Work Text:
Soojung is a good date, of course. She's pretty and petite, polite to everyone but Sehun, and shrugs before sidling away when he downs one shot too many and says he'd rather she wasn't here. She doesn't take it personally. He loves that about her.
Maybe he loves other things about Soojung, but he can't quite remember. He'd ask her, but then she’s gone. He slides his elbow farther apart on the counter, rests his chin on his hands. The bartender asks if he wants another. Sehun, momentarily, gains the surprising sense to refuse. A Sam Smith song starts to play in the background, and the guests stand up in twos and threes to join the newly weds on the dance floor.
He can't remember whose wedding it is. He just remembers getting the details of the address from his mother over text and his tuxedo in a laundry bag hanging from the door handle when he went out one day. Someone from the family, most likely. The priest had said do you, Oh something, take Kim something, as your…
It hit a little too close to home. Sehun had drifted off to the bar immediately, and there he’s stayed.
Now everyone’s dancing.
“You want to?” It’s Soojung’s voice from behind him. He looks over his shoulder, she tilts her head at everyone else. “Dance,” she says, hand coming up next to his on the counter.
“They’re happy,” he says, slow and a little spiteful. “They make it look so easy.”
Soojung sits down, leaving a seat between them. Deliberate. “That’s because it is.”
“It’s not.” He motions for another drink. “I’ve been trying for a goddamned year.”
“Okay, so it’s easy for them,” Soojung rephrases.
He doesn’t have anything to say to that. Nothing except why? and he’s not sure if he means to ask that of Soojung right now and her it’s easy for them to be happy, or Minseok back then with it isn’t working anymore.
Why? Sehun never asked; lately he’s been too afraid of the answer or too angry to care. His hand curls around a glass, and he takes a sip, shudders, downs it all.
“Stop,” Soojung says, tiredly.
He lifts a finger. “I’m going to drink as much as I -”
“I meant stop going over it,” she cuts in. “I can see those wheels rolling sadly inside your thick head. Like film credits.”
The bartender asks his customary question, Soojung says yes.
The thing is, he can’t stop going over it. He can’t get that pair of napkins out of his head.
It’s ridiculous. They were yellow.
Yellow, with little blue boats printed on them, and they were balled up and crinkled next to the table lamp. He’d thought they were adorable.
“Hey, hyung,” he grinned, kicking his shoes off. “Where’d you get the bibs?”
And then he’d seen the cartons, labelled neatly.
“Come on,” Soojung says. “You don’t have to be happy. Dance miserably.”
Sehun looks at her, in her long dress and black mascara, hair down to her elbow and wrists small, gleaming sharply with diamonds. “Diamonds?” he asks, because that’s all the appreciation he can give right now, and she rolls her eyes, because she’s sure he can do better than that.
“Didn’t take you for a gold digger,” she says, gathering her dress primly and making for the floor. She doesn’t look back to see if he’s coming. He supposes he loves that about her, too.
He follows her. She is a good friend and a good date and gives good advice. And he does dance well, even if Soojung fixes him with a gaze of something like disapproval.
And the cartons had Minseok’s best handwriting on them: BOOKS (FICTION), BOOKS (NONFICTION), LAMP(SHADES), APPLIANCES, CLOTHES (HOME), CL - Minseok was standing in front of CL - and Sehun never found out what that last one said.
When it came to Minseok, he supposes he never found out a lot of things.
“Seriously?” Soojung mutters. “The bride and groom wave at you and you ignore them?”
Piss. “You couldn’t tell me before?” he whispers, trying his best to slip out of the crowd. He gets stepped on for his pains.
“I told you as soon as appropriate!” she hisses back, grabbing his hand and leading him off. He stamps on someone’s foot by accident and hurriedly apologizes. In the corner, he spots his mother looking at him with consternation, before he gets whacked in the face by an elbow. Smarting, Sehun prays for it all to be over, but God doesn’t listen to him until almost half an hour’s passed.
