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Every Saturday morning, Minghao drags himself out of bed to cook breakfast for the two of them. Most of the time, Mingyu will be out of bed right after him. He's drawn to the sounds of Minghao clattering around in the kitchen. It doesn’t matter whose kitchen it is; Minghao knows them both. He has to lean up on his toes to reach the thick ceramic mugs at the very top of Mingyu’s cabinet.
That’s when Mingyu chooses to sneak up on him and dart two cold hands under the loose hem of Minghao's shirt. The shirt is Mingyu's, judging by how loose it fits. Minghao wasn't paying that much attention when he took it out of the drawer.
Minghao jumps in surprise and it’s lucky that he doesn’t bring the whole shelf of mugs down on both of them. He braces his weight against the counter, shooting a glare over his shoulder. Mingyu is smiling, though his mouth is still hidden behind Minghao’s shoulder. The expression is clear in the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and the lines next to his nose curving.
“I’m going to crack a mug on your head,” Minghao says, trying to sound unperturbed. “And then you’ll learn not to sneak around.”
Mingyu laughs, squeezing his arms around Minghao’s waist. The buzz of Mingyu’s laughter gets smothered against the back of his neck. The sensation almost makes Minghao shiver. He shifts like he’s planning on picking Minghao up, making him hook his fingers around the counter to try and stop it.
“Need help?” Mingyu asks, the pads of his thumbs pushing into Minghao’s hip bones.
“Not from you,” Minghao bites back, huffing when Mingyu relaxes his grasp. Mingyu presses his forehead against the nape of Minghao’s neck. He brushes a kiss over the spot where the loose collar of the shirt meets his skin. It’s beyond Minghao to even pretend he’s angry.
“If you wanna eat you have to let go of me,” Minghao says, more gently this time. Mingyu hums, kissing Minghao’s bare skin one more time before stepping away. He perches on the counter instead, taking up far too much space. Minghao doesn’t scold him or try to get rid of him, but he doesn’t indulge any of Mingyu’s efforts to steal a kiss, either.
He’ll give in to both things— first the kiss, then trying to rid the kitchen of Mingyu so he can finish up. Mingyu is so used to cooking himself that he tries to sneak in and take over tasks when Minghao isn’t looking. Charming as it is, Minghao wants to feel like he’s the one doing something for Mingyu once in awhile. But when he’s still ruffled and sleepy, his eyes lazily following Minghao’s movements around the kitchen, Minghao is happy to have him around.
“Are you staying again tonight?” Mingyu asks, trying to catch Minghao’s hand only to puff out a sigh when Minghao tugs it away.
“I’m shooting tomorrow,” Minghao says. Now he does turn and lean up on his toes, pressing a quick kiss to Mingyu’s mouth. Mingyu smiles and it makes him pause for half a second before giving him another one. He has one hand resting on the outside of Mingyu’s thigh, squeezing the spot his palm finds the most familiar. “You can come home with me, though.”
Mingyu leans back enough for Minghao to make out his face, a grin still stretched across his cheeks. “Are you flirting before breakfast?”
“No.” Minghao might be. He steps away, flicking Mingyu’s thigh and checking on his steaming pot of green tea sitting on the back burner of the stove instead. Mingyu laughs and Minghao realizes his shirt is too tight across his chest— one of Minghao’s picked out by mistake.
Mingyu hums, amused. It only takes another quiet moment in the kitchen before he’s pushing himself off the counter and taking the empty space next to Minghao instead. He's reaching around him to try and lift the lid of the rice cooker. Minghao sighs, resigned, swatting Mingyu’s hand away before he reaches it.
“I’ll kick you out,” Minghao says, bumping at Mingyu’s hip with his own. Mingyu sulks, his eyebrows drawing tight together.
“I’m helping,” he says, managing to sound genuinely put out. Minghao bumps against him again, shaking his head.
“Go sit somewhere,” Minghao says. When Mingyu doesn’t move still, he leans his head to the side until it’s resting against Mingyu’s shoulder. “I’ll bring you tea if you’re good.”
Mingyu wavers for a few seconds before he gives in, pressing a quick kiss against the top of Minghao’s head.
“Fine,” he says, untangling himself from Minghao and stepping away. Minghao does his best not to grin.
On nights when he gets stuck working late, Mingyu doesn’t usually take the longer train ride to Minghao’s apartment. The two of them have managed to mingle their lives together in spite of living apart.
It isn’t something they’ve ever called a rule, exactly, but it is one all the same. Mingyu has gotten good at treading around the unspoken lines in his relationship with Minghao. They almost never talk about the future in general. It brings up too many other topics that they have to step around.
But tonight Mingyu doesn’t want to go back to his empty one-bedroom and fall asleep by himself. It’s cold and he wants to go home.
Home; whichever apartment he’ll find Minghao in. He has the code to Minghao’s door memorized. He steps through after he punches it in, setting his shoes next to Minghao’s. He leaves his coat in the entryway, turning through the kitchen and the open door of Minghao’s room. He leaves his clothes in a pile on the floor, trying to find a spot to lay on the bed without disturbing Minghao or the cat currently asleep to the side of his thigh. He’s more worried about waking Minghao than Xiaoba since she sleeps like the dead.
Mingyu manages to slide under the blanket without falling on top of Minghao or raising a racket. He settles in, pressing a kiss to the edge of Minghao’s shoulder and dragging Minghao’s arm over his waist. Usually, because of his size, Mingyu is the one with Minghao tucked against his chest. If it weren’t more morning than night and if Mingyu didn’t still have a headache from grading papers, he might wake Minghao up and get him to hold him for real.
Things are fine like this, though. Better when Mingyu hasn’t yet started to drift off and Minghao sighs, adjusting his grip on Mingyu’s back.
“Go ahead and talk,” he says, his eyes still shut.
“You’re sleeping,” Mingyu says, shaking his head.
“Not anymore.” Minghao has a wry smile on his face, Mingyu can see it even with all the lights in the room turned off.
“Sorry,” Mingyu says, his thumb wandering over Minghao’s ribs.
Minghao doesn’t shut his eyes and neither does Mingyu, but for a long moment the room is quiet. They stay locked in a stalemate until Mingyu ducks his head forward and squeezes his hand around Minghao’s ribs.
“Needed to see you,” Mingyu says. Minghao nods, his fingers spread wide on the small of Mingyu’s back. Unlike Minghao— thoughtful and soft-spoken— once Mingyu gets started he can’t make himself stop. “My sister called my mom from school and told her she’d started having dreams about this guy who she saw in one of her classes. And how would she know if he’s her soulmate and isn’t it so great if she found the person she’s gonna spend her life with and—”
He's forced to pause and take a breath and in that time Minghao blinks, his slight smile melting away into a frown. Mingyu doesn’t pick up the story again but Minghao seems to have caught on to what he was so worried about, anyway.
“And your mom called you,” Minghao says, his thumb following the line of Mingyu’s cheekbone. “Because you’re with me.”
“I wanted to see you,” Mingyu says again, his words muffled by the thin fabric of Minghao’s shirt. “I didn’t wanna go to bed alone.”
He never wants to go to bed alone, but now isn’t the time to mention it. Not after the kind reminder from his mother that he and Minghao have no destiny together. Minghao looks like he doesn’t know what to say and Mingyu shakes his head, doing his best to smile.
“It’s fine,” Mingyu says, putting more energy into his voice than he needs to. The noise finally rouses Xiaoba. She lifts her head to give him a single disdainful stare before hopping off the edge of the bed. “Maybe now she’ll stop bothering me about it for awhile.”
Minghao’s hand is resting on the back of his neck and when Mingyu looks up there’s a weak thread of a smile on his face.
“I’m sorry,” he says, lowering his voice further.
“Are you going in early?” Mingyu asks, curling his fingers in Minghao’s shirt and shutting his eyes.
“No,” Minghao says, a catch in his voice that could almost be laughter. “I’m staying right here.”
For awhile, it’s quiet. Mingyu is reaching the very edge of sleep when Minghao speaks again. “I’m glad you came over.”
Mingyu doesn’t respond except by burrowing in closer to Minghao— holding onto him a little tighter.
“Are you sure you’re allowed to bring me to this?” Mingyu asks, adjusting the sweater he’s wearing. He’s looking at the full-length mirror rather than at Minghao, trying to decide how the ribbed bottom of the sweater should sit on his hips.
Minghao is busy packing his camera away in his bag and when Mingyu does glance over, he only offers a shrug.
“They gave me two invitations,” Minghao says, zipping the bag once everything he thinks he’ll need is inside; his camera, another lens, two memory cards, an extra battery. “No one said I could give the other one to anyone but you.”
Mingyu sighs and gives the sweater another tug. Minghao can’t help but laugh at him, setting the bag down and sliding up behind Mingyu, putting his arms around Mingyu’s waist. “Why are you so worried?”
He isn’t tall enough to hook his chin over Mingyu’s shoulder but Mingyu always shrinks down a little when Minghao is holding onto him. It means that Minghao can kiss the back of his neck and pinch at Mingyu’s side when he doesn’t answer right away.
“I dunno,” Mingyu says, shaking his head.
“Wear a different sweater,” Minghao says, teasing his hands under the loose hem of the one Mingyu has on. The tips of his fingers skim up over Mingyu’s stomach, tracing the shape of his muscles and absorbing the heat of his skin. Mingyu’s breath catches, leaning his head back against Minghao’s.
“You don’t like this one?” He asks. Minghao can hear him pouting but he can also see it in the mirror. He shakes his head, tickling Mingyu’s ribs.
“You don’t like it,” he says, pulling his hands back when Mingyu giggles and tries to wiggle free of his grasp. “Wear something of mine.”
“You know how that makes things look,” Mingyu says, whining a little. He pulls the sweater off anyway, tossing it on top of Minghao’s bed.
Minghao knows exactly how that makes things look— at least if you can tell the clothes aren’t Mingyu’s to begin with. It makes them look attached— more than friends. But Minghao doesn’t mind it when they look like that. They are more than friends and it’s hardly illegal. They’ve been over and over this topic, though, and Minghao doesn’t want to fight about it one more time.
They lack that subtle air of connection that soulmates have. The way they seem to draw a single breath whenever they’re together— a single heartbeat split between two living bodies. It only sticks out when it isn’t there.
Mingyu is rooting around in Minghao’s closet, the shadow of it falling across his bare back. If Minghao didn’t have to go to this charity dinner for work, he’d like to stay home and keep Mingyu’s shirt off for awhile longer. It feels like too long since they last had an evening to themselves…
But Minghao does have to work and he’d like to have Mingyu there with him. At least he can make Mingyu hold his camera bag while he’s taking pictures of the expensive centerpieces. He leans around Mingyu, grabbing a blazer and a dark, silky button-up and passing both of them into Mingyu’s hands. He isn’t so much bigger that he can’t get away with wearing Minghao’s clothes, though he won’t be able to button the blazer.
“Wear this,” he says, grinning when Mingyu takes both from him.
“You’re gonna get yelled at,” Mingyu says, shaking his head with a little laugh. Minghao shrugs once again, laughing. He’s a photographer, not an invited guest. If the people throwing the party get angry that he decided to bring his paramour along that’s not his problem. Even if his editor gets angry about it on Monday… she did never tell him to leave Mingyu at home. He steps back to watch Mingyu get dressed, patting himself on the back for the way his shirt clings to Mingyu’s chest.
“Hold still,” he says. He steps in close to adjust the blazer and run his fingers through Mingyu’s hair, flicking it back into order. Mingyu smiles, ducking his head to let Minghao fix it for him. When he pulls his hand away, Mingyu stands again, a crooked smile on his face.
“Look okay?” He asks, giving the blazer a quick tug. Minghao kisses the corner of his mouth before pulling the strap of his camera bag over his shoulder.
“You look fine,” he says, smiling. “They might even try and put you in the auction.”
That makes Mingyu frown, trailing after Minghao as he leaves the room, pulling at the back of his shirt. “This isn’t another one of those, is it?”
“Another one of what?” Minghao asks, playing ignorant while he shrugs his jacket on.
“Those horrible stuffy fundraisers,” Mingyu says, frowning. He catches Minghao’s shoulder and turns him around so they’re facing one another. “Are you making me listen to old people go on and on about water conservation again?”
“Of course not,” Minghao says, trying to fight the smile playing at the corner of his lips. He smooths his hands over Mingyu’s arms, doing his best to look innocent. “It’s for the art museum. They’re not gonna be talking about water.”
Mingyu groans, hanging his head and leaning his weight against Minghao’s shoulders. “You said it was a party.”
“It is,” Minghao says, laughing now. He did fool Mingyu a little bit— he left everything boring out of his pitch to get Mingyu to come with him. He doesn’t feel bad about it, either. He’d rather spend a dull evening with Mingyu than without him. “There’s gonna be music and food and they’re gonna have some of the new exhibition out in the gallery.”
“And horrible speeches and an auction,” Mingyu says. He reaches around Minghao to grab his own jacket.
“A silent auction,” Minghao says, stuffing his keys into the pocket of his slacks. Mingyu groans again, like he’s subjected to some kind of horrible torture at Minghao’s hands.
“You owe me for this one,” Mingyu says, the edges of his sullenness already starting to give way. Minghao rolls his eyes but hums in agreement. He takes Mingyu's hand and pulls him out of the bedroom and out of the apartment.
“I’ll make it up to you,” Minghao says, lacing his fingers between Mingyu’s. They don’t usually hold hands much in public but anyone living in Minghao’s building is used to the sight of Mingyu, anyway.
Maybe Minghao likes the hint of danger to it. It settles in the back of his throat like an itch or a cough— persistent and hard to ignore. It’s hard to hide, too. He and Mingyu are things they shouldn’t be.
