Work Text:
Seokmin 8:45PM
hello my myungho
Seokmin 8:45PM
this might not matter to you anymore
Seokmin 8:46PM
but i'm visiting the place where we first met today
Seokmin remembers this same nightscape the way he did three years ago. He figures, if he were ever thoroughly brainwashed by a mad scientist in the future, this scenery would be one of the few things he'd never forget. This—and Him.
Are you coming?
Seokmin settles down on the lone mat he's laid out for himself, a singular white square on the lush, green field. He pulls out his white wired ear pieces, and a little, tattered notebook he's only shown to one other person besides himself. He places his hands down on the grass and takes in the view, and as the nights come back to him, the aching in his chest doesn't dissipate.
He remembers one of the days they'd come here, a while after their first meeting. Minghao brought along two bottles, and hadn't intended to get drunk.
We're close, he'd said. So this is one of my more intimate hobbies I share with close friends... I like to drink slowly, and enjoy talking about our honest feelings. I'm not sure what your tolerance is, but... I brought something around my level. Minghao had smiled then, and Seokmin mirrored the curve of his lips as Minghao teased. Of course, if you want to get drunk, feel free to drink a lot. Seokmin remembers the laughter, the kiss—and then him downing a good amount, which led to a greater confession... and their first sex.
He remembers leaving the bottles there, with blurry vision, and stumbling with his arm around Minghao back to his apartment. He remembers his bumbling, embarrassing words, and how it mattered so much to him that he'd almost started crying—worried that Minghao would hate him after this—and the kiss that came immediately after, leaving him breathless.
Open me up, he remembers Minghao murmuring.
He remembers taking shaky breaths as Minghao guided his wrists, two of his fingers swallowed by Minghao's tight heat. It was incredibly wet, from copious amounts of lube, and it was incredibly hot. So much that Seokmin couldn't resist slotting in a third finger, thrusting them in an unhurried pace as he studied Minghao's face.
I've never done this before.
Don't worry... I'll teach you. You're already doing so well.
It's strange how such lust-filled memories only made his eyes wet now. Maybe it's the pain of knowing he'll never experience it again.
As he rocked into Minghao, sheathing himself deep, he remembers breathing hard, kissing hard, going hard. He remembers clutching onto Minghao's hand, previously fisted in the sheets, and he remembers watching the shadows of their bodies casted on the wall, marvelling at how Minghao's back arched with each strained noise he made when Seokmin pushed deeper.
So... so deep. Minghao squirmed on the bedsheets, then.
Myungho, don't cry.
Minghao had laughed, despite the deliriously fucked out expression he was giving Seokmin—his face beet red, and his mouth falling open with each movement.
Silly... It's because you're doing so well. It feels good. It's overwhelming... I'll teach you more. Do you want that?
"Myungho, you're a bad influence..." Seokmin remembers whimpering, red-faced, into Minghao's sweat-beaded cleavage. "Mmm..."
Well, you're a willing party... and I'm a good teacher. You'll be the only one I'll teach. How do you like that?
Seokmin was tempted by the exclusivity, and he knows that's where it all started. From then on, it was a commitment made rashly, and they started dating.
He would spend nights over in Minghao's house until it was early in the wee hours of the morning, when there were no trains or buses available. Forget it, Minghao would say, his legs wrapped around Seokmin's hips, Stay here with me.
Seokmin remembers moving in partially.
They'd spend nights kissing slow in the kitchen, late past dinner, after all the dishes had been washed. There's something about that warm, narrow space between the dining table and the counter top that made being close together so addicting. He never got enough, he remembers, stripping Minghao unhurriedly, lips meeting a hundred times before a single article of clothing would be removed. So slow—So intense. So intimate, so in love. He'd do anything to step back into that kitchen and not get thrown out now.
He remembers the living room. They spent nights snuggled together in front of a boring show they'd use as white noise, with Minghao's head in his shoulder, and his nose crammed into Minghao's neck. "Love," Seokmin would whisper, and he remembers Minghao hugging him, his breathing deep and slow, the most relaxed he's ever been with a person. Love...
Something that's slipped out of his grasp.
He remembers his body twitching after a stressful day of working on a group project. His university teammates were trash—not that he'd ever have the heart to call them that, even in private. He suffered in silence and tried to make everything more bearable, but he was the one bearing with it the most. Minghao had Seokmin's head lolling back on the sofa, panting shakily as his boyfriend licked his way up his length. He sucked at the tip, the base, and rubbed at his balls, and Seokmin was tense—and then undone. Minghao stroked him and sucked him, and after he'd reached the high of his orgasm, he'd relished in a kiss, long and deep.
Feel better? Minghao had murmured, and Seokmin panted, boneless and blissful.
Wow, was all he had said. Just wow... Minghao certainly wasn't a therapist, but he certainly had his unorthodox solutions—and they worked.
Seokmin remembers the mundane things—like dining together, sitting opposite each other. This is good, the exchange would go.
Yeah, I made this.
You did?
Seokmin always loved the Chinese dishes Minghao would make him, and he'd surprise him with Korean dishes in exchange. Their relationship was a gift that kept on giving. Just being together was... magical. He wonders where it all went.