“I didn’t want to come,” he mumbles, when they finally make it back to the tables. “Weddings are terrible.”
“Yes,” Soojung says. “And you make them worse. Where did they even go? They’re the hosts of this damned thing!”
With her attention diverted, Sehun slips off by himself. His feet take him wherever, and he stuffs his hands into his pockets.
It’s January.
Last month there was no snow, but sheets of rain had drenched them all. Sehun stood in the balcony, thought of himself and the present and no one else and no other time, for once.
But there’s snow now. He’d just driven through it on the way here. He still doesn’t know who exactly got married, and he doesn’t particularly want to care. Do you, Oh, take Kim...
The wind blasts him, all rude surprise, and he looks up.
There’s someone standing in the hallway, hair tousled, a little short, sharp-eyed. It isn’t Minseok, but a voice in Sehun’s mind says close enough, but a lump in his throat is suffocating him, but he’s backing away before he knows it.
Lee Sungmin bears a passing resemblance to Minseok from afar - maybe it’s something about the face cut, or the forehead, or the way the hair fall over his eyes. Sehun doesn’t figure it out because he doesn’t look. His mother spots them together and makes her way over, smiles promising pleasantries and small talk that Sehun’s maybe a bit too tipsy to engage in properly. At least, he hopes he is, and hopes he isn’t. He gives it his best shot, though. Minseok would be proud, if he was here.
“Hey,” Sungmin smiles, and Sehun makes the mistake of looking up - it’s at once both alike and unlike Minseok’s. “You look good,” Sungmin says. “Been a while.”
Wrong words from the wrong person, and Jesus, Sungmin thought they were together - Sehun hadn't told him - he didn’t even mean it that way, and still, still.
Sehun remembers someone saying something about two negations making a positive. He says, idly, “If you say wrong twice, hyung, does that make something right?”
Sungmin laughs, and this is nothing like Minseok. Sehun can feel himself getting giddy, feel his own sweat against his shirt and churning in his guts.
“I don’t know,” Sungmin says, “Probably not.”
Wrong answer. Minseok was always in definites and absolutes, one hundred percents. It’s Sehun who does the indecisive maybe, probably, fifty-fifty.
Then he asks Sehun about Minseok, and Sehun almost chokes on his drink, but gets out that Minseok couldn’t make it.
“That’s a pity,” Sungmin says, sounding sincere. And he is, of course he is. Sehun has a sudden urge to tell him the truth, that Minseok broke up with him, that Minseok, that Minseok - that Minseok. Would Sungmin say it was a pity then? Would he give Sehun another drink? Sehun almost wants to lean in, quirk a smile, drum his fingers against his thigh. Almost.
Sungmin’s still talking: “Tell him I said hi.”
“Yeah,” Sehun tries to smile. “Sure will.”
He doesn’t really know what happens next, but things start spinning, and he keeps walking somewhere. Maybe it’s the hallway. That’s it: he’s pacing the hallway, and the receptionist is looking at him oddly, and all he can bring himself to think is that Minseok looked heartrendingly good in that white button up, cuffs starched, arms crossed - except he had no pants, just those dingy gray boxers, and he’d said, “It isn’t working out,” just as Sehun had attempted a terribly sloppy whistle of appreciation.
“Wait,” Sehun said, still grinning, still wanting to know about the napkins. “What’d you say?”
He’d walked right into the living room, not even considering the cartons until he saw the shelf, half the books gone.
“Wait,” Sehun said again.
And again, this time in a whisper, Minseok’s, “It isn’t working out.”
Then everything started spinning, just like it’s doing now. He should’ve said no after the fourth shot, he really should’ve.
He remembers bits and pieces, of course. He remembers Minseok’s engagement ring by the sink, finding a sock that isn’t his, a week afterwards, under the mattress.
In the hallway, Sehun sits down.
Minseok hadn’t cried. Just welling eyes and a shaking voice. Trembled like a leaf when he’d said goodbye. And maybe that was because it was cold. Or maybe he’d cried somewhere Sehun couldn’t see. Sehun doesn’t know.