Mingyu has been watching Minghao sort through his clean laundry for the last fifteen minutes. It hasn’t gotten any more exciting and he’s no longer interested in anything that his phone has to offer. Minghao has his glasses perched on the end of his nose, always at risk of slipping off and falling on the bed. Mingyu wants to pluck them off his face and set them down on the nightstand.
He also wants to flop on the bed and ruin Minghao’s stack of neatly folded towels, just to be contrary. Minghao seems to catch onto the thought before Mingyu moves because he looks over his shoulder with a little frown.
“Don’t move,” he says. The sharpness in his voice is fake, in contrast to the smile on his face. Mingyu lurches up out of his seat, leaving his phone behind. He wraps his arms around Minghao’s waist, pulling him against his chest with a laugh.
“I’m bored,” he says, pressing a kiss to the swell of Minghao’s shoulder over the thin fabric of his shirt. Minghao huffs, shaking his head. He still has a thick sweater in his hands, halfway through folding it. Mingyu opens his arms further and catches Minghao’s under them, trapping his arms at his side.
“I’m almost done,” Minghao says, patting one of Mingyu’s hands. Mingyu ignores it, his mouth on the side of Minghao’s neck now instead. He can feel the slight intake of Minghao’s breath, his head tilting to the side to give Mingyu more space. Mingyu drags his teeth along the side of Minghao’s neck, squeezing him a little tighter.
“You can finish later,” Mingyu says, kissing the thin skin beneath his ear.
Minghao’s back arches, pressing himself into Mingyu’s chest in one long, languid line like the stretch of a cat. Mingyu keeps caressing kisses over his neck, taking in the warmth of Minghao’s body pressed into his.
“I could finish in like five minutes,” Minghao says. His heart isn’t in the complaint. When Mingyu plucks the wire frames off his face and sets them to the side, he looks over his shoulder with a smile trying to creep up his face. “You can’t be patient?”
“No,” Mingyu says, nudging Minghao in the direction of the bed, steering him using his hips. “I can’t.”
Minghao laughs, turning to the side before he flops over on the bed. It does knock his towels to the floor, landing with a muffled thump that Mingyu takes fiendish delight in. He lays himself across the bed next to Minghao, their bodies close together. He kisses him as soon as he’s settled enough not to clack their teeth together in the process.
One of Minghao’s hands finds the back of Mingyu’s head, pulling him in even closer. His tongue presses past the seam of Mingyu’s lips, eager to turn the kiss into something heavier.
It isn’t hard for Mingyu to get a sense of what Minghao wants, or to give it to him. He wiggles onto his back and Minghao follows along until he’s seated on top of Mingyu. He still has his fingers in Mingyu’s hair, tugging his head back. When the kiss breaks, Minghao’s warm breath slides along his jaw.
“You’re gonna ruin all my folded clothes,” he says, pressing down so Mingyu can feel where Minghao’s half-hard against his stomach. Mingyu cannot even pretend to mind the state of Minghao’s laundry, nodding along with his words.
“I’ll help fold the rest,” Mingyu says, even though he won’t. Minghao laughs, kissing along the bone of Mingyu’s jaw while he talks. “I’ll change the sheet for you when we’re done.”
“Liar,” Minghao says, breathing over Mingyu’s neck. Mingyu nods once again, tilting his head back to give Minghao better access. He’s in a coy mood and Mingyu has always been easy to tease. His fingers flex in a useless grip around Minghao’s ribs, pulling his shirt up enough to reveal a sliver of pale skin around his hips.
Mingyu bites down on a curse when Minghao’s mouth closes on his neck, teeth digging in. It makes him squirm, his shoulders pushing away from the bed. Minghao is light enough for Mingyu to accidentally upset his balance, causing him to shift forward to catch himself. He shakes his head, his hair tickling the side of Mingyu’s cheek with a laugh.
“And clumsy,” he says, adding to Mingyu’s list of troubles. He traces his thumb over the faint bite mark left on Mingyu’s throat, rubbing saliva into a wider ring on his skin. “What did you have in mind dragging me to bed with you?”
He isn’t sure what he wants other than the chance to feel Minghao against him, warm and solid. He wants the feeling he gets when he’s as close to Minghao as he can be.
Minghao sits up, shifting his weight back so his ass presses against Mingyu’s hips. He has his head tipped to the side like he’s thinking hard about something and Mingyu is aware of the rapid rise and fall of his own chest. Part of him wants to take Minghao’s hand and press it to his chest so Minghao can feel the rabbit pace of his heart.
“Just the usual,” Mingyu says, dodging the real answer. Minghao’s grin gets wider and he rolls his hips, reaching an arm back to brace himself against one of Mingyu’s legs.
“Are you ordering a coffee?” Minghao asks, muffling his laughter into the back of his hand. “The usual?”
“Shut up,” Mingyu says, leaning his head back against the bed with a put out sigh. “You know what I mean.”
His face is burning redder every second and Minghao laughs again. He bends his back, pressing his mouth to Mingyu’s heated cheeks.
“Okay,” Minghao says. “I won’t make you ask me for it.”
He stretches out his long arms to pull open the top drawer of the nightstand. Mingyu takes over in pulling out the supplies that Minghao keeps tucked to the side of his bed— a bottle of lube almost drained from their use of it. Mingyu passes both to Minghao, grunting when his weight lifts.
Minghao settles between his thighs instead, cupping his warm palm against the tented outside of Mingyu’s sweats. Mingyu bumps his hips up into the touch, his eyes sinking halfway shut. Minghao’s thumb drags along the fabric until it reaches the elastic waist. Mingyu spends the whole time trying to swallow the embarrassing litany of sounds that crowd into his mouth. He manages not to let any out, though Minghao is doing his best to get rid of Mingyu’s pants altogether.
All the movement upsets another stack of Minghao’s clothes, sending it tumbling to the floor. Mingyu turns toward it, dragging his hands up Minghao’s shirt and trying his best not to start laughing as well. He doesn’t feel bad for the way everything ends up piled on Minghao’s floor. Not when he has one of Minghao’s hands working him all the way hard, fingers cool against his overheated skin.
He’s pretty sure Minghao doesn’t feel bad about it either. He lifts his hand away only to allow Mingyu to drag his shirt off and toss it to the floor to mingle with his clean clothes. With it out of the way, Mingyu drags his hands over Minghao’s bare back, pressing them together chest-to-chest. He can feel the vibration in his chest when Minghao hums a little in amusement. Mingyu adjusts his grasp around Minghao so his hands meet in the center of his back, fingers pressing into his shoulder blades.
Minghao’s hair tickles against his cheek when he gives up on holding himself up and drapes himself over Mingyu. Mingyu rolls them to the side, smiling when he leans back enough for Minghao to see his face. The edge of his nose crinkles up in a grin, hair caught in his long eyelashes.
“You’re so clingy,” he says, laughing. It makes something in Mingyu’s blood go fizzy and bright like champagne. He nods, kissing the edge of Minghao’s mouth.
“Kinda,” he says, spreading his hands until they almost cover the whole of Minghao’s back.
Rather than pull away, Minghao kisses him again, slow and languid. His palms skim down Mingyu’s chest and over his hips, taking his time to brush over every inch of skin on his way. Mingyu lets his eyes fall shut, pleased. He twitches forward when Minghao’s hand pulls away, trying to follow it. It only takes him a second to realize Minghao is shoving his own pants down his hips, legs getting tangled up with Mingyu’s in the process.
Mingyu opens his eyes again when Minghao has a hand wrapped around the both of them, groaning into the muscle of his shoulder. The drag of skin-on-skin is good; exactly what Mingyu needs. Minghao makes a pleased sound when Mingyu’s hips push up into his hand, increasing the sweet drag of friction.
The pad of his thumb drags across the tip, where Mingyu’s skin has gone sticky and damp. He spreads the thin later of precome between them, making the slide of his hand quicker and easier. Mingyu’s nails scrape across Minghao’s shoulders, leaving thin red lines in their wake. He has his mouth open against the side of Minghao’s neck, tongue dragging along the sweaty juncture of his shoulder. He groans when Minghao’s hand squeezes tighter around the both of them, a shiver rolling down his spine.
“Is this what you were after?” Minghao says, a little laughter still in his voice. Mingyu nods, rolling his hips at a rhythm off the one Minghao has set. It doesn’t matter— he’s pulled along toward the edge anyway.
Minghao smooths his other hand through Mingyu’s hair, sweeping it away from his face, kissing the soft skin of his temple. Pressed so close together, Mingyu can feel the jagged beating of Minghao’s heart. As well as the way his own doesn’t quite line up or fall in time.
He’s used to that, though.
Minghao twists his wrist and Mingyu loses track of his thoughts. He groans open-mouthed against Minghao’s collarbone. It only takes another few pumps of Minghao’s hand before Mingyu tips over the edge. His nails carve crescent moons into Minghao’s back, come staining his fist and Mingyu’s own stomach. Minghao keeps going, even when Mingyu’s legs start to shake. He makes a low sound in the back his throat when he comes as well. His mouth pressed to the top of Mingyu’s head, muffling the sound in his hair.
Minghao pulls his hand away and makes a face at the mess, relaxing into Mingyu’s chest with a sigh. Mingyu picks his head up from Minghao’s chest, angling to steal another kiss.
“You made a mess,” Minghao says, his mouth pressed to Mingyu’s.
“Sorry,” Mingyu says, grinning. “I’ll help clean it up.”
“You better,” Minghao mumbles, letting Mingyu continue to cling onto him.
Months ago, Minghao sat down to sort through the hundreds of polaroid photos he and Mingyu have accumulated over the years. He’d only gotten through a few of the boxes— he didn’t even get rid of any, though he’d made an effort to sort them into order.
Now, he’s trying to decide which ones Mingyu might like to have the most.
He doesn’t know what he’s trying to accomplish with this. Maybe Mingyu won’t want any of the pictures. Maybe Minghao will pass the envelope into Mingyu’s hands only for Mingyu to hand it right back to him.
If he didn’t want the reminderof the life they had together, Minghao wouldn’t blame him.
Still, he feels like he has to offer him something. He wants to give Mingyu something of himself that he can keep.
A paramour— a lover who isn’t your soulmate— isn’t that uncommon a thing to have. It was a scandalous matter fifty years ago when people were expected to save themselves for their one true love and never have eyes for another.
But times have changed, and even though the expectation is that everyone ends up with their soulmate and stays that way. There’s more tolerance for a little bit of fooling around on the way.
Nothing about his relationship with Mingyu has been normal. Nor have they been fooling around.
It would be a lie to say that his intention was to fall in love with Mingyu like this. In the beginning it was chemistry— mutual attraction— and the fact that they were young enough to make mistakes. Mingyu has never been his to keep.
Minghao's trapped belonging to no one. He had a soulmate, like anyone else. A boy who grew up in his neighborhood— three streets away. They learned to dance in the same studio. Even when they were kids they would walk around and hold hands, even in the sticky summer air.
The mouth of the past is always yawning open one step behind Minghao, ready to swallow him up if he gives it the chance.
The picture— stuck somehow to a mirror that Minghao picked up in college. He’s never been able to get it off— at least not without risking tearing it in half.
It could almost be anyone; a shot of Mingyu taken from the back. His hair is blowing in the wind, evident also in the waves making white crests in the distant background. You could tip the whole image upside down— so it looks like Mingyu is falling into the sky rather than reaching out toward the water— the colors would be the same. The blue and white bleeding together in the line of the horizon.
Minghao sees the picture every morning. It’s an unavoidable fact of his routine. Whatever Mingyu used to stick it to the glass hasn’t given up its grip yet.
He took it around the time the two of them first decided on this strange arrangement. It might even have been that same afternoon; Minghao can’t remember. What he does remember is the two of them, stretched out on a sandy beach while visiting Mingyu’s cousin in California. They’d been sliding into this, like the crest of a falling wave— the ocean sliding up to the shore to lick around their ankles.
Mingyu had kissed him— Minghao kissed him back.
Now Minghao wishes he could take the photo from the mirror and stretch it out to encompass the room. He’d like to crawl inside and spend six months with nothing but the memory of the ocean beating against the shore and the salt of Mingyu’s skin.
He drags himself out of bed, pushes his hair out of his face and stops to stare at the picture.
It’s as beyond him to pull the picture off the mirror as it is for him to bring back the past. Best to keep moving forward, as always.
When Minghao dreams, it is of terrible, complete emptiness. It’s like having his brain immersed in the prolonged salt-and-pepper static of an old television. There’s a hiss, the sound of blood rushing past his ears, but there’s no other sound to focus on.
While he’s asleep, he doesn’t think about how his dreams used to be bright with color. Even when he’s awake he can’t remember all the details; bright scarves blowing in the wind, a long dirt road flanked by wide swaths of tall grass. The feeling that he had somewhere to go but all the time in the world to get there.
But those are different dreams— it almost feels like the memory of a different life. The same life that holds the memories of the first time Minghao worked up enough courage to kiss Zhennan.
He’s not the same boy anymore— the part of him that was tethered to Zhennan is nothing more than a dark, empty space. But the quiet of the missing external part of himself isn’t even the worst of it all. Even though Minghao’s sense of it never goes away.
The worst of it is when he can hear, for a few scant seconds, Zhennan’s voice. An echo of an echo— too far away for Minghao to make any words. It’s always a call or the end of a laugh. It doesn’t matter— Minghao knows Zhennan’s voice regardless. Even in the darkness, even years after the last time he heard it.
This time, Minghao could almost trick himself into believing that he can hear Zhennan calling him from a great distance.
