Work Text:
It’s cold and Minho’s mug remains empty.
Untouched, it collects dust in Hyunjin’s cabinet, waiting, waiting.
It’s cold and his mug remains empty.
Hyunjin’s fingers grip his own so tightly, he hears its groans, feels its aches.
It’s cold and his mug remains empty.
Hyunjin’s foot brushes against the leg of the chair across from him, and it gives without the weight of his presence, it gives and screeches across the floor.
It’s cold and his mug remains empty.
And so Hyunjin lifts his own to his cheek and imagines
its warmth
was his.