He knows he had definitely passed out for eleven hours after bawling. Jongin wouldn’t let him live that down when Sehun told him months later, trying to pass it off as a joke.
There was going to be a spring marriage. Sehun wanted it on Minseok’s birthday, Minseok didn’t want a particular date - before June, after February.
Now it’s January. They would have already chosen the cake and the flowers, the venue. They would have been together for six years, celebrated a five year anniversary instead of shifting to different, smaller apartments, gone to Namsan and thrown the keys over the railing for the sixth time instead of Sehun watching horror movies by himself and Minseok probably putting in extra hours at work. Minseok would have come along on Sehun’s trip to Athens in November, they’d have kissed behind all the statues and Minseok would keep laughing at Sehun’s running commentary on sculpture, and - and -
Like he told Soojung, it’s been a goddamned year.
He sees the bride. At least, he thinks it’s her. She’s in white, with a veil. And she looks vaguely familiar, waving to him. He stands up.
He sees the groom, too, when Sehun’s halfway there. He sees their hands link automatically, neither of them looking at each other for it. Used to it, taking it for granted, whichever phrasing a person chose. They’re comfortable with each other.
Sehun’s closer now. They’re leaning their heads together and smiling at him.
Sehun smiles back, thinking about CL - and Sungmin’s laugh that isn’t like Minseok’s in the least.
“Sehun!” the groom calls out, stepping forward to hug him. “We saw you dancing!”
“Soojung, isn’t it?” the bride grins at him, mischievous. The veil looks disconcerting for a second. “How’s she doing?”
“How’re you doing,” the groom says, and Sehun finally recognizes him out of his stupor - his old classmate and cousin, Oh Jongwook.
“Doing good,” Sehun sways a little on his feet. Shit. He doesn’t want to be that fucking guest. “I can’t believe you guys are finally married, man, how long’s it been?”
“Six years,” Jongwook laughs, “Right? Me neither.”
Sehun swallows. The world pauses, jumps, loops back like a bad video for just a fraction of a second. Vodka, now this.
“Never leave him,” he says to the bride, and her smile falters a bit. “I hope you never leave each other.” And dammit, now he really is sounding like the emotional, drunk guest who probably got dumped at some point. Which, surprise surprise, he happens is.
“Of course not,” Jongwook promises, his hands holding hers tightly. “Minah’s a godsend. Might’ve failed at math, but I’m not a complete idiot, Sehun.”
It almost makes Sehun regret saying anything, honestly, but he had to. He has to make sure…
“Sehun,” Minah says, “You look like you’re going to drop any second.”
“Like a fly,” Sehun mumbles. “I was just -” he tries to think as fast as he can, “- just waiting for a friend to pick me up. It’s getting kind of late.”
He definitely regrets saying that - it’s probably barely half past nine.
-
“Yes, okay,” Sehun rushes, as soon as he’s in the backseat. “Ilsan, near the hospital at Jeo-dong.”
“Yes, sir,” the driver says, reversing and shifting gears.
Sehun leans his head against the cold window, looking at the blurring trees and occasional bicycle flashing by.
After a few minutes, he changes his mind. “Wait, can we head to Apujeong? The station, line three.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sehun fiddles with the ring in his pocket. He doesn’t wear it anymore, but it’s always on hand - around his neck, in his coat, tucked into his wallet.
There’s a hold up on the highway; someone steered into the railing. The driver stops the car, gets out, and mills with the crowd before coming back. “Nobody hurt,” he reports, “But three cars crashed.”
“That’s good,” Sehun says. “About nobody getting hurt.”
The traffic jam barely loosens up in the next hour. Sehun takes his ring out and stares at it. The driver turns on the radio, and Sehun rolls the window down when they finally pick up speed again, feeling blurred and sludged at the edges.
-
The stairs are the same as he last saw them, which is stupid, because of course stairs stay the same.