The sound is enough to jerk him back into wakefulness. The glaring red light of his alarm clock informs him that it’s only been a few hours since he fell asleep… still shy of five in the morning.
Unlike Mingyu, who falls asleep and wakes up in the same position every night, Minghao is far from an easy sleeper. He rolls from his side to his back, pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes until his vision goes red. In the dark of the bedroom, there is no one to notice the tear that slips out of the corner of his eyes.
Except Mingyu is more awake than usual and when Minghao rolls away, he reaches his his arm out further.
“Don’t get up,” he says when Minghao starts to sit up. Minghao drops his hands to look down at Mingyu, surprised to find his dark eyes alert.
“Sorry,” Minghao says, softer than he needs to. “Bad dream.”
Mingyu’s lips part around a thought that doesn’t make it out. He reaches out, taking Minghao’s hand in his and kissing the trembling tips of his fingers.
“You didn’t wake me,” he says. That’s comforting in its own way— too many nights Minghao has ruined Mingyu’s sleep as well as his own.
Mingyu sits up, negotiating Minghao into his embrace and pulling the blanket up to cover them. Minghao ends up seated in his lap, his forehead leaning against Mingyu’s jaw.
He could could try to make excuses for himself, or slip off to the bathroom to try and save face. But he doesn’t need to do either of those things around Mingyu. Even if he’s never told Mingyu, he must’ve put some of the pieces together on his own. He might not know about Zhennan, or the car accident, or why Minghao has so much trouble getting to sleep.
But all the why matters less than what Mingyu does about it. He rubs his palm up and down Minghao’s side, the pressure of it warm and reassuring. He breathes slow and deep until Minghao falls into the same rhythm.
He doesn’t ask, at least not tonight, what Minghao sees in his dreams.
Minghao and Junhui have been exploring different Chinese places in the city as long as they’ve known each other. It turns out food soothes Minghao’s occasional homesickness like nothing else.
This isn’t a new place, and Minghao isn't with Junhui. The tiny restaurant wedged in the middle of an otherwise sterile shopping center is an old favorite. The aunty who owns it waves at him as soon as he walks in, pausing to take in Mingyu following after him.
“This is a different one than usual,” she says in Mandarin. Mingyu’s smile is nervous. It's like he’s meeting Minghao’s actual aunt rather than the owner of his favorite restaurant.
Maybe that’s how it feels. He talks about China with Mingyu so rarely. It feels like the home of a past life; everything that happened there happened to someone else and not him.
“Ge-ge was busy,” Minghao says, shaking his head. “This is,” he glances back at Mingyu and gets stuck. There’s no polite word for what they are. Not for an acquaintance like this. “Mingyu.”
The aunty smiles at him, taking one of his hands and bowing shallowly.
“He’s handsome,” she says, a little glint in her eyes. Minghao bites down on a laugh but Mingyu knows that look well enough on his own. Minghao can see how his face heats. He drags Mingyu over to a seat, still trying to muffle his laughter.
“She likes you,” he says, giving Mingyu’s hand a squeeze of his own. Mingyu is still blushing— Minghao can see it even under the low lights.
“I can't tell,” Mingyu says, shaking his head. “I'm scared she's gonna kick me out.”
“She’s used to seeing me with Junhui,” Minghao says, lifting his shoulders in a loose shrug.
This is the first time he’s brought Mingyu here, even though he’s been coming for years. It’s close to his apartment. Close enough that it doesn’t feel like a chore to drag himself here for takeout when he can't stand any other human task.
He’s not sure why he’s neglected to bring Mingyu along— it’s not like he’s concerned that the food won’t be to his taste.
“Did he find this place or did you?” Mingyu asks, leaning his head to the side. He has his hand resting in Minghao’s still, both of them on top of the table. Minghao decides there’s no reason he should have to let go right away.
“I don’t remember,” Minghao says. He rubs his thumb over the curve of Mingyu’s hand, thinking it over.
There’s an old ballad playing over the speakers, the melody creaky and thin. It reminds Minghao of the music his mother used to listen to when she was cooking.
The waitress— a girl a few years younger than them, sets a steaming hot stainless steel teapot on a waiting mat in the center of the table. She lingers for a second, her eyes falling in their joined hands. Minghao isn’t sure if he wants to let go or hang on tighter but she stands up and smiles.
“Do you know what you want to order?” She asks, digging the stump of a pencil out of her pocket.
She scribbles their orders on a little pad, laughing when Minghao teases Mingyu for trying to read his in Mandarin.
Mingyu looks so settled in that it almost takes Minghao by surprise. He has kept certain parts of his life from braiding themselves together. The sight of Mingyu making a face at the bean sprouts on top of his meal makes him feel… strange. The juxtaposition is bizarre but not unwelcome.
It makes him wonder what Mingyu would look like in the tiny kitchen of the Hong Kong apartment he grew up in. His head would probably knock against the top of all the doorways. Then again, Minghao has no image of himself as an adult in his parent’s apartment, either. He hasn’t been back since he was nineteen years old. As far as he knows, his childhood bedroom has given way to storage and dust.
“This is really good,” Mingyu says, his mouth half-full of rice still. Minghao doesn’t bother to scold him for his manners. Nothing has ever been able to stand between Mingyu and a good meal. The only person Minghao knows that eats even more ravenously is Jihoon. Then the spectacle is even worse.
“Glad you like it,” Minghao says, setting his tea back down with a smile. “It reminds me of home.”
One distinctly less traditional thing that comes along with their meal is the fortune cookies. They're delivered at the end in their clear plastic wrapping. Minghao gives them a bare roll of his eyes but Mingyu is quick to reach out and snatch one off the tray they’re resting on.
“These are so stupid,” Minghao says, flicking the other.
Mingyu rolls his eyes, peeling the plastic packaging open. “They’re fun. Open it.”
“They don’t even taste good,” Minghao says. He grabs the other cookie anyway, opening the package. Mingyu grins, the points of his teeth poking into his lower lip.
“You will find a great love,” Mingyu reads. His nose wrinkles when he smiles. The muted light from the red paper lantern hanging over the table cast long shadows on his face. “Lucky numbers fourteen, one, twenty-one.”
“What’s yours?” He asks when Minghao fails to crack the cookie open to rescue the scrap of paper inside.
“Something stupid,” Minghao says, breaking it in half between his hands. “And badly translated.”
When he looks at it, he has to read it twice to make sure he hasn’t gotten it wrong.
"Do what is right, not what you want." Minghao drops the scrap of paper back into the split halves of the cookie.
He's reluctant to smile until Mingyu catches his eyes, a grin spread across
In his dream, Mingyu is standing by the edge of an old, mossy well. It’s covered with a thick board and an even thicker layer of moss and new growth.
It looks like it hasn’t been disturbed for a century.
Around the well there is a garden, but Mingyu can only make out the basic shapes of it. Most of the land beyond the well turns into fuzzy impressions— no matter how much Mingyu squints at it, nothing ever gets clearer.
The garden is quiet save for sounds that don’t make sense. Mingyu can hear no birds but in the distance, there's the crashing of waves. Somewhere, he can hear waves eating away at the line of the shore. There is no smell of salt in the air but it doesn’t stop the little pull in Mingyu’s chest. He has good memories of the ocean— laying on the beach in California and kissing Minghao for the first time.
As the bond between the two of them begins to take shape, the dream will get clearer as well. The dreams start when they first encounter one another and for the rest of their lives, they'll unravel the world of their shared dreams.
Mingyu can feel the presence of his soulmate in some other corner of the dream. It’s like a voice calling him from another room. He can’t quite place where it’s coming from or how to follow it, but it’s persistent enough that he can’t ignore it either.
This garden— the well and the distant ocean are all supposed to say something about the two of them. There are people who do interpretations of these dreams. All the scenery and symbols charted in old books. The specific symbols of a dream tell a lot about the couple— everything from what makes them to compatible to how many children they might have. Mingyu doesn’t know what the well means, but the dream still fills him with a sense of dread.
He doesn't know what this dream means in those terms but it does mean that things are going to change. When he was young, his mother told him that the heart is like a compass; unbreakable, always pointing true. He’s meant to follow it straight to whoever his soulmate is.
But in the morning, he will wake up and wish he was in Minghao’s bed.
In the white frame of the photo, Mingyu’s nose is taking up far too much of the image. He was pretending to be annoyed by all the pictures Minghao was taking of him. Mingyu had climbed half into his lap, squishing his face into the lens of the camera.
Minghao had leaned back far enough to capture the center of his face. It shows the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and the bump in his nose from where it broke as a child. The light splashes over his face, his eyes capturing a sparkle of it and holding it there.
After he took it, Minghao had set the camera down and pulled Mingyu in to kiss him.
The picture is older, a little worn at the edges from being handled and crushed from their drunken kissing on Minghao’s new couch. But Minghao can still feel the phantom of that kiss-- the brush of Mingyu’s breath on his cheek. Mingyu’s pleased laughter after.
In the present, Minghao puts the photo back in the box with a little frown on his face.
Some memories it’s better to keep to himself.
“I’ve been having weird dreams,” Mingyu says, his voice muffled by the wad of toothpaste still in his mouth.
He looks almost as tired as Minghao feels. It's different from his usual overbearing energy in the mornings. A product of Mingyu’s ability to fall asleep on demand. Minghao can remember half a dozen parties where he thought Mingyu got lost or left with someone else only to discover him asleep in a back corner. Always at a terribly uncomfortable angle.
“About what?”
The bathroom of Mingyu’s apartment is too small to comfortably hold both of them. When they stand above his sink and brush their teeth, it’s done with a lot of bumping elbows and trying to nudge each other out of the way.
Mingyu spits in the sink and Minghao wrinkles his nose, trying not to laugh.
“Um,” Mingyu says, looking down the drain rather than at Minghao. “It’s this old garden with a well in it.”
The urge to laugh dries up in Minghao’s throat. Mingyu’s voice is unsteady and he casts a nervous, sideways glance in Minghao’s direction. He rinses his toothbrush off, returning it to its cup. “And you can hear the ocean.”
Minghao takes half a step back, almost standing inside the shower, his forehead wrinkling. “More than once?”
“Three times,” Mingyu says, softer now. “Always the same.”
The bathroom is so quiet that Minghao worries Mingyu might be able to hear the jagged, uneven pace of his heart. There are precious few answers to something like that and one is obvious as a neon sign.
Mingyu’s dreams are twisted together with his soulmate’s. They probably met in some innocuous way. At the bar he and Minghao went to a week ago, in the halls after one of Mingyu’s classes, brushing elbows at a coffee shop. It doesn’t matter now. After the first contact, it’s only a matter of time before the two of them are drawn together.
Minghao should know what to say— he should’ve prepared for this to happen.
“Are you sure?” He says, the tremor of his voice betraying him. He means to smile, shrug it off, put it to the back of his mind and pretend that doesn’t mean anything. But he can’t. It looks like Mingyu can’t either.
“Yeah,” he says. He puts his hand on his chest, covering his heart. “I can feel it, I think.”
He can remember that feeling. An invisible line trying to tug him in whatever direction Zhennan was. He puts his hand over Mingyu’s, curling their fingers together. He can feel the beat of Mingyu’s heart through his thin cotton shirt.
“Minghao,” he says, using Minghao’s hand to pull him in closer. Minghao goes along— steps across the cold tiles until he’s pressed against Mingyu’s chest. “I don’t want…”
“I know,” Minghao says. He pulls Mingyu’s hand away from his shirt to press a light kiss to the back of it. “You don’t have to say anything.”
Please don’t say anything, he adds, only for himself.
From the beginning, he knew that he couldn’t have Mingyu forever. There was always going to come a day when Mingyu no longer belonged to him.
It’s too soon— if it had been a decade, two decades— it would still be too soon.
“It might not be,” Mingyu says, squeezing Minghao’s hand tight in his own. “It was just a few funny dreams.”
In the face of the truth, Mingyu’s optimism is a wasted gesture. There is no silver lining to the hard facts hemming the both of them in.
They do not have a share in each other’s fate.
They are not soulmates and they never will be.
Minghao hates to be the one to take his misguided hope away.
“I should go home,” Minghao says, untangling his fingers from Mingyu’s. The pale tiles of the bathroom seem to loom in closer— the space closing in on them. “I’ll make sure I come by and get everything in a few days.”
He’s not even sure how much of his own stuff is in Mingyu’s apartment. Far more than he intended there to be. Mingyu makes a small, wounded sound in the back of his throat. He reaches for Minghao again, shaking his head.
“At least.” He catches Minghao’s wrist, his grasp loose enough that Minghao could easily pull his arm away. He doesn’t, turning to look up at Mingyu with a slight frown. “Don’t leave right now.”
“Mingyu,” Minghao says, his shoulders slumping with a long sigh. “We agreed—”
“That was two years ago,” Mingyu says. He takes a step forward, closing the space between them again. “It was dumb, anyway.”
Minghao opens his mouth to say something else but Mingyu shakes his head, squeezing tighter around his wrist. “Just tonight. Stay here.”
“Okay,” Minghao says. There are tears gathering up in Mingyu’s eyes. It’s a small thing to give him, anyway. It’s not like sleeping in Mingyu’s bed for one more night is going to change anything about the future. “I’ll stay tonight.”
He can leave in the morning with as much of his stuff as he can carry. He can spend the afternoon putting Mingyu’s things forgotten in his apartment in their own box.
He can start letting go of all his love for Mingyu then. Tonight, he can lay in bed with Mingyu and pet his hair while he cries.
Mingyu goes six days before anything else happens. There are no more dreams and, strange as it is, he doesn’t hear from Minghao at all either. He starts to wonder if he was too hasty in telling Minghao about his dreams. Maybe all this silliness is over nothing. The two of them can go back to living their lives the way they’re supposed to be.
