Work Text:
Jay doesn't remember the last time he slept alone. Sunghoon, annoying as he is, insisted on staying with Jay to “make sure his best friend doesn't kill himself”. And before Sunghoon, it was…
Whatever.
“I understand you're still upset,” Sunghoon struggles to pull the blanket off of Jay, “But this is ridiculous.”
“You get your heart broken,” Jay argues back weakly, “Let's see how you fare.”
“I did. I got over it in two months, you’ve been at it for half a year!”
Sunghoon wins their tug of war. Jay ungraciously falls out of bed with a groan and tears pricking at his eyes. Even this way of waking up is familiar now.
It’s already been half a year since he left. Half a year since he said something about Jay not being good to him, half a year of missing someone he should've cherished more. It was Jay's fault. Honestly, it was. Jake was lovely. If only Jay –
“We're going out!” Sunghoon decides with a huff and shoves Jay into his bathroom, “Wash up, you stink.”
—
Jay used to love going out. He used to thrive among the masses and the dancing bodies and the smell of alcohol and cigarettes lingering on his clothes. More used to linger on him, but not anymore.
He hasn't been out in so long, it's almost frightening to be around more people than Sunghoon again. He supposes that's how he lost Jake. Getting used to him. Taking him for granted.
Sunghoon bravely manoeuvres them through the crowd on the dance floor. The bass pulses through Jay’s veins familiarly but he's far too sober to enjoy it. He used to be able to. Everything was fun with Jake, even making a fool of himself while sober.
“Shots?” Sunghoon offers, and Jay agrees.
He really shouldn't have.
—
He's hanging over the public toilet with his knees in the dirt of the sticky floor and his hands clinging to the bowl until his knuckles turn white. The retching sound he makes sounds distant in his own ears. There’s a warm hand rubbing his back comfortingly but he vaguely remembers losing Sunghoon to a pretty boy some time ago.
The music is too loud, the bass too strong.
The face he sees through the tears brimming in his eyes is too familiar.
He's pretty sure he's crying and throwing up. But not screaming. He doesn't have the energy to scream.
He doesn't fight it when he's shoved into a taxi, and then under the shower, and then into his bed. He doesn't want to fight him anymore.
“I’ll fight for you,” he rasps, and it feels like he's throw it up his words now instead of his lunch, “I promise. I’ll fight better.”
“You don't have to, love.”
—
Jay wakes up and he doesn't expect to be home alone. He expects the splitting headache, the throbbing behind his eyelids, the second person in his dark apartment, the heavy limbs and the even heavier heart weighing him down. He expects it to be Sunghoon in the kitchen.
It's Jake.
And he feels so familiar again, dressed in only his boxers and one of Jay’s shirts drowning his small figure, standing in the kitchen with his back turned to Jay while he makes hangover soup for him.
The familiarity of it sends a painful twinge to Jay’s heart, and he has yet to remind himself that this isn't his norm anymore. This isn't his life anymore. Jake left it half a year ago, and he'll only be back in it for this morning that Jay can remember.
“I put aspirin on the dining table,” Jake tells him without turning around. His voice sounds normal, his tone unfamiliar. There’s no malice, but also no love. He sounds almost torn about how to talk to Jay. He didn't used to. “Take it while I finish this.”
“Yeah,” Jay croaks, words stuck in his throat. Maybe he’ll throw up again. He definitely feels like it. “Thanks.”
“Nothing to thank me for,” Jake waves him off lamely, and his tone sharpens. “Sunghoon wants me to tell you he's only coming back to get his stuff.”
Of course. Another person who's leaving him.
Jay swallows down some thing bitter. He hurries to the dining table and takes the aspirin. Nothing will make it better.
He stares at Jake’s back. Usually, he’d walk up to him and wrap his arms around his shoulders, but that was half a year ago. He can't do it anymore. He's not allowed to.
When Jake fills a bowl with the soup and turns around, Jay expects him to grin and be ready to tease Jay for going over his limit again. This time, today, he looks concerned. Serious. Hopeful.
“Did you mean it?” Jake asks him, “What you said last night?”
He did. He does.
“I’m sorry,” Jay starts, and everything gets stuck in his throat, even though he feels ready to throw up his heart.
“Don't apologise,” Jake chastises him and steps closer to the table until their arms brush together. He puts the bowl down, and his lips quirk up. “Tell me you mean it.”
“I mean it,” Jay says and searches for Jake’s eyes, “I got too used to your presence, and then your absence. I will never do either again.”
Jake smiles at him brightly. His eyes are glistening with tears, and Jay hesitantly allows himself to wipe them away.
“I missed you, you know?” Jake tells him wetly and pulls him into a hug.
The warmth feels familiar.
Jay’s heart still soars.
“I missed you too,” he whispers, “I’ll make it up to you, and then some. I promise.”
“Take me on a date first,” Jake laughs, but he chokes up.
“Okay.” Jay pulls and grabs him by the shoulders. He looks him in the eyes and grins. “Remember the ramen shop we never went to? You wanna try it now?”
Jake’s grin is familiar. But it’s brighter than it used to be.
“Yes!”