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“I’m quite choked with tenderness for you, my love, it makes me a bit pathetic to love you so much.”
— Simone de Beauvior, Letters to Sartre
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In their six years of knowing each other, Xu Minghao has come to realize that Wen Junhui has a special talent. It’s not baking. It’s not pottery. It’s not even his cheesy magic tricks he shows off at parties. Wen Junhui’s special talent is this: he can fall asleep anywhere, anytime, no matter what.
He’s asleep right now, actually, curled up into the corner of the couch in the most uncomfortable position Minghao’s ever seen (he knows Jun will spend the day complaining about his neck cramping, can practically hear the whining already). He has to look back over his shoulder at his new, current boyfriend, Hansol, apologetically, offering a quiet, “Sorry.”
The younger boy just smiles and shakes his head, as if to say “It’s okay”, but Minghao can still feel the blush creeping up his neck and to his ears. Damn it, Jun.
He tries to ignore Jun and focus on Hansol, he really, really does, but one look at the older boy’s cheek squished against the arm of the couch and he’s sighing through his nose., carefully slipping a hand under his neck and gently adjusting him so that he’s at least leaning against one of the throw pillows, brushing his long, blond hair out of his face and pulling the blanket that was scrunched up by his feet over him.
When he looks back at Hansol, ready to grab him by the hand and lead him upstairs, he finds him looking at him with an unreadable look on his face. Minghao can’t tell if it’s a good thing or a bad thing.
Minghao sighs through his nose and decides it’s all a problem for another day (if it even turns out to be a problem), reaching out for Hansol’s hand and leading him down the hall towards his bedroom, where he gently closes the door and awkwardly watches the other boy glance at all the trinkets, bits and bobs that make up his life.
He’s about to speak up, about to invite Hansol to sit on his bed and ask what movie he’s in the mood for, when his boyfriend speaks up first, turning around to face him with one of his hand-me-down Michael Jackson CDs he’d gotten from his uncle. The look on Hansol’s face is something Minghao hasn’t seen before, not even during the few short weeks they’ve been dating, and he can’t help but tilt his head in curiosity.
“Chan would freak if he saw this,” Hansol chuckles and Minghao has to fight with every fiber of his being to keep his brows from raising.
There was that name again. Chan.
If Minghao had been anyone else, maybe in another universe or time or place, there would be a bitter pit of jealousy bubbling in his stomach. Hansol talked about Chan so much, in almost every conversation, that anyone else would feel like they were in competition with him and he wasn’t even in the same damn country as them; anyone else would be tearing their hair out and cursing Chan over the glint that appeared in Hansol’s eye, the soft smile that took over his face, the deep fondness in his tone whenever he talked about him.
Minghao has found time and time again that he isn’t too broken up about it anyway. He likes Hansol and they do have fun together, but he knows that this is all just an in-the-moment type of thing.
And that’s exactly why he makes his next offer, “Take it for him. I don’t really listen to it, not that into Michael Jackson, so it’s just gathering dust here.” He shrugs, giving Hansol a crooked smile. “I’d rather it go to someone who’s gonna appreciate it a lot more.”
“Hao—“
“Dude,” Minghao cuts him off, giving him a funny, wide-eyed look until Hansol gives in, making him smirk in victory. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
“What for?”
“You’ll see.”
Hansol stares at him for a few beats, brows furrowed, before he rolls his eyes, huffs out a laugh and pulls him in by the waist, planting a slow, soft kiss on his lips. Minghao kisses back; he knows their days are numbered, that it’s all transient, momentary, but hell, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t get to enjoy it while it lasts.
_____
Minghao and Hansol end up breaking up a month later, because, for all he liked him, Minghao isn’t stupid. He knows what a man in love with his best friend looks like and he was not about to stand in the way.
It’s all cool, though. He likes Hansol much better as a friend, anyway. Besides, he still has whatever’s going on with him and Jun to deal with (Hansol had pointed it out to him during their last meet up for coffee before he left for Korea and to say it’d hit him like a truck would be an understatement).