And then, dashing between buildings with his bag over his head, trying to stay dry in the rain, Mingyu passes by a boy whose face makes him stop dead in the middle of the sidewalk. It’s an indescribable feeling— getting struck a bolt of lightning— seeing the sun for the first time.
It’s still raining and people are starting to jostle their way around Mingyu.
But the boy stopped too. He’s staring at Mingyu the same way Mingyu is staring at him.
Slowly, he smiles. He has a proper umbrella and upon realizing that Mingyu doesn’t, he lifts it a little bit higher. There’s a clear invitation in the gesture. Mingyu edges a few steps closer, out of the main flow of students.
“Hi,” he says, low and shy. He doesn’t know how to introduce himself or how to explain. He might not need to. The boy closes the rest of the distance and lifts his umbrella high enough for Mingyu to duck under.
He isn’t much shorter than Mingyu, so at least he doesn’t look too uncomfortable being accommodating like this. He’s handsome— almost startlingly so— with a straight nose and eyes that curve gently with his smile. His hair is perfectly disheveled, either by accident or design.
The rain pattering on the fabric above them is noisy, but Mingyu still feels like he can hear the boy’s heartbeat. Flawlessly in sync with his own.
“Hello,” he says, his voice a robust tenor. He’s smiling so hard now that his eyes have shrunk to half-moon curves. “Tell me your name.”
“Mingyu,” he says, drawn in a step closer without thinking about it.
“Eunwoo,” the boy says in response. Mingyu resists the urge to repeat his name out loud to test the syllables of it in his mouth.
“Do you,” Eunwoo starts, a pink flush starting to shade his face. “Are you busy? Right now?”
There are papers waiting to be graded in his office and usually, Mingyu is eager for any chance to avoid them. But the question makes reality start to sink again and Mingyu doesn’t feel quite so buoyant.
Since he started having the dreams, Mingyu has been looking for a way out. There’s no escaping fate, it seems, as much as Mingyu feels like he isn’t ready to stand up and meet it his fate is directly in front of him now. He's patiently waiting for Mingyu to snap out of his stupor and actually answer his question.
“I, um,” Mingyu stumbles, the world tilting sideways under him.
He’s not sure he wants to know exactly the kind of person Eunwoo is, at least not yet. It seems too soon in the wake of ending things with Minghao. This morning, Mingyu wasn’t even ready to actually call the two of them finished yet. He was hoping that, even with the dreams, Minghao might consider giving him a little longer— a few more days…
“I have a meeting.” He steps out from under the umbrella and back into the torrential rain. “I’ll see you another time.”
Eunwoo blinks, his lips parting in surprise. Mingyu dashes down the sidewalk in the direction of his office. He’d rather grade than stay to see what might happen if he does agree to go out with Eunwoo.
It’s only when he’s back in his cramped, musty office that Mingyu realizes he didn’t think to give Eunwoo his phone number. Or his last name.
For a second, draping his wet sweater over the old radiator in the corner, Mingyu entertains the fantasy that it’s the last they’ll ever see of each other. A fleeting glimpse of the life he might have if not for his love of Minghao. But fate won't be so easy for him to evade; he’ll see Eunwoo again.
It’s a little pathetic for Minghao to show up in Junhui’s apartment with two bottles of wine in hand on a Saturday afternoon. Minghao was planning on finishing off at least one of them, and he’d rather do it on Junhui’s couch than at home by himself.
Junhui lets him in with a little furrow in his brow, shaking his head.
“I didn’t think you’d come out for another few days,” he says, his voice chipper. It hides the underlying concern, the way Junhui’s eyes linger on him for an extra moment when Minghao comes in through the door.
He knows exactly what Junhui is seeing— the dark circles under his eyes, the way his clothes, already too big, are even heavier on his thin frame than before. It must not come as a surprise; Junhui has seen things go bad before.
“I couldn’t handle the apartment anymore,” Minghao says, setting the bottles down. “It’s empty.”
“Isn’t that why you got the cat?” Junhui asks, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Minghao doesn’t answer him, just takes a spot on Junhui’s couch.
The sweater he has on used to belong to Mingyu. If he focuses, Minghao can smell a little of his cologne still embedded in the fabric. It’s comforting, even if it reminds Minghao that he’s supposed to be giving up Mingyu’s things. Giving them back. Moving on.
“It’s like two o’clock,” Junhui says, giving the bottles a skeptical look.
Minghao bites down on the side of his tongue, trying not to snap at him. It never gets him anywhere, at least not with Junhui. He won’t rise up to a fight if Minghao tries to start one.
“I know,” he says, stuffing his hands in the pocket of the hoodie.
“I’ll put these in the fridge,” Junhui says, gathering both bottles up in his hands. Minghao lets him carry them off to the kitchen without protest. When Junhui doesn’t return after a few minutes, Minghao picks himself up and follows after him.
He’s a little surprised to find Junhui wrestling his rice cooker down from the top of the fridge, the cord of it wrapped around his wrist several times.
“Are you making yourself lunch?” Minghao asks, glancing at the door. “I can go if you’re—”
“I’m making sure you eat,” Junhui says. There’s no judgment in his voice; he sounds as cheerful as he did when Minghao decided to darken his doorstep. “Do you want congee?”
Minghao opens his mouth to deny the offer but at the promise of food, his stomach growls loudly.
Junhui smiles at him, glancing over his shoulder. “I’ll put fry some bacon and eggs for it, too.”
“Okay,” Minghao says. It makes him feel a little bit like a helpless teenager again. Barely dragging himself out of bed often enough to shower and eat whatever comfort food his mom prepared.
All his grief was meant to be yet another thing he left back home in China. Instead, it followed him across the sea and into the rest of his life. This is a different feeling— a cousin to the one he decided to escape the first time.
He takes a seat on one of Junhui’s counters, watching him cook. He would offer to help but Junhui bats his hands away as soon as he even gets near the food.
“Just sit,” he says, shaking his head. Minghao, for once, doesn’t fight back about it. Junhui is a capable cook, anyway.
“Are you waiting for me to talk about my feelings?” Minghao asks, watching Junhui dig a trio of eggs out of his fridge. Junhui puts them in Minghao’s hands before he goes to get the pan he wants.
“Do you want to?” Junhui asks, looking over with his expression slipping into a small smile.
“No point,” Minghao says, slumping over.
“It’s okay if you’re sad about it,” Junhui says, lighting the pilot under the pan. Minghao makes himself watch the quick, confident motions of his hands. It’s something to focus on other than the thundering of his own pulse in his head.
“I knew this is where we were gonna end up,” Minghao says, shaking his head. “There’s no point—”
“It doesn’t have to have a point.” All he gets is a quick glance, a roll of Junhui’s eyes. “You love him, right?”
Minghao opens his mouth but shuts it again.
“Then it’s alright,” Junhui says. “You can cry if you want to.”
“I’m not gonna do that." He's smiling a little bit now. “Focus on not burning my lunch.”
“I won’t tell anyone, y’know. If you do cry.”
“Thanks,” Minghao says, leaning his shoulders back against the wall.
He doesn’t cry— he does sit on the counter and listen to Junhui tell long, rambling stories about the video game he’s been playing while he cooks. Minghao can't keep up with all the details. By the time Jun puts the bowl of congee in his hands Minghao isn’t certain if he’s good at it or not.
He’s much more relaxed. Junhui has that effect on him— bringing a little extra brightness around no matter what’s going on. Rather than move to Junhui’s little breakfast bar with it’s tidy stools, they eat sitting next to each other on the counter. their bumping elbows together the whole time.
“That was good,” Minghao says, leaning over to set the bowls in the sink.
Junhui hums, leaning his head on Minghao’s shoulder. For a moment, they sit together in the quiet.
“I miss him,” Minghao says.
“Mingyu?” Junhui asks, as if he needs to.
“I didn’t think I’d get the chance to be in love again,” Minghao says, drawing each word out reluctantly. The list of people who know about Zhennan is short— Junhui might be the only one on the continent who knows the story of Minghao’s first love.
All the teasing drops out of Junhui’s expression. It’s replaced with a quiet sadness that makes Minghao feel worse than anything else has.
“Are you gonna cry?” Minghao asks, tucking his arm around Junhui’s shoulders. Junhui shoves at his side, shaking his head.
“Maybe I will,” Junhui says, puffing his cheeks out. “If you’re not gonna do it.”
“Please don’t,” Minghao says, bumping his head against Junhui’s when he leans on him again. It’s never safe to assume that Junhui is just kidding about anything and Minghao doesn’t want to watch him make himself cry.
“Fine,” Junhui says, patting Minghao’s knee. “Come watch me beat Wonwoo at this game.”
He hops off the counter and after thinking it over for a moment, follows him into the living room.
In all his life, Mingyu has never felt so nervous about going on a first date.
He’s been on precious few to begin with— he didn’t do much dating in school and he never had a real first date with Minghao.
He’s waiting for Eunwoo outside of the kind of restaurant that he’d never think to try on his own. It’s not that he lacks an adventurous taste for food, but Eunwoo’s selection is in the base of a four-star hotel, brightly lit behind massive stained glass windows.
It’s intimidating. Mingyu has his nicest jacket on and he’s dressed worse than the waiters he can see through the windows.
Maybe Eunwoo is trying to impress him. Mingyu’s not sure why he would bother, though. They’re soulmates, after all. He doesn’t have to dedicated so much money to wooing him. The second, scarier, option is that Eunwoo has this kind of money to throw at first dates. Mingyu’s been in college for almost six years now… learning exactly how far he can stretch every dollar he gets paid as a TA.
Eunwoo, when he rounds the corner, isn’t dressed as fancy as Mingyu was afraid he would be. He has a fine knit gray sweater over a collared shirt. Just warm enough for the breeze toying with Mingyu’s hair.
“Have you been waiting long?” Eunwoo says. There’s a flush on his cheeks and he’s a little out of breath. Like he was running before he reached the corner but slowed down before Mingyu could see him.
There’s something sweet about the thought of it. Eunwoo isn’t even late for the time they set.
“I just got here,” Mingyu says, in enough time to make himself anxious standing around outside. Eunwoo smiles, dimpling his cheeks.
“Let’s go in,” he says, tipping his head towards the door. “Have you eaten here before? They have great food.”
Mingyu shakes his head, pressing his lips together in a tight smile. He can’t help feeling like the host who seats them casts a lingering, judgmental glare at him. Eunwoo seems perfectly at home, though he shuffles his feet when Mingyu pulls out his chair and sits.
It takes Mingyu a moment to realize Eunwoo was planning on pulling it out for him. He twists the watch around his wrist, trying to figure out how to apologize.
The petite waitress comes over with menus tucked in heavy black leather folders and glasses of water before he figures out how. There are at least three forks on the table next to Mingyu’s hand.
“This place is, um, nice,” Mingyu says, more in awe than wonder. The vaulted ceiling makes him feel small, even. Eunwoo smiles again, a little bit warmer this time.
They order and Mingyu decides not to argue with the wine that Eunwoo picks, even though it’s not what he would’ve picked out for himself. It’s only the first date— he can’t be expected to have a grasp of Mingyu’s tastes already.
While they’re waiting on the food, it seems like Eunwoo can’t hold his questions back anymore.
“So you’re a student?” He asks, leaning his chest against the table.
“Grad school,” Mingyu says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I teach, too. And tend bar sometimes if I need the extra money.”
Mingyu waits two beats too long to return the question. “What about you?”
“Law school,” Eunwoo says, beaming. “Almost my third year.”
That explains the money, a little. Eunwoo isn’t hurting for funds the way Mingyu is.
The waitress comes and pours out a little bit of wine for Eunwoo’s approval before filling both their glasses. Mingyu swirls the sweet white around in his glass, considering it.
He’s not sure exactly what else to say. No one told him what he’s supposed to do after he meets his soulmate; when he’s supposed to love this person who’s still a perfect stranger to him.
Even if it’s not meant to feel like love right away, Mingyu should be feeling something other than a sense of discomfort. He should feel connected— alive— like he found his other half.
Mingyu takes a slow sip of his wine, trying not to wrinkle his nose at the too-sweet taste of it on his tongue. Eunwoo is talking about constitutional law and he can’t keep up with it.
For one guilty moment, Mingyu’s mind wanders to Minghao.
He wouldn’t look as at odds with this place as Mingyu feels. He spends a lot of time in high class establishments— fancy fundraisers and gallery openings. He even took Mingyu with him when he had to take pictures of the remodeled opera house. Mingyu would feel more at ease too; with the right wine and Minghao giggling at him whenever he picked up the wrong fork.
The thought makes Mingyu ache all over— radiating from the center of his chest through his limbs. He pushes back from the table, shooting Eunwoo a guilty smile when he realizes it was in the middle of a sentence.
“Restroom,” he says, standing up and doing his best not to go sprinting from the table.
The bathrooms have marble counters, of course. Mingyu splashes water on his face, blinking it out of his eyes and shooting his reflection a frown.
It isn’t supposed to be this hard. It wouldn’t be if he could banish Minghao from his thoughts.
He can’t— even now, Mingyu wants to leave and go eat cheap steak off of paper plates, sitting on Minghao’s floor. He wants to go back to the bubble they created; the imposing future unable to reach them.
Mingyu can’t do that either. He dabs the water off his face, takes two deep breaths, and goes back to his date.
The mad vibrations of his phone startle Mingyu awake at an unfortunate hour of the morning. He’s not sure exactly what time it is. His eyes are still blurry with sleep and he can’t make out the digital read-out of the stereo across the room. He pushes himself upright and reaches his arm out to grab his phone off the nightstand.
He looks at the bright screen only long enough to figure out that it’s Minghao calling him before he answers.