The last time Sehun was on the top step, the door was open but not welcoming, he was holding cartons that were not his, and Minseok was in touching distance, but they were not touching. Sehun wasn’t even looking at him then. Now Sehun wishes he had. Sehun wishes again, all the time, every single second, that none of it happened - not the work trips or the overtime, the office relocation to the other end of the city, all those things that had started to scratch a rift between them.
Sehun raises his hand, and rings the bell. He can’t believe he’s doing this. The last time he was here he’d insisted on helping Minseok move out, on helping Minseok break up with him, and here he is again. To do what?
“It’s been a year,” he tells himself, and rings the bell again. The wind picks up as his eyes start to close, sleep overtaking him despite the cold.
Something bangs and shatters on the other side of the door. Sehun snaps up straight, not wide awake but trying his damnedest.
It’s okay, he tries to tell himself. This is all probably a dream anywa-
“Sorry,” Minseok says, opening the door. “The bulb’s busted and I keep forgetting to change it so -” Minseok freezes. “Sehun,” he says, voice different at once. “It’s you.”
“Me,” Sehun accedes. And they stand like two fools in the middle of the night, neither saying a word, for a full minute.
“I’m -” Minseok starts, at the same time Sehun says, “They’re getting married.”
They both fall silent, and this time Sehun doesn’t push for what Minseok said first. Minseok said it isn’t working out last December, and Sehun learns his fucking lessons.
He takes a breath, sees Minseok swallow, and starts.
“Remember I had a classmate in fifth grade? The one who failed math?” This sounds insane, even to himself. He forces a laugh. “I know, right. Failing math in fifth grade. But he managed it. And then, later. He managed to get a girlfriend, too.” Sehun stares at his shoes, surprised to see he’s standing in snow. When had it started to snow? “And he… he met her, you know. The same time I,” Sehun’s turn to swallow, because this little bit is like a shitty rock that scratches at his throat, “Same time you and I started dating. And now they’re -”
“They’re getting married,” Minseok says, quietly, and that makes something click and Sehun looks up at him and stares at him, stares at him with something like anger, like hatred, with hurt beating against his ribs and love in his fists and he tries to push the stupid sob back down his lungs.
“Yeah,” he says, “They’re getting married. And I had to go there, Minseok! I had to go there, and see everyone be fucking happy! I had to beg Soojung to come as my date, and you can imagine how well that went.” He forces another laugh, and it hurts even more because, yeah, Minseok can totally imagine how well that went over. Minseok knows Soojung, knows every single one of Sehun’s friends, Sehun’s colleagues, Sehun’s habits, Sehun’s deadlines, his favorite books, Sehun’s preference of raspberry over strawberry, that his shoulder itches terribly in the summer for no apparent reason, that Sehun had a secret fear of chemistry after nearly failing it in eleventh grade. Minseok knew Sehun loved him, loved him more than anything, and Minseok still decided to leave.
“I can imagine,” Minseok says, and his voice is hollow.
Sehun wants to press up close to him, warm him in his frigid doorway, wants to step back and just look at him, wants to take a few more steps back and see if Minseok gets hurt by the distance, Sehun wants -
“Well,” he says, “It was terrible. And then they asked me how I was doing, and what the fuck was I supposed to say? You’ve been married six years, congratulations, I was going to be married to my boyfriend, too, by the way, we met the same time you two did. Isn’t it great? No, I didn’t say any of that,” he adds, hastily, because Minseok is staring at him, daring to stare at him with apprehension, who does he think he is, “Because I’m not an idiot. I just said congratulations.”
“Oh.”
Minseok looks so small, just as small as he did before, like he used to. Minseok hasn’t changed. He’s gone on with his life, sure, but he’s still… he’s still human, nothing too ethereal, nothing too impossible. Kim Minseok, turning thirty this March, the same man he proposed to, the same man who accepted, who kissed Sehun like there was nothing else worth doing, who had a penchant for the colors gray and purple, who -
“Listen,” Sehun says, and almost faceplants into the doorway. “I’m a little drunk, and I just came at, like, two? What is it, two in the morning?”
