of air. 

And based on the way Hyunjin’s grin grows impossibly bigger — they know.

Leaning over, Hyunjin plants those soft, soft, soft lips of theirs on Minho’s cheek — catching him completely off guard, giggling shyly when his eyes go big — and places their hand on his. Minho relishes their touch. The warm feeling of their hand, the smooth skin that stretches over their palm and beyond… he’s missed this so much. 

It’s nothing like the closet. It’s not driven by desperate lust. 

It’s only pure, sincere sentiment.

It’s Hyunjin. 

A tentative nose rubs against the edge of his jaw, touch faint but exhilarating all the same. Minho allows himself to laugh quietly as he leans against the top of Hyunjin’s head and lays his other hand over theirs. A hum comes from them, thoughtful and teasing; no malice to be heard.

“Better start naming those stars, hyung.”