“Minghao?” His voice is still raspy with sleep. “What’s wrong?”
Minghao is quiet for a moment, his breathing a low hum on the other end of the line. “I shouldn’t be calling you. It’s late. Sorry.”
“Well I’m up now,” Mingyu says, trying to make himself sound a little more cheerful. Truth be told, he isn’t that upset about Minghao waking him up. He wouldn’t call for no reason. “What’s going on?”
“It's just,” Minghao starts, cutting himself off with a sigh. “Nightmares. I needed to hear a friendly voice.”
Mingyu’s heart echoes too loud in the otherwise quiet room. He can hear the unsteady thumping bouncing off the walls, amplified and distorted as it gets carried back to him.
“Do you wanna hear about my day?” Mingyu asks, softer this time. He used to do this for Minghao all the time— over the phone and in person. It helps him to hear Mingyu talk about anything. And it’s easy for Mingyu to go on and on about nothing until Minghao falls back asleep.
“Please,” Minghao says, chuckling a little. He doesn’t mention that it’s the first time they’ve talked in a few weeks and Mingyu doesn’t either. It feels as natural as it did before and without thinking about it, Mingyu settles in. He's content telling Minghao a long story with no real point.
It’s hard not to wish he was there with Minghao— holding onto him and feeling the tickle of long hair against his cheek. He can tell by the shift in cadence in his breathing when he’s started to relax into sleep again.
When they were together, Mingyu would kiss the top of Minghao’s head and try to remind him that no matter what he saw in his dreams that always shook him so badly, he wasn't alone.
That hasn’t changed now, even though they are apart. All the love that’s made a home in Mingyu’s chest seems to expand to fill the distance. He’s stretched thin, still trying to reach out and catch hold of Minghao’s hands once again.
He almost offers to go see him. It’s too late for the trains to be running but Mingyu could bundle himself into his old SUV and park on the street outside Minghao’s building. He could be in Minghao’s bed again.
“Thanks for this,” Minghao says, before Mingyu gets the chance to offer. “I don’t wanna bug you.”
“You know I don’t mind,” Mingyu says, curling the sheets in his fingers. “If you want, I could…”
“It’s okay,” Minghao says. “I’m alright.”
The quiet phone call is the most intimacy that Mingyu’s had in weeks. It’s not that he lacks people in his life, even people he’s close to. But it’s different with Minghao. He lingers in the back of Mingyu’s mind all the time. There’s a space in Mingyu’s life that belongs to him and him alone. It’s a stubborn, open hole like the gap left by a missing tooth; refusing to heal because Mingyu can’t keep himself from prodding at it.
“Are you going back to sleep?” Mingyu asks. He’s willing to stay up if Minghao still needs him.
“Yeah,” Minghao says. Mingyu can picture his half-open eyes and the slight, fuzzy smile on his lips. “I love you.”
The words pierce straight through Mingyu. Minghao must not mean to say it— it’s late.
Even when they were together, he was careful with those words. Mingyu couldn't keep himself from saying it
The silence stretches on too long as Minghao’s words settle. Mingyu replays it over and over in his mind, pressing down on the bruise forming under his skin. It aches but he still wants Minghao to say it again.
“Goodnight,” Mingyu says, because he’s not sure what else to fill the space with.
There is a picture of him and Mingyu standing in a pink bathroom— the walls and floors tiled in the same sickly shade of salmon. The picture is angled so the two of them only appear in the mirror. Minghao has his head tucked under Mingyu’s chin and one of Mingyu’s arms wrapped around his back.
They’re wearing matching outfits in the photo; plain white shirts and comfortable jeans. But there’s something undeniable about it. The two people huddled together in the reflection are a couple. It shows from the inside out.
The bathroom was the men's room of a weird, old bar that the two of them went to only a handful of times. They served good wine at a good price and the place was only a block or two from Mingyu’s apartment.
The first time Mingyu said he loved Minghao was in that pink bathroom. He was a little drunk, his eyes hazy and damp, clinging onto one of Minghao’s hands. I love you, he’d said, voice wobbling on the edge of tears. I’m in love with you. I hope that’s okay.
The bar got torn down a few months ago. Gone to make way for something new… something better.
“When are we going to get to meet Eunwoo?” Minkyung asks, sitting at the kitchen table with one of her legs folded up underneath her.
Without meaning to, Mingyu’s shoulders go stiff. He glances up from the cooking chicken he’s supposed to be minding. He hazards a quick, awkward smile.
“I dunno,” he says, hoping she’ll let him shrug off the question.
Their mother is standing at the other counter, slicing scallions so fast that Mingyu still worries she might lop off a finger. She's acting like she doesn't hear the two of them talking. But if Mingyu had to guess, the question comes more from her than from Minkyung.
Minkyung is the only one who's met Minghao.
“Are you two getting along well?” His mom asks, lifting her head up and setting the knife to the side. “You don’t talk about him much.”
He hasn’t been spending all that much time with Cha Eunwoo, to tell the truth. He isn’t sure how to explain himself to his soulmate to. After spending almost three years with Minghao, he doesn’t feel like he’s ready to go of one relationship for another.
Telling Eunwoo all this is hard. Most people don’t appreciate hearing about their soulmate’s dalliances. But telling his mother that he’s still too hung up on his paramour to even give Eunwoo a chance is even worse.
Until now, Mingyu’s relationship status was a topic they avoided talking about. His parents would pretend that he wasn’t with Minghao at all and Mingyu would let them. It’s not surprise that they’re eager to move onto Mingyu moving on to falling in love the right way.
“It’s fine,” Mingyu says, poking at the sizzling chicken breast with one of the chopsticks in his hand. He feels like a sullen teenager being picked at by the women in his family. Even though he’s been on his own for years, these family dinners always make him feel like he’s sixteen once again.
“He’s crazy handsome,” Minkyung says, her eyes stuck to the screen of her phone. No doubt she’s looking at his instagram. Mingyu can’t scold her for it— he’s been guilty of doing the same thing himself.
There is a magnetic energy to Eunwoo. Conflicted as he is, he can’t deny the fact that he’s at least intrigued. It’s hard not to be. Their shared dreams make him feel like he’s had a peek at the most private, secret part of him.
“It’s been hard to see him much,” Mingyu says. He’s only pushing the truth a little bit. “We’re both busy with school all the time.”
“He’s a law student,” Minkyung fills in, her eyebrows disappearing under her bangs.
Part of Mingyu wants to flee the room before his mom starts talking about what good prospects a young, handsome lawyer has. It comes from a good place. Her hopes that both of them will make good, happy matches with good, respectable soulmates.
Not with a magazine photographer who paints on the side. Not to a boy with long hair and long, dangling earrings in his ears. His parents have never met Minghao but Mingyu has never pushed the point with them, either.
It wouldn’t make them feel any better to see the life Mingyu is actually having.
He does his best to act like he didn’t hear the comment, flipping the chicken over in the pan and listening to it sizzle anew.
In the back of his mind, he tries to picture Minghao in the middle of this. Sitting at the table with Minkyung, talking about fashion and hyping up her instagram. Or letting Mingyu guide him along even though he claims he doesn’t know how to cook.
The illusion of it doesn’t hold up. They’re like two puzzle pieces that don’t line up and the more Mingyu pushes the greater the gap gets.
“I’ll… ask him about coming one night,” Mingyu says, hesitant. “If he’s not too busy.”
He’s pretty sure that if he does ask, Eunwoo will agree. He’s been quick to clear his time for Mingyu so far, reluctant as Mingyu has been to do the same. He’s still not sure he wants to cross that bridge yet.
Things feel unsteady enough as they are. He doesn’t need another push.
“It would be nice to meet him,” Mom says, looking up at the two of them finally. Even though he knew she was listening, Mingyu still jumps like he’s caught. She smiles, making the laugh lines worn into her cheeks stand out. “It’s good to see you two finally getting settled down.”
Mingyu does his best to smile in response, his eyes darting over to Minkyung.
She shakes her head, locking the screen of her phone and hooking her fingers around Mingyu’s arm. “C’mon. I wanna go for a walk.”
Mingyu sets the chopsticks he was using to flip the chicken over down on the counter. He lets Minkyung drag him out, barely pausing long enough for him to step into his shoes once more.
They go around the corner from the house and down the winding trail that follows along the nearby river. There’s an old covered bridge there, leaves blown across the creaky boards. Minkyung, like she always has, sits down in the middle and sticks her legs through the gaps in the wooden railing, letting her feet dangle over the water.
The two of them used to come here all the time. Mingyu scuffs the heel of his shoe over the ground, leaning his back against the railing.
“What is it you don’t like about him?” She asks after a moment, her hands tucked into the pockets of her sweater.
“About who?” Mingyu asks, a blush creeping up the back of his neck.
“Your soulmate. The pretty law student,” she says, looking up at him with a grin. Mingyu doesn’t smile back.
“I don’t not like him. He seems nice.”
“You don’t like him either,” Minkyung says, going straight to the point.
“I don’t wanna jump into it yet,” Mingyu says, dragging one of the leaves back and forth with his foot. “I don’t think I’m ready.”
He still feels 16 all over again. Standing on this bridge and letting Minkyung lecture him about relationships. As if she somehow knows better than him in spite of being two years younger.
“Because of Minghao?” She asks. Mingyu shrugs though it goes without saying. “You said he’s the one who ended things.”
“Doesn’t make me feel any better about it,” Mingyu says, heaving out a long sigh.
“Tell him that, then,” Minkyung says. She sounds almost annoyed with him. “You make everything so complicated.”
“It is,” Mingyu says, shaking his head. “I can’t just…”
“You can do whatever you want,” Minkyung says, cutting him off. “You’re the one who has to live with your choices. It’s not up to mom and dad or the hands of fate or something. You have to decide what you can live with and what you can’t live without.”
She pulls herself up off the ground with that, dusting off her legs and shaking her head. “You’re getting your master’s and you’re still a dummy.”
Mingyu huffs a little at that, even though there’s a smile tilting up the corners of his lips. “Thanks, I guess.”
“Should get back before we get in trouble,” she says, linking her arm with his. Mingyu nods, letting her hang on for the short walk back home.
The two of them haven’t stood in the same room together in what feels like ages. In reality, it’s been a few months but Mingyu still feels like part of him has forgotten what it’s like to have Minghao close enough to touch. He expected that, like with any other kind of heartbreak, his feelings for Minghao would fade to the back of his mind. Not gone, but scar tissue.
That hasn’t been the case. He wants to pull Minghao into his arms as much now as he did the last time he saw him. He wants to kiss him.
Minghao’s whole body is rife with tension. Now that he’s spotted Mingyu, his gaze keeps dashing in the direction of the door and then back like he’s contemplating his escape routes. It stings more than Mingyu expected.
“Hi,” he says, the single syllable lonely as it leaves his mouth. Minghao doesn’t relax and the tips of Mingyu’s fingers still itch with the desire to reach out and touch him.
Minghao still doesn’t say anything. Mingyu keeps going. “It’s been awhile, huh?”
“Yeah,” Minghao says. It’s reluctant— even that much has to be forced out of him. He’s not quite looking at Mingyu but at a spot over Mingyu’s shoulder, still scanning the rest of the gallery.
It takes Mingyu a moment to realize why. “I’m not here with anyone.”
He’s familiar with the way Minghao’s features freeze trying to hide how he’s feeling. It’s a reminder, at the moment, that he never learned how to see past this mask, even as well as he knows Minghao.
“Oh,” he says, voice flat with forced disinterest. “I’m not either.”
“Can we… go get coffee or something?” Maybe it’s stupid of him to ask— Minghao has his camera around his neck and his press pass clipped to the edge of his pocket. He’s definitely here to work, not to get swept away by an ex-lover. But Mingyu has always been hopeful, foolish. He can’t lose Minghao more than he has already. Minghao looks almost ready to turn him down and Mingyu bites hard on the inside of his cheek. “Please?”
Minghao looks around, then down at his camera. Slowly, he nods, edging a single step closer. “Yeah. Okay. We can do that.”
He’s not helping either of them with this. Minghao walks out through the fancy glass doors ahead of Mingyu, pausing to hold it for him. Mingyu reaches for the handle and his hand almost brushes over Minghao’s. It’s a near miss— just a quick touch of his fingers against the edge of Minghao’s sleeve.
Silly that it makes his heart jump the way it does. He’s known every part of Minghao’s body.
There’s a chain cafe around the corner. Mingyu ignores Minghao insisting to pay for his own drink and instead orders Minghao's regular dirty chai and pays for both. Minghao looks at him, put-out but amused at the same time.
Maybe it’s for the best that Mingyu hasn’t seen him in awhile. The way he felt empty and lost before is nothing compared to the sight of Minghao right in front of him but still out of his reach.
“I missed you,” Mingyu says, while they’re still waiting for their drinks.
For the first time, Minghao looks at him and doesn’t resemble a trapped animal. He looks tired, Mingyu realizes, with dark circles under his eyes and his mouth pulled down in a natural frown. His skin stretches too tight over his cheekbones and his collarbone, making the sharp angles stand out more than usual. Mingyu feels a stab of sympathy. Minghao hasn’t called him again in the middle of the night but that doesn’t mean he’s been sleeping any better.
“Mingyu,” he says, giving his head a little shake. Whatever he plans to say is lost when the barista calls out Mingyu’s name, echoing him. It makes Minghao jump in surprise and he turns to get his drink with a polite, muted smile.
“Can we sit?” Mingyu asks, running his thumb around the plastic lid of his latte. “Or do you have to get back to work.”
“I can stay for a little while,” Minghao says, looking at his watch.
Mingyu is still wearing the matching one around his own wrist, hidden under the sleeve of his sweater.