“One,” Minseok says. “One a.m.”
“There,” Sehun spreads his hands, trying to balance the gradual increase of swaying his legs seem to be experiencing. “See? One in the morning. And I’m sorry, about this,” he gestures with some difficulty towards himself, “This tuxedo. But I couldn’t, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
He stills, as sober as he can be for a second. “I never can.”
Minseok opens his mouth, about to say something, but Sehun cuts him off.
“It’s freezing. Can I come in?”
Minseok steps back. “Mind the glass,” he says, faintly. “I broke the vase in the dark. Didn’t replace the bulb.”
“Yeah,” Sehun shivers. “You said.” And he tries to mind the glass, he does, but he must be way more plastered than he thought because he trips and the floor’s pretty eager to meet his face right now. This is going to hurt, his brain predicts, and he closes his eyes as best as he can.
A strong pair of arms around his waist, and Minseok’s warm breath against his shoulder.
“Drunker than I thought,” Sehun thinks he hears Minseok say, and privately agrees. “Here,” Minseok lugs him to the living room - the new one. Sehun looks around. The one Minseok set up by himself, and walked around and sat and ate and made memories in, without Sehun.
“It’s nice,” Sehun says, “Your place.” And he isn’t lying. It really is nice. There’s a shelf, full of books, and a dark red rug. He just wishes it weren’t so - Minseok pushes him down on a sofa, and he sinks into the cushions - perfect. There’s no place for him in all this life that Minseok has. The yellow light from the chandelier hurts his eyes. Coming here was was wrong. He shouldn’t be here.
“You know,” his mouth runs off by itself. “Sungmin came there, too.”
Minseok’s walked off somewhere. He wonders where. “I wanted to hold his damned hand and ask him out and, I dunno. Blow him maybe.”
Minseok comes back, gives him a glass of water. He looks, Sehun thinks with tired rage, a little amused.
“Maybe?”
Sehun takes a sip and stares at the tabletop. Silence, except for the heater rumbling in another room. “He looks a bit like you,” he says, finally, and having it spoken out loud feels terrible.
Doesn’t Minseok just get it? Sehun wants him all the Goddamned time.
There’s a sigh. Sehun’s trying hard not to be melodramatic, trying really fucking hard, but it kills a bit of him. Something just winks out at the exhaustion in that sound, the resignation, and was this what it was all about, thirteen months ago? Was Sehun too much of a fucking kid, was that it?
“Why,” Sehun starts, and takes another sip of water to buy himself time, to realize that he asked the one thing he didn’t want to. “Why’d you do it?”
He has a thousand answers ready for himself, all of them spelling out ‘not good enough’ in different iterations; he has a million questions, starting with the napkins, the ring, why, the sock, CL -, what he had for lunch the day Sehun came back late and why, and why did he always wear those gross shitty boxers and does he still, and why, was it Sehun’s fault, was it all his fault, Minseok, hyung, why -
He’s crying, he realizes numbly. He’s drunk and crying in his ex-fiance’s living room in the middle of the night, and somewhere along the line his self-respect must have quit on him with terrific vengeance.
“Hey,” Minseok says, and the way he says it is just like old times. “Hey, c’mere.” Like when Sehun had almost lost it in final year after the economics exam, or after he’d broken his foot and couldn’t walk for months, let alone attend Minseok’s office team’s football match.
Minseok sits down next to him, arms around Sehun’s shoulders, pulling his head to his chest. “C’mere,” he whispers, and Sehun closes his eyes.
“I know this doesn’t even cover it, and it’s not like you’re sober right now, so it probably doesn’t count, but -”
“I meant it,” Sehun hiccups. “Every word I said. I mean it. You’re the worst.” He sits up abruptly, angry all over again. “You’re the worst! And I still fucking love you!”