They’re friends. Best friends, actually— have been since freshman year, when they were both too scared, international students ready to brave the new challenge of getting their respective art degrees in New York. They ended up meeting during one of those silly icebreaker activities and borderline begged the administration to allow them to room together during their sophomore year.
But Minghao is sure friends don’t freak out when they accidentally fall asleep on the couch together, or blush like crazy when their hands brush, or bring each other breakfast in bed. They don’t hold each other by the waist often or tangle their legs together when they cuddle. And friends definitely don’t fantasize about kissing each other breathless and then actually do it after a night out.
Yeah, friends don’t do that…so, where does that leave them?
“Hao.” Jun’s sleepy voice snaps him out of his thoughts, his spine straightening in surprise; the blond’s hair is all mussed up, and the late afternoon sun filtering through the window makes it look like a halo. Minghao momentarily forgets how to breathe.
“Hm?” It’s a thin response; his eyes drift downwards, noticing the way the sleeves of Jun’s white shirt have rolled up, one of them exposing the freckled slope of his shoulder. Minghao thinks about brushing his fingertips over the warm skin of it, going lower and tracing the outline of his bicep.
“Pancakes. For dinner. Thoughts?” Jun blinks sleepily at him, a box of pancake mix already in his hands and Minghao has to try his very hardest to be normal because all he wants to do is take his face between his hands and squish his cheeks.
Instead, he just nods, trying his best to sound casual when he says, “Sure.”
Jun beams and ducks back into the kitchen, leaving Minghao to exhale heavily, head tilting back against the couch as he squeezes his eyes shut. Maybe Hansol should’ve kept his damn observations to himself, because he really can’t handle being aware of how much of a fucking loser he is for Junhui. It’s painful, really.
His only saving grace is that his roommate is the most oblivious person on the planet when it pertains to anything romantic.
“You want choco chips in yours?” Jun calls out and Minghao can’t help but let out a fond chuckle.
“Sprinkles, too, if we have any!”
_____
Jun is asleep at the dining table when Minghao next finds him, one arm outstretched while the other serves as a pillow for his head; Minghao winces slightly, thinking about how it’s probably asleep and feeling like pins and needles.
He approaches slowly, careful not to make any accidental sounds, his breath catching when he catches a glimpse of Jun’s serene face, the way his lashes brush against his cheeks as he dreams, the gentle slope of his nose, the pout of his lips, softly parted.
Minghao’s heart jumps, fingers reaching out and tenderly brushing his hair behind his ears, ghosting over the constellation of moles near Jun’s jaw. A sudden wave of realization overcomes him, making him pull his hand away almost as if he’s been burned— he doesn’t just like Jun, that’s too little a word to describe what he feels for him. Too limited. Too weak.
He’s in love with his best fucking friend. Head over heels, disgustingly in love, and there’s nothing he can do about it. No way to deny it any longer.
What an insane thing to come to terms with on a random Tuesday evening. Fuck.
Before he can think any further, Jun sighs and shifts, eyes opening slowly, finding Minghao in the low light; immediately, almost as if it’s a reflex, a soft smile makes the corners of his lips curl upwards, and Minghao feels his heart being stolen all over again.
“Did I wake you? Sorry,” he whispers, awkwardly shoving his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t know what to do with himself now, doesn’t really know how to act.
“‘S fine,” Jun drawls, sitting upright and slowly stretching his torso, the movement causing his shirt to ride up and expose the skin of his hips and lower belly. The groan-whines he’s letting out don’t exactly help Minghao’s case, either. “Good thing you woke me up, anyway. My neck was gonna kill me if I stayed here.”
Minghao chuckles nervously, teeth catching his bottom lip as he nods. “Yeah, totally.”
Jun pauses mid-stretch (Minghao wants to die, because, oh, my God, his hip bones look so biteable) and turns to look at him, giving him a slow once-over before tilting his head sideways in silence, a smirk replacing his sleepy smile.
Minghao feels strangely like a prey being watched by its predator right now, like Jun can see straight through him and knows.