They take a small table by one of the wide windows, their knees bumping together in the limited space.
“I didn’t know you’d, um, be shooting tonight,” Mingyu says. He only came to check out the exhibition on Soonyoung’s suggestion. Going out hasn’t really been much on his mind lately. He’s let Eunwoo take him to a few things; mostly basketball games that are noisy and hard to follow or fancy dinners that make Mingyu feel like he isn’t holding up his end of… whatever they're supposed to be.
It’s not dating, or at least Mingyu isn’t prepared to call it that. But Eunwoo is still his soulmate and they are something to one another.
“It’s for the arts calendar page,” Minghao says, a small smile on his face. Those assignments are usually his favorite.
“Are you um, doing okay?” Mingyu asks, lowering his voice. Without realizing it, he’s leaning his chest against the table, reaching one hand out like he might be about to lace his fingers through Minghao’s and squeeze his hand. Minghao seems to realize it at the same time because he takes both his hands off the table and folds them in his lap.
“I’m fine,” Minghao says, polite.
“Sorry,” Mingyu says, sitting up too fast and making the uneven table rock.
“How are you doing?” Minghao asks, his tone still impersonal.
For a moment, Mingyu is quiet. He doesn’t know how to answer that question without being too honest about it. He’s sad, he misses Minghao every day, he isn’t sure what he has in common with Eunwoo to begin with.
“Okay,” he says, a little late. “Things have been… alright. I guess.”
He’s not sure if he wants Minghao to ask him about Eunwoo or not. He drums his fingers on the top of the table and when he doesn’t come up with anything to say, Minghao starts to stand up once again.
“It was good to see you,” Minghao says. He doesn’t sound like he means it.
“I don’t understand,” Mingyu says, the words slipping out before he can stop them. “Don’t you miss it?”
Minghao sighs at that, ducking his head forward, his polite front falling away bit by bit.
“Of course,” he says, quieter than before. “Of course I miss you, Mingyu.”
“You’re good at not acting like it,” Mingyu says, slumping back in his seat. Minghao’s lips draw together in a tight line. Maybe it’s unfair of him to push the subject like this but Mingyu wants to feel like he isn’t on his own.
“You knew this is what would happen,” Minghao says. He could be reminding himself as much as Mingyu.
“You didn’t hope for more?” Mingyu says, leaning forward again. He reaches out to Minghao and Minghao still refuses to pull his hands out of his lap.
Minghao’s posture goes tight and he leans back further like he’s trying to escape the long reach of Mingyu’s arms. “Isn’t it enough that I don’t say it?”
He does stand up this time, leaving the coffee on the table and adjusting the strap of the camera around his neck. Mingyu flounders to his feet as well, almost knocking over the small table.
“I’m sorry,” Minghao says. This, at least, Mingyu is sure he means. “I don’t think we should talk.”
Mingyu wants to argue but Minghao isn’t wrong. Last time they spoke before this, Minghao was half asleep and mumbling I love you into the phone. Mingyu’s heart still lurches against his ribs at the thought of it.
“I want us to be friends,” Mingyu says, staring down at the false wood grain of the table. “Like we were before.”
He isn’t expecting the warm touch of Minghao’s fingers against his cheek. Without thinking, he leans into it, letting gravity pull him in closer.
“I can’t do that,” Minghao says. His whole expression is open and Mingyu can see exactly what it costs him to admit it. “I can’t be your friend like I used to be.”
Mingyu closes his hand around Minghao’s in a vain effort to keep it pressed to his face. Minghao is gentle when he pulls away, but he’s still pulling away. He slips out of Mingyu’s grasp and passes him without another touch.
He doesn’t apologize as he goes and Mingyu is almost glad for it.
Every dream that Mingyu’s had since meeting Eunwoo was generally what he expected it to be. The slow reveal of the world constructed only by the shared part of their minds.
Tonight is the first time the dream has been different. The old well is open, the cover cracked and discarded to the side. It fills the garden with the musty smell of stagnant water. Mingyu leans over the mossy surface of it, staring into the dark pit, wondering if it’s possible to see down to the bottom.
The endless shaft of darkness makes him dizzy and he steps back from it. Dream or not, he doesn’t want to find out what happens if he tumbles over into the dark.
Soulmate dreams are both lucid and not. Mingyu can explore, interact, smell and touch the world around him but he isn’t in control of it. It’s a product of his mind brushing against Eunwoo’s in unconsciousness.
Vines drape themselves over the branches of the trees, sick green and as thick around as Mingyu’s wrist. It's the same garden. Mingyu can still hear the breath of the wind over distant waves but the whole place is eerie and dark. Mingyu can no longer feel the beat of the spring sun on the back of his neck. The air is cold— crisp and decayed like a hard autumn day.
If he weren’t dreaming, Mingyu would wonder if he was in the wrong place. He edges away from the well, the ground uneven under his feet, trying to trip him up.
There’s a sense of wrongness to it all that makes Mingyu want to snap his eyes open and leave the space. Animal instinct is trying to tell him not to wander these much stranger grounds.
These dreams are still only dreams. Even if Mingyu wakes in the morning feeling unsettled. Even if there is a strange empty feeling that sticks with him for the rest of the week after.
Since Mingyu got his own apartment Minkyung has made it a habit to drop by whenever she feels compelled to.
It’s the reason she’s the only one who actually met Minghao. Their parents always at least let him know before they show up, but Minkyung doesn’t offer the same courtesy.
Not that Mingyu particularly expects it, coming from his little sister.
Lately, there’s much less for her to catch him doing. Minghao isn’t around anymore and he hasn’t made a habit out of having Eunwoo over.
She lets herself in with his spare set of keys, kicking her shoes off in a careless pile.
Mingyu is laying across the couch when she walks in and she stops at the end of it, putting her hands on her hips.
“This is kinda pathetic,” she says, shaking her head. “Is this how you’re spending all your time?”
Mingyu sets his phone down on his stomach, lifting his shoulders in a slow shrug.
“What am I supposed to be doing?” He asks, refusing to move his legs out of the way to let her sit.
“Anything,” Minkyung says, shoving his feet off the couch. “Still feeling bad for yourself?”
“No,” Mingyu says, though he’s not sure how else to describe what he’s doing.
Scrolling his way through Minghao’s instagram feed, again. Talking over all the things he should’ve said the last time he saw Minghao in his head, again. He doesn’t share any of this. He just sits up to make more space.
“You’re so annoying,” Minkyung says, settling into the open space with a sigh. “Talk to him if you wanna talk to him.”
“I can’t,” Mingyu says, looking down at his phone resting on his leg.
“You can be friends with your ex if you want,” Minkyung says, rolling her eyes. “If your boyfriend has an issue with it, he’s an idiot.”
“I saw him a little bit ago,” Mingyu says, leaning his head back against the plush cushion of the couch. “He said he can’t be friends with me.”
“So?”
“So, that’s it,” Mingyu says, blinking at her. “He said—”
“He’s being stupid,” Minkyung says, puffing her cheeks out. “And so are you if you’re taking that as an answer.”
“It’s not up to me,” Mingyu says, sitting up straight once again.
“Sure it is,” Minkyung says, quick and dismissive. “You’re the one seeing someone else. He’s trying not to get in the way.”
Mingyu is quiet for a moment too long and Minkyung levels a long look at him. “You want him to get in the way.”
“That’s not it.” He doesn’t even believe it himself. There’s part of him that does wish Minghao would push back and do something brash and stupid and romantic like they used to.
“You’re gonna have to make that move.” Her eyes take on the perceptive sharpness that she inherited from their father. “Don’t make it easy for him to push you away.”
“Do you think he’d be in the way?” Mingyu asks, his hands twitching into nervous fists.
Minkyung’s eyebrow twitches upward. “It depends on what you want out of the pretty lawyer.”
Mingyu opens his mouth only to realize he doesn’t have an answer to that. Hearing people refer to Eunwoo as his boyfriend feels strange— presumptuous. He’s spent four months getting to know him, bit by bit. In his head, it was still going to be like a classic love story; he’d meet his soulmate and fall immediately in love. He wouldn’t have to spend time wondering about their relationship. He would know from the first day they met why the universe had picked out Eunwoo for him.
He wouldn’t still fall asleep and think about how Minghao’s fingers were always a little cold. He wouldn’t feel like he’s wrestling down the desperate defiance that wants to burst out of him.
It's supposed to be enough that this is his fate. It should be. It’s not enough.
“I don’t know." He sounds deflated even to his own ears.
“You still have feelings for him.” She isn’t talking about Eunwoo.
Who could blame him for it?
“Then it’s not him who’s in the way,” she says, flicking her hair back over her shoulder. “Stick with it. Get him to talk to you.”
Mingyu weighs his phone in his palm for a moment, considering, before stuffing it into his pocket.
“I’ll make you dinner another night,” he says, pushing himself off the couch. “You can help yourself to the fridge. Lock up when you leave.”
“You’re going now?” She watches Mingyu pull his shoes on with a laugh. Mingyu nods, shoving his hair off his forehead.
“Yeah,” he says, bobbing his head once again. “I’m gonna go see him now.”
“Good luck,” Minkyung says, the amused slant of her mouth softening as she says it.
In his haste to get out the door, Mingyu leaves his coat behind but decides it’s not worth going back after it.
Minghao isn’t expecting any visitors, but someone is knocking on his door. It’s a rapid, excited kind of knock which means it could be Jun or Soonyoung. Come to try and drag him out of the house for the evening.
Resigned, Minghao opens the door with his baggy sweatshirt hanging off his shoulder, a little frown on his face.
It’s not Jun or Soonyoung standing at the door. It’s Mingyu, rain soaking through the shoulders of his sweater and a damp paper bag in his hand.
“Hi." He's out of breath. “You’re home.”
“I’m home,” Minghao says. He's too tense. Spine so straight it aches. “Is it raining?”
He looks back at the black square of his window, cringing when he notice the howl of the wind. If he had a coat, Mingyu wouldn’t be so damp.
“A little,” Mingyu says, his face flushing pink.
Minghao still hasn’t invited him in— he’s not sure that he should. Once Mingyu crosses over the threshold it’ll be like he belongs there. It’s much easier to send him home if he never comes inside.
But he’s wet, and cold. The bag in his hand has the logo of Minghao’s favorite liquor store. The one that’s too far away for him to stop by very often. He has a few guesses about what's in the bag, too. He opens his mouth, trying to summon the will to tell Mingyu to go home.
Mingyu smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “If you keep the door open like this, Xiaoba is gonna try and get out.”
Minghao sinks in on himself, letting go of some of the tension. He waves Mingyu through the door. He’s right, after all. The little trickster cat would love the chance to slip by his ankle and get lost in the building.
Mingyu closes the door behind him, pausing in the entryway and taking the place in. Not much has changed.
“I brought that syrah you like,” Mingyu says. He steps out of his shoes and sets the bag down on Minghao’s low coffee table. The glass bottle clacks against the wood when he lets go of it.
Mingyu’s eyes catch on him for a moment, his brow furrowing. “Isn’t that sweater mine?”
“Is it?” Minghao tugs it away from his body to look at the faded print. Mingyu's right— it was the one thing of his that Minghao couldn’t convince himself to give up. It’s easier to pretend that he doesn’t know. Even though the hoodie is several sizes too big and trying to creep down his shoulder at all times. The smile on Mingyu’s face gets brighter.
He should tell Mingyu to leave. Spending time with Mingyu like this is only going to lead to more trouble for the both of them. The words don’t want to find their way out of his mouth, though, trapped against the skin of his tongue.
It used to be that they could lay around and drink a bottle of good wine and talk for hours— nothing else required.
“Corkscrew is in the kitchen." He crumples the bag up between his hands after he takes the bottle out. Mingyu straightens up, his eyes round and surprised. He goes dashing into the kitchen and startles Xiaoba from her spot sleeping on one of Minghao’s counters.
He lets Mingyu grab the corkscrew and two of his wine glasses. He doesn’t need any help navigating the kitchen, anyway. He was the one who helped Minghao pick the place out. He helped move Minghao’s stuff in, too.
Minghao takes a seat on the floor next to the table, pulling one of the throw pillows off of the couch to stuff it behind his back. He rubs his thumb over the label, peeling it up at the corner.
When Mingyu comes back, he’s balancing the glasses and the corkscrew in one hand. The other is supporting Xiaoba, splayed across his shoulder with her claws digging into the side of his neck. He’s scratching her back in slow circles.
The place hasn’t felt so much like home in months. He lets Mingyu hand him the glasses. He has to fight the urge to smile when Mingyu hisses under his breath, adjusting his grasp on Xiaoba.
“She still hates me,” Mingyu says, a frown on his face. He’s careful not to upset her when he sets down. Only for her to immediately spring off his shoulder and take up a spot under the table instead. Minghao can’t help but laugh and smooth his fingers over the little red dots on Mingyu’s tanned skin.
“You’ll live,” he says, shaking his head. He expects Mingyu to continue grumbling for another moment or two. He's staring at Minghao, breath stopped in his throat. Scared to move. Minghao realizes it’s because his hand is still on Mingyu’s neck. He pulls his hand away and Mingyu’s expression fractures with disappointment.
He tries not to dwell on it, focusing on opening the bottle of wine instead. It gives him an excuse to ignore the way Mingyu is still staring at him, hope and concern written across his face.
Minghao pours himself a glass, almost spilling wine on the table when Mingyu does manage to catch his eye.
“Is this why you came all the way over here?” Minghao asks, filling Mingyu’s glass as well. "In the middle of a storm."
“Sure,” Mingyu says, leaning toward the table to catch the glass between his fingers. “We used to do this all the time.”