Staying up on late nights cramming school work, leaning against each other as they did equally bad at video games... They'd do the laundry together, get sick together, and get well together. Seokmin remembers Minghao shivering as he'd walked up to their bed, panting weakly with fever medicine in a small, white plastic bag he'd dragged himself down to the convenience store for, for both of them. He remembers looking up at his boyfriend, void of any energy and cold to the core, thinking about how much he loved him and how he was so sure that they were going to grow old together—how it was such a dream to have someone support him the way he supported them. He remembers after this, Minghao curled up on his side of the bed, and when Seokmin's fever had gone down, he bought porridge, and found his lover in a worser state than him. So are the ups and downs of life.
He remembers... all of it clearly. From good things to bad things. Sex in the shower with Minghao's back pressed against the damp, glass wall, and then arguing on the sofa from petty little disputes. Minghao and him ordering takeout for each other, but not talking—encountering something stupid, and then softening up for each other again.
The last thing in his cycle is the memory of Minghao slow dancing with him, practicing for a theater act Seokmin had in the drama club. He'd enjoyed that night far more than the entire performance—and its significance never wavered in his heart. His hands held onto Minghao's slim waist, and watched his boyfriend's arms wrap around his shoulders. He studied Minghao's every hair strand and eyelash. Unabashedly, they loved and that dance was intimacy that ruptured Seokmin's heart.
He couldn't help but dip his head into his hands and cry.
They were so much together, and now they were nothing at all. Nothing pained Seokmin more than losing Minghao, and the mat was soon stained with tears. Despite holding his face in his hands, his sadness welled up like an overflowing fish bowl, and dripped onto the mat between his shoes. If there had been a fish in that bowl—Seokmin reckoned—it would be gasping for air like he was right now.
Crying too much was embarrassing to say the least, and difficult to stop at most. It started with tears, and ended in muffled wails, pain clogged up in his heart gushing like water through a dam break. It rushed out uncontrollably, until he was only a sobbing mess, all alone, on that little square mat, in the dark on a green field—pitiful.
He wiped the tears, but they wouldn't stop, and now his nose was dripping like a faucet above his lips.
"... Yuck." He murmured.
"... You called me here just to see you cry?"
Oh.
Is he dreaming right now?
The voice he hasn't heard in so long—not ever since the times he feigned he needed advice, or that he forgot to bring something home, or that he was drunk and certainly not just missing Minghao. Stop calling, Minghao had said, after talking him through each time. It's better if we never speak to each other again.
When Seokmin looks up, he meets the gaze of his now ex-lover, who had trudged up on the grass to meet his sorrowful state.
Seokmin freezes, and then he drags himself across the grass to cling onto Minghao's legs, weeping pathetically. "Don't go, please!"
"I rescheduled a whole flight just to come here and do this. This is the last time you'll see me—no matter how much you cry!"
Seokmin wailed harder, and it was loud enough to cause a commotion, so Minghao bends down and shuts him up with his hands.
"Will you stop it? I don't have a choice! Like it or not, I have to go!"
Seokmin rips his ear pieces off and stuffs them into his bag, folding his mat haphazardly and bringing it along. "Then I'm coming with you."
"No you aren't!"
"Where are you even going? Will you stop running away?" Seokmin asks, face tear-stained, his chest heaving. "All this time and you've never told me what's going on. One day you just trashed everything we had together and told me we're breaking up. I thought I was going to marry you!"
Minghao's face burns when Seokmin yells at him, and he grits his teeth, formulating something to say back. "I thought I was going to marry you t—"
"You just stomped all over my feelings and fucked out of my life! I don't even know how to function..." Seokmin says weakly, and his eyes burn with tears, his bag fisted between his shaking hands. "Just tell me why you're doing this. Why... you destroyed everything."
"I just hinted at it for you," Minghao says, exasperated, running a hand through his hair. "I'm flying back to China."
The air finally gets hit with silence, and Minghao stands there, head dipped, looking at his feet. He's sure Seokmin understands now, but he turns back to a man stumbling onto his feet toward him.
"Then I'll come too."
"What? No!"
"Why? Because you're gonna marry someone else? Are you ashamed of me? Don't I belong in your life?"
The last question hits Minghao hard in the chest, and he stands speechless, helpless as Seokmin leans in and kisses him. Minghao has an answer to give his ex-boyfriend, but Seokmin's only interested in distracting him for the night. Minghao doesn't fight him, hands coming up slowly to tangle in his hair.
At five in the morning, Minghao's body lies nude under the soft, white bedsheets. He listens to Seokmin's distinct voice by the window, light and melodic, coupled with the unfaltering strum of his guitar. He sounds terribly emotional, and it's obvious who this song is directed at. Heart heavy, Minghao lays facing away, tears wetting the sheets beneath him.
At eight in the morning, Seokmin awakes to Minghao's soft voice, on a call with someone.
"Ma, will you let me reschedule my flight? .... My friend is coming with me." Seokmin stares blankly at Minghao's naked back, blinking slowly as he goes over every mark he's made, every hickey he's planted. "I know, Ma. I... He's thought about this seriously."
Despite Seokmin's recklessness, or the fact that he might have made the claim rashly, Minghao was willing to trust him.
Myungho...
"He'll come live with us. He's a good guy, he'll help around the house. He's lively, like Pa. I know you won't refuse him... so is it alright if we just wait until he's graduated?"
There's a short pause, and then Minghao sighs, his shoulders sagging.
"Thank you, Ma. And I know you're worried. He can handle it. I trust... that he knows what he's doing. If he ends up living with us for a long time, please don't be surprised."
Seokmin shuts his eyes.
Peace settles in his heart for the first time in six months, and as he falls back asleep again, the bed dips, and a warm, slimmer hand clutches onto his own.
Finally, he feels whole again.