“What?”
He can feel the tips of his ears burning hot and his heart beating so fast he half-worries his ribs are going to fracture. Jun just keeps staring at him, slowly standing and invading his personal space; honestly, if Minghao’s life was an animated comedy show, he’d be melting into a puddle right this second.
Jun is so close that he’s is almost afraid to breathe too deeply, chests brushing with every slight movement, and before he can question his best friend once again, he’s slowly reaching out, fingers tangling in his hair and, like the absolute loser that he is, Minghao freezes, doesn’t even dare to because oh, my God, what the actual fuck what the fuck whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthe—
“There,” Jun muses, voice low as he draws back slightly. “You had a leaf in your hair.” He brings his hand down and into the space between them, twirling said leaf between his pointer finger and thumb, and all Minghao wants to do is evaporate; he feels faint, head spinning because Jun still hasn’t fully moved away, hasn’t stopped looking at him like that and is now giving him the most handsome, heartbreaking smile he’s ever seen and he wants him. He wants him so fucking badly.
Jun, still so close, watches him with a heated gaze, and his next words are like something out of his dreams, “Are you gonna do it, or what, Hao?”
Minghao lets out a choked sound, like a garbled exclamation of confusion that got crossed by a gasp, brows lifting as Jun lets out a soft laugh, hand coming up to gently cup his jaw and pull him forward, lips pressing against his, and Minghao’s knees go weak, his brain screeches to a stop, his chest warms like his heart has no transformed into a ball of light and all he can think about is Jun and his tongue tracing the seam of his lips and his hand squeezing his waist and JunJunJunJun.
When they break apart, he can’t help but chase after him, still yearning for more; Jun squeezes his cheeks together, giggling softly as his lips push out into a pout, and Minghao decides he’d do anything to keep hearing that sound over and over again.
When he finally regains enough control of his thoughts, he asks, words still tangled up and trying to catch up with his brain, “Wha— How— How’d you know? What the fuck.”
Jun rolls his eyes, gently patting his cheek, “Well, first of all, you were so painfully obvious—“
“Was not!”
“Were to. Second of all, I’ve been flirting with you for the two years we’ve been living together. Thanks for noticing.”
Minghao leans back, brows raising in surprise, “Two years. Two whole years.”
Jun nods in affirmation and he can’t help but let out a bark of laughter, leaning his forehead against his shoulder.
“Took you long enough.”
Minghao groans playfully, digging his fingers into Jun’s ribs just to hear that full-bellied, true laugh of his; the other boy grabs at his wrists, trying his best to twist out of his grasp and escape.
“Wait, no, come back!” Minghao whines, ceasing his movements and going limp, causing his now-boyfriend to wrap his arms around him again; his pout doesn’t last long, a wide, cheesy smile overtaking his face once again. He has to fight the urge to plop himself on the couch and explode into a giggling mess, complete with blushing cheeks and kicking feet.
“Can I ask you something…” Jun speaks up, placing his chin on the crown of Minghao’s head, starting to sway them both back and forth gently, almost like he’s dancing to music neither of them can hear.
Minghao hums, laying his hands over Jun’s, intertwining their fingers.
“What would you have done if I hadn’t kissed you today, hm?”
Minghao huffs, leaning back once again to look at him with a deadpan look on his face. Jun looks like the cat who got the cream, obviously already knowing the answer, and he scrunches up his nose and presses his lips together, shaking his head.
“I’m not gonna answer that.”
Jun laughs again and Minghao bumps his forehead against his chest, untangling their hands and pushing him down on the couch, trying his best to run away before Jun pulls him down and enacts his affectionate revenge.
_____
In their six years of knowing each other, Xu Minghao has come to realize that Wen Junhui has three special talents: one, he can fall asleep anywhere, anytime, no matter what. Two, he’s been consistently flirting with him for two years and managed to convince him that he’s completely oblivious about his crush. And, most important of all, Wen Junhui has the ability to capture his heart all over again every single day.