Minghao bites down on his tongue. He wants to remind Mingyu how they found themselves like this but there's no need. Mingyu knows as well as he does.
“Want me to put music on, too?” Mingyu asks, leaning his head to the side. Minghao hesitates but after a moment he gives in, bobbing his head in a quick nod.
Mingyu’s glass rings against the table when he puts it down again to dig his phone out of his pocket and connecting it to Minghao’s speakers. It’s a quick, habitual process.
When the soft jazz music starts, Xiaoba slinks out from under the table and off to the bedroom instead. She shoots both of them a glare for daring to make so much noise.
Her disdain makes Mingyu laugh, his head hanging between his shoulders. “She’s never gonna like me.”
“She doesn’t like me either,” Minghao says, laughing along with him.
He’s missed everything about having Mingyu around. They go through half the bottle at an easy, relaxed pace, catching up on the past few weeks apart.
The two of them are still stretched out on the floor, facing each other. The space between them has shrunk down to almost nothing. Minghao can feel the warmth of Mingyu’s skin, smell the soft scent of rain still hanging onto his clothes. The ends of his hair have curled as it dries and without thinking better of himself, Minghao twists his fingers in them.
“Your hair is so long,” Minghao says, smiling too much to actually scold him. Mingyu laughs, leaning his head to the side to allow Minghao’s nails to scrape over his scalp.
“I guess." His cheeks flush when Minghao pulls his hand back. His bangs are almost long enough to get in the way of his eyes. “I miss you,” he says, catching Minghao’s hand in his before it pulls away. “I don’t want us to stop knowing each other.”
He should’ve been expecting this but Minghao’s head goes light and airy between his shoulders anyway.
“Mingyu,” he says, failing to pull his hand away. “I told you I can’t—”
“I know,” Mingyu says, biting down on his lip. “But I think you want to. And I do too.”
He curls his fingers around Mingyu’s in return for a second, squeezing so their palms press together. He wants to reach out and feel Mingyu’s pulse under his fingers. Even though he knows they’ll still be several heartbeats apart.
“I do,” he says, his gaze dropping away from Mingyu’s. “But it’s a bad idea.”
It’s all he can do now to drop Mingyu’s hand and take another long, slow sip of wine, draining the rest of his glass. Mingyu is palpable in his disappointment; his shoulders slumping, his lower lip sticking out a fraction further.
Minghao pours himself another glass of wine but he knows he won’t last long with Mingyu looking at him like a kicked puppy.
“If you want us to see each other,” Minghao says, the words slipping past his defenses. “As friends. That would be… good.”
Mingyu picks his head up, a smile stretching across his cheeks. “Really?”
“I miss you too,” Minghao says, honesty leaking out of him like blood from a wound.
One of them starts leaning in, Minghao isn’t sure who. They meet in the middle, regardless, Mingyu’s mouth warm and soft against Minghao’s. He wraps his fingers around the back of Mingyu’s neck, thumb pressing down on his fluttering pulse. His palm follows along the curve of his skull. A rush hits him when he feels Mingyu’s hands at his hips— Mingyu kissing him back with the same feverish level of intent.
Kissing Mingyu like this makes the impossible knot of tension in his chest start to unravel. Mingyu pulls him in closer, narrowly avoiding knocking over the bottle of wine. Minghao doesn’t care. He goes along and kisses the corner of his mouth, the edge of his chin, mouthing along his jawbone. He can feel it when Mingyu shivers, his lips parting.
Like so many other things, this too, feels like it’s careening out of Minghao’s control. He’s not sure what makes him give in and sink his teeth into the side of Mingyu’s neck and making him gasp. He leaves a mark there, Mingyu’s flesh bright red and imprinted with his teeth.
Mingyu’s hand finds its way under Minghao’s hoodie, skimming over the bare skin underneath.
“This is mine,” Mingyu says, like he’s caught Minghao red-handed. Minghao laughs, pressing his forehead into Mingyu’s neck and muffling the sound into his shoulder.
“Maybe,” he says, giving the curled ends of Mingyu’s hair the slightest tug. “Maybe not.”
Mingyu’s laughter tapers off into a low groan, his hands mapping out the arch of Minghao’s back.
“You can keep it,” he says, tipping his head, angling for another kiss. Minghao gives it to him, only breaking away when Mingyu drags the hoodie up over his head. It ends up discarded on the couch and when Mingyu lays back against his carpet, Minghao settles on top of him. He pushes Mingyu’s shirt up as well, bending his back at a sharp angle to kiss the smooth skin of his stomach as well.
Every part of him aches, radiating out from the center of his chest. He tries to smother it by pressing his chest against Mingyu’s working his shirt off with a few quick jerks. He lets it lay on the floor a few feet away, kissing the corner of Mingyu’s mouth and relishing every inch that they’re pressed skin-to-skin. He could stay like this for days, listening to the rasp of Mingyu’s breathing. But he has something much more immediate in mind than that, sitting up to press his mouth to Mingyu’s once again.
He takes his time with Mingyu’s mouth this time, hand on the side of his face to hold his jaw, tongue sliding along his palate. Mingyu’s arms are still around him, refusing to let Minghao pull away.
He doesn’t want to, either. When he draws back to look down at Mingyu again, the impact is like the rounded edge of a fist catching him in the stomach.
Mingyu; red-cheeked, smiling, missing his shirt, the imprints of Minghao’s teeth on his neck. This is what Minghao always wants to see and never wants to share. Mingyu’s hands drop to his hips, pressing into Minghao’s bones gently with his thumbs.
“Do you want—” he starts, his fingers curling in the waist of Minghao’s loose lounge pants. He doesn’t finish the question but Minghao nods his head anyway. He pushes forward toward Mingyu’s hand, overeager. Mingyu curves his palm around the outline of Minghao’s half-hard cock through the soft fabric. Even with clothes still on, Minghao can feel the heat of Mingyu’s hand. That, coupled with the sweet drag of friction where he wants it makes his back arch, pushing forward against Mingyu’s hand.
He scrapes his nails over Mingyu’s hips in return, fingers digging into his skin in a blind search for the closure of his neat slacks. He pulls the buttons and zipper open at the same time. Mingyu pushes his fingers past the elastic waist of Minghao’s pants. Their limbs up tangled but Minghao does his best to put up with it, gasping when Mingyu’s fingers close loosely around his cock.
Minghao wants this— this closeness, this feeling that Mingyu still belongs to him— as much as he knows he can’t have it. The pad of Mingyu’s thumb circles around the sensitive tip of his cock and Minghao shudders. The rest of the world starts clawing at his attention again.
“Mingyu,” he says, his voice shaking. Mingyu who isn’t his anymore. He’s quieter than he means to be, his voice almost swallowed up by his ragged breathing. “Stop. We have to stop.”
He pushes Mingyu’s hand away, or starts to. There’s no need— as soon as he tells Mingyu to stop he jerks both hands back, hovering them in the air away from Minghao’s skin.
For a moment, Minghao stays as he is— sitting on top of Mingyu, breathing hard, swallowing down the urge to give him anything he wants.
“Are you okay?” Mingyu says, almost afraid.
“We can’t do this,” Minghao says, pulling himself off of Mingyu with a shake of his head. He collapses against the foot of the couch, curling his legs in close to his chest.
Mingyu sits up, the imprint of Minghao’s carpet scraped into his back. He doesn’t seem to notice it. If Minghao dared to touch him again, he would trace his fingers over the pattern.
“I’m not— me and Eunwoo aren’t—” Mingyu starts, floundering. Minghao sinks further in on himself, shaking his head.
“It’s not right,” he says, more for his own benefit than Mingyu’s. “You should go home.”
Mingyu doesn’t argue with him, though he looks like he wants to. He puts his clothes back in order. First fixing his pants, then retrieving his sweater from the floor where Minghao threw it. There’s still a bright red and purple mark staining the side of his neck, a token of Minghao’s personal failings.
He thinks about offering to call Mingyu a cab— it’s still storming and Mingyu is still without a jacket.
Instead, he picks the hoodie up off the couch, feeling the weight of the soft, worn-in fabric in his hands.
He passes it over to Mingyu without a word. Mingyu takes it but doesn’t put it on, staring at Minghao for a moment.
“You don’t have anything else,” Minghao says, every word cold in his mouth. “I can put something else on.”
It’s the last thing of Mingyu’s that he kept— which means it’ll be the last thing he has to give up.
Mingyu still refuses to put it on but he nods his head, pausing at the door only long enough to step into his shoes.
The door is loud when it shuts behind him and after, the apartment is quiet for a long time.
It seems silly to give Mingyu a box full of pictures of himself. But some things Minghao can’t stand to hold onto the reminders of.
Like the single picture he has of Mingyu the morning after they slept together for the first time. There’s the dark stain of several red and purple bruises on the side of his neck and he’s only wearing an old pair of sweats.
In the picture he’s smiling, looking down at the pan he has on the stove. Minghao can remember the rest of it. How he woke up to the sound of Mingyu in his kitchen, singing along with some pop song on the radio and making omelets.
Mingyu didn’t know he was taking a picture. Minghao had grabbed the camera off the end table it was sitting on and shot it before Mingyu looked at him. It was like a compulsion at the time. He needed to have some kind of record of the moment. He wanted to keep it like that, locked in time.
He wanted to look at the picture and remember what it was like to feel his heart swell up big behind his ribs. Like he was so full of emotion that it hurt.
Now, Minghao wants to be rid of the memory and the photo both.
In the bottom of one of these boxes there’s a single picture of him and Zhennan. They were kids. Zhennan staring stoically while Minghao frowns in a way that he thought made him look cool at the time. They have their hands clutched together, fingers entwined.
It was only after the accident that Minghao started taking pictures. In the end, he gave up dancing and decided to focus on photography instead. Which is how he met Wonwoo— a film major— and Mingyu through him.
He’s not sure if that's fate or luck.
For six months, Mingyu gives his relationship with Eunwoo all his attention. He stops chasing after Minghao and Minghao stops answering his messages.
It stings for weeks. Mingyu can’t stop himself from opening up his texts with Minghao to read through the inane details of their relationship. He only stops when he makes himself delete the conversation.
As hard as it is for him to put up with, Minghao was right. They can’t go back to the friendship they once had. It’s best to put the whole thing behind him— move forward and try to be happy with the future.
The problem is, the future isn’t so happy with him
Eunwoo meets his parents. Mingyu meets his. They kiss, they have sex, Eunwoo stresses about his finals and Mingyu does his best to help with studying. It’s a perfectly functional relationship; they get along, for the most part.
It’s not love.
“The lease on my apartment is almost up,” Eunwoo says. He's sitting on Mingyu’s couch, scrolling through an article on his tablet. Mingyu looks up from his book, blinks, tries his best not to look like his stomach is sinking through the floor.
“When is it done?” Mingyu asks, his brow furrowing.
“I have a few weeks,” Eunwoo says, a little smile on his face. “Don’t look so worried. I’m not gonna be living on the streets.”
Mingyu smiles back, trying to release the tension in his shoulders.
“I know you have a little longer on yours,” he continues, sitting up a little straighter. “But we could look for something bigger, if you want to.”
Mingyu slowly closes the book in his lap, setting it to the side. He can sense what kind of conversation this is going to be. They’ve been having a lot of these lately. Eunwoo tries to goad Mingyu into taking a step forward in their relationship while Mingyu does his best not to.
He does his best not to turn things into a fight. Arguments rarely work out in Mingyu’s favor. He gets the feeling that Eunwoo relishes them far more than he does.
“You mean move in together,” Mingyu says, his tone not nearly as neutral as he was hoping for.
“That’s what I was thinking, yeah,” Eunwoo says. His smile grows a little bit, dimpling in one cheek. “That way we can split the rent and you can worry about money a little bit less.”
Without meaning to, Mingyu cringes. There are days when he could go without the reminder that he worries too much.
“We… can look,” Mingyu says, faltering. Eunwoo’s smile falls. He leans back into the couch a little harder, sighing.
“You don’t want to,” he says. Plain, only a tinge of disappointment in his voice. Maybe he expected that Mingyu would say no.
It makes Mingyu feel worse. He curls his hands together creating a ball in his lap. “I’d rather think about it.”
“It’s fine if you’re not ready,” Eunwoo says, though he still sounds a shadow let down. “We have plenty of time.”
He doesn’t just mean before his lease is up.
“Right,” Mingyu says.
He sets his book to the side, standing up and stretching his arms over his head. Eunwoo watches him, eyes on his hips, then his face.
“I’m gonna get ready for bed." The words dart out of his mouth. He doesn’t ask if Eunwoo plans to stay or not, just grabs a towel before shutting the bathroom door tight behind him.
It’s starting to feel like every day Mingyu tells himself that things shouldn’t be this difficult. Eunwoo is stable, he’ll make good money as a lawyer and he’s from a nice family. His parents welcomed Mingyu into their home like he was already part of the family.
The sex isn’t bad. Mingyu isn’t unhappy.
But none of it comes easy. For six months, he’s been swimming upstream.
When he sees Seokmin and Soonyoung, he can’t help but be jealous. They aren’t perfect, by any means. The two of them cause plenty of trouble for each other. But they also fit together in the right ways— two people sharing one breath, one heart.
Mingyu isn’t exactly sure what he and Eunwoo are. Soulmates, of course. Two people bonded together by some force of the universe. But if not for that, Mingyu isn’t sure what he would call them.
It isn’t love. Companionship, maybe. The two of them don’t share many hobbies. Mingyu has stopped going to sports games and Eunwoo finds galleries and poetry readings boring. They’re polite, even when they’re arguing. Even when they’re in bed.
He takes a long, hot shower, letting the steam choke up the tiny bathroom. He does his best to listen to the water hitting the tiles and the floor and not think about anything at all.
When he finally drags himself out and finishes getting ready for bed, the lights in his living room are off and the apartment is quiet. He can hear the distant hum of Eunwoo in his bed, watching one of those cooking ASMR videos he likes before bed.
Mingyu waits, standing in the empty hall for a few minutes. When the sound stops and the dim blue light in the bedroom dies out and stays dark, he drags himself to bed.
“Sweet dreams.” It’s the only thing Eunwoo says. Mingyu doesn’t answer him.
“Wen Junhui, I swear if you crack that frame,” Minghao says, hissing it over his shoulder. Junhui grins at him, untroubled. He’s inches from smacking said frame into the narrow doorway to Minghao’s apartment.
It’s the tenth one they’ve carried up the stairs today and so far they've all made it safely into the apartment. These are the last of them and it’s a blessing. Minghao has been getting grouchier by the minute.
He doesn’t mean to. The stress of getting his prints ready for the opening at the end of next week has made his already lacking sleep dwindle down to nothing.
It was a gamble— quitting his job and to make it on his own as a photographer. Even Xiaoba has been eating better than he has. Her supply of wet food continued even when Minghao was living off of whatever groceries he could scrape together.
But it’s beginning to pay off. At least, he thinks it is. He can’t call the tiny exhibition he managed to secure a success unless people decide to actually buy some of the pictures.
Minghao nudges the door shut with his foot once Junhui has the last frames inside. They set them down to the side of the couch with the others.
His usually tidy apartment looks like it’s had a bomb set off inside of it. The table is littered with matting supplies and there’s two baskets of unfolded clothes sitting to the side of his closet. Junhui whistles to himself, shaking his head.
“Do you want me to call a maid service?” He asks, scratching the back of his head.
“It’s not that bad,” Minghao says, shaking his head. He steps out of his shoes but blinks when Junhui does the same.
“I don’t need anymore help." He uses the loose tie around his wrist to pull his hair to the back of his head. It’s getting too long— he should make time to get it cut before he has to start rubbing elbows with the outside world again.
“I’m here to not help.” Junhui tosses his arm around Minghao’s shoulders. “I’m here to distract and annoy you.”
“I don’t have time for that." He tries shrugging Junhui off.
“Sure you do,” Junhui says, sticking on even when Minghao resorts to prying his way free. “Especially because you’ve given up on sleeping more than four hours a night.”
Minghao doesn’t respond to that. Junhui presses a wet kiss to the side of his neck and he yelps, finally managing to get free.
“Junhui,” Minghao says, stern.
“Minghao,” Junhui says, imitating Minghao’s tone.
“I can take a break when—” he starts. Junhui groans, clapping his palm over Minghao’s mouth.
“Today,” he says, drawing the word out. “You can take one today. Right now.”
Even Minghao can tell when he’s beat.
He nods and Junhui pulls his hand away, grinning. “Good. Do you wanna take a nap or order pizza?”
The mere mention of carbs makes Minghao’s stomach growl. Junhui laughs, but Minghao can see the way worry creases his forehead. Minghao isn’t even usually that fond of greasy foods but Junhui relents and orders broccoli on the pizza to make him happy.
“Did you decide what you’re gonna wear yet?” Junhui asks, halfway through his third slice. Minghao shakes his head, letting it lean back against the couch. He already ate four slices himself and he could fall asleep like this.
“Not yet.” He’s been turning things over in the back of his mind whenever he has a spare moment. “I haven’t even finished inviting people to come.”
“Aren’t you doing that online?” Junhui asks, shaking his head. “Let me do it.”
“Don’t make it silly,” Minghao says, shooting a flat look in Jun’s direction.
“I won’t.” Junhui is already on his feet, fishing Minghao’s laptop out from under the clutter on the table. He upsets a little pile of pictures in doing so. Not prints meant to hang in a gallery but little instant print pictures. Ones that would fit tucked in Minghao’s palm.
As soon as they topple over, Minghao cringes. He’d forgotten about the pile he left out to sort through when he had a minute to spare. Junhui squeaks, clutching Minghao’s computer to his chest and bending over to pick up the polaroids.
It takes a minute, maybe two, for him to process them.
“Are these all pictures of Mingyu?” He asks, cradling them in his hands. Minghao shrugs-- there’s other things in there but since the brunt of these little pictures have Mingyu in them, it’s a safe bet.
“I’m going through them,” Minghao says, avoiding the curious prodding of Junhui’s stare.
“Are you making an album?” Excitement rises in his tone.
“I’m getting rid of them."
Junhui doesn’t need to know that he’s planning on giving them to Mingyu. He’s not sure he could explain exactly why.
“All of'em?” Junhui says, frowning now. He sits down next to Minghao again, flicking through some of the shots in his hands.
“A lot of them,” Minghao says. “I have like a thousand…”
“You’re getting rid of the ones Mingyu’s in."
Minghao shrugs once again. “I don’t need them anymore.”
“Can I take the rest of them?” Junhui asks, bumping his shoulder against Minghao’s. “I’ll throw them away for you.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Minghao says, trying to keep the little spike of panic he feels at the idea out of his face. Junhui is trying to get a rise out of him, the way he always does.
“You’re getting rid of them,” Junhui says, setting Minghao’s laptop to the side and hopping back to his feet. “Are they in your room? Under the bed?”
He’s gone before Minghao even gets to his feet to follow him. The box isn’t under the bed— it’s sitting next to the closet, the lid on top so Xiaoba doesn’t decide to sit in it.
She darts out of the bedroom as soon as Junhui enters, not in the mood to ride around limp on his neck like a scarf. Minghao has no idea how he coaxes her into it but it’s her favorite place to be when Junhui is around.
It only takes Junhui a moment to find the box, prying the lid open and looking down at the dozens of photos Minghao has inside.
“You’re not throwing these all away,” Junhui says, shaking his head.
“I was gonna give them to him." He's caught red handed. Junhui looks up at him, crouched on the floor with the box in his hands, a little shine in his eyes.
“You two still talk?” He asks. Minghao shakes his head, dashing the glitter of hope on Junhui’s face.
“Not for six months,” Minghao says. He twitches in place, tugging at the bottom hem of his shirt. “Not once.”
“So why this?” Junhui asks, setting the lid back down.
“I don’t need them anymore,” Minghao repeats, shaking his head. “Figured he’d want them instead.”
He isn’t actually sure if Mingyu does want the pictures or not. He could just as easily throw them in the trash after Minghao hands them over. He could mail them to Mingyu’s address and be done with it.
He's looking for the excuse. If he shows up at Mingyu’s door with a box full of their shared memories, at least he’ll have something to say.
“Invite him,” Junhui says, sharp eyes resting on Minghao’s face. “To the gallery. Ask him to come see it.”
“No,” Minghao says immediately, his face burning. “I don’t want him there.”
“Of course you do,” Junhui says, his voice soft. “You miss him. You could let him back into your life.”
“I can’t,” Minghao says. As much as he’d like to, he hasn’t forgotten about the last time he saw Mingyu. The two of them tangled together on the floor of the living room— his mouth on Mingyu’s throat, the heat of Mingyu’s hands on his skin.
It was a mistake. Minghao doesn’t trust himself not to try and repeat it.
“You won’t even give him the chance?” Junhui asks, his mouth dipping into a frown.
“I’m not inviting him,” Minghao says, his tone final. “Besides, he’s still with…”
He trails off— grits his teeth around the name and refuses to let it out. He doesn’t ask Seokmin about Mingyu’s life, but the occasional detail slips out in stories. Minghao doesn’t scold Seokmin for it, either. Without the little bits of news he does get he would go crazy wondering.
“C’mon,” Minghao says, when Junhui goes quiet for a long moment. “I have to get back to work.”
“Okay.” Junhui picks himself up off of the floor. “I’m gonna do your dishes.”
He doesn’t get the chance to argue— Jun is already headed off to the kitchen without him.
He’s not sure exactly how he hears about Minghao showing a dozen or so photos in a local gallery— the same one Mingyu ran into him in months ago. Maybe Seokmin lets it slip or he catches Minghao’s name mentioned in an upcoming event.
The how doesn’t matter so much. What matters is the way the knowledge sticks like a bone in the back of his throat. It’s only two days away when Mingyu does hear about it.
It doesn’t leave him much time to make up his mind.
He knows he should leave Minghao well enough alone— if he wanted Mingyu to attend he would’ve asked him to. He must've sent message to other friends inviting to show up. If he was smart— if he was a better person— he would stay away.
But he knows, maybe better than anyone else, how much work it took for Minghao to get here. Six months of radio silence isn’t enough to erase the pride that glows like an ember in the middle of Mingyu’s chest.
He could go another night— when Minghao is unlikely to be there. He could ask Eunwoo to come with him to at least give himself the illusion that it’s not wrong for him to be there.
Mingyu doesn’t do any of those things. He dresses up nicer than he needs to— puts on the watch Minghao bought him for the first time in months. He stands outside the perfect glass doors to the gallery, wondering if he should turn around and go home.
He’d never forgive himself for missing Minghao’s first exhibition. He’ll never get a better chance to apologize. Or to tell Minghao that he’s happy to see him succeed.
Minghao deserves to hear those things.
The place is open and bright inside and it only takes Mingyu a moment to spot Minghao, standing in front of a two-foot tall print of one of his photos. He looks different— a little thinner. His hair is longer and tied at the back of his head.
Even the glimpse of him standing on the other side of the room is enough to make Mingyu’s heart crawl into his throat.
He isn’t supposed to be in love with Minghao anymore. It seems that message didn’t make it to his heart.
He veers off in another direction before Minghao notices him staring like an idiot. He’s never needed to build up his courage to talk to Minghao before; even when they first met it was easy to talk to him. Easier than anyone else Mingyu knows.
It takes fifteen minutes of wandering around before someone catches him. Thankfully, it’s not Minghao. It’s Seokmin. His face lights up like a beacon and he almost knocks a lady in an expensive looking dress over in his haste to catch Mingyu.
“You came?” He asks, even though he can see Mingyu standing in front of him. Mingyu smiles, the expression unsteady on his face.
“Yeah,” he says, glancing in Minghao’s direction and then away again. “I should go, though.”
“Did you talk already?” Seokmin asks, looking over his shoulder at Minghao as well.
“It’s not a good idea,” Mingyu says, barking out a short, nervous laugh. “I mean, I don’t think he even wanted me to come to this.”
Seokmin’s vibrant smile wavers for a second, but Mingyu doesn’t miss it. “He didn’t want me to come, did he?”
“He said he wasn’t gonna send you anything about it,” Seokmin says, nervous. “But he didn’t say not to tell you about it or anything.”
Mingyu sighs, his shoulders slumping inward. It was another mistake for him to show up like this. Minghao told him they couldn’t be friends and Mingyu went on to prove that he wasn’t worthy of it anyway.
“I’ll go,” Mingyu says, shaking his head. “I’ll come back and see it some other time.”
Seokmin’s teeth sink into his lower lip, carving white lines in it. Mingyu isn’t sure what he was trying to accomplish by coming here, anyway.
“Okay,” Seokmin says, sighing. “Do you want me to tell him you came?”
It would mean something to Minghao if he heard it but Mingyu isn’t sure what. Maybe he’d be angry— he didn’t invite Mingyu, after all. Or he might think of Mingyu as a coward for showing up but not showing his face.
“No,” Mingyu says, scraping his fingers through his hair and shaking his head. “Don’t tell him.”
He can see the secondhand hurt on Seokmin’s face and without thinking he extends an arm to pull him into a hug.
“It’s fine,” Mingyu says, arm around Seokmin’s shoulders. “I don’t wanna ruin tonight for him. You can go back.”
He gives Seokmin a squeeze before releasing him and taking a step back. Seokmin still looks down. At least he’s not crying the way he did when Mingyu first told him about the breakup and the reasons behind it.
“Okay,” Seokmin says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess.”
When Seokmin turns to make his way back to Minghao, Mingyu casts one more look in his direction as well. He can at least take in the sight of him for a second— impress it into his memory and refuse to let go of it.
Minghao is staring back at him, eyes dark and unreadable. Mingyu freezes in place, squeezing his hand into a loose fist, heart hammering against his ribs. There’s no hint of a smile on his face; his lips press in a tight line and his brow is slightly furrowed.
So much for not letting Minghao know he was there to begin with.
It seems too rude to leave now that Minghao has seen him. It's too much like fleeing with his tail tucked between his legs.
Mingyu squares his shoulders, takes a deep breath to calm the squirming in his stomach. He crosses the room before he loses his nerve. He passes Seokmin who glances at him, then Minghao, before pivoting away.
“Hey,” Mingyu says, when he’s close enough.
“Did Seokmin tell you to come to this?” Minghao asks, a v of concern etched between his eyebrows. Mingyu shakes his head.
“He didn’t tell me about it,” he says, his meager confidence depleting by the second. “I heard about it and I thought…”
Minghao raises his eyebrows when Mingyu trails off.
“It makes a good date, I guess,” Minghao says, when Mingyu doesn’t finish. He casts his eyes over Mingyu’s shoulder, scanning the room. “Where is he?”
“I’m here by myself,” Mingyu says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I wanted to see the… pictures.”
He wanted to see Minghao. Now he’s running away. Scared to face Minghao and see how much of their relationship has changed. Minghao stands a little straighter, tugging his shirt into place. He looks back at the display of pictures, then up at Mingyu again.
“Okay,” he says, stiff. “Please enjoy.”
“And you,” Mingyu says, before he can stop himself. “I wanted to see you, too.”
Minghao lips part and Mingyu can feel, rather than hear, the sharp breath he sucks in