“I wasn’t talking about you meaning it,” Minseok looks like he wants to shrink away, but keeps holding him. “I meant me. You might not remember in the morning, so what I say or do won’t count, but,” he’s talking fast now, words rushing out after each other. “I never stopped regretting what I did, Sehun. If you,” Minseok swallows, blinking rapidly at a spot near Sehun’s shoulder. “If you’ve wanted me, I’ve wanted you back.” His gaze darts to Sehun’s for a second before he looks away.
Numb again. “Why?” Sehun asks. “Why didn’t you say something? You could’ve called, could’ve -”
“You were so normal about it,” Minseok still isn’t looking at him. “Like it didn’t matter, like it was alright with you. I thought, I thought.” He doesn’t finish his sentence because Sehun, angry, drunk, exhausted and always full of adoration, still hanging on, still trying to find an answer, to find Minseok, surges forward and crushes their mouths together.
As far as kisses go, it’s pretty terrible: uncomfortable positions, bad timing, Sehun can’t balance himself, his eyelashes are sticky because of all the crying, and Minseok isn’t even kissing him back, just holding him close.
Sehun pulls away. “I guess I’m -”
“No,” Minseok says, firm. “You’re not apologizing for something I should’ve been doing.”
Sehun stares at him, and Minseok still isn’t looking at him, but he’s taking Sehun’s hand in both of his and trying to smile.
“Something I should’ve been doing every single morning,” Minseok’s always been quiet, but these words almost resonate over Sehun’s skin. “Every morning,” Minseok says, finally, slowly looking up at Sehun. “Without a break.”
It makes Sehun feel a little dazed. Numbness receding, mostly soft warmth now.
“But,” Minseok tells him, “You’re not thinking straight, and I haven’t even really apologized and. I just. I’m so sorry. Sehun. I’m so sorry.” He’s rocking himself a little, to and fro and to and fro, voice low and fervent and Sehun can’t stop staring. Even like this, in this bad lighting and in these atrocious pyjamas, small and human and nothing ethereal, Minseok looks too good to be true.
“I’m sorry,” Minseok’s saying, almost sobbing, “You never deserved any of it and I can’t. I can’t ever -”
“Hyung,” Sehun says, because it’s really so late now, so late at night and fifty six weeks late in general, and right now he loves Minseok. That’s all there is in him. He loves Minseok so much, and he’ll never get tired of thinking this, of realizing it, of telling Minseok.
Minseok looks up, and Sehun has never wanted to kiss anyone more.
“So I may be drunk,” Sehun admits, “But I know what I want. And I’ve always wanted you.” He falters, then smiles, tired. “Every Goddamned second.” He picks Minseok’s hand up to his mouth, kisses his wrist and then his palm, his fingers, his fingertips.
“Sehun,” Minseok says, sounding so small and lost.
“Shh,” Sehun whispers against Minseok’s knuckles. “We’re having a serious talk in the morning, don’t get excited.”
“We are?”
“I promise. I’m going to be unbelievably angry, and you will apologize - wait.” Sehun pauses, apprehensive. “You’ll apologize, right?”
“I’ll apologize,” Minseok promises. “And I’ll never go away again.”
“Good,” Sehun says. “Because I’m going to kiss you now, and then we’re going to get some sleep.”
But Minseok kisses him first, slow and careful, hands tentative on Sehun’s body, like it’s been a long time - and damn it, it has.
“Not going,” Minseok gasps, again. “Not going anywhere.” And Sehun kisses back, warm and pressing.
-
“Oh,” Sehun says, when they’re drifting off in Minseok’s bed.
Minseok’s arm is slung over Sehun’s chest, Minseok’s head on his shoulder, and Sehun’s missed this so, so much.
Minseok makes a rasping noise, already half asleep. “Yeah?” His thumb drums over Sehun’s collarbones.
“About Sungmin,” Sehun’s eyes can barely keep themselves open now. He shifts a little, so he can see Minseok properly, the last image before he drops off. “He said to tell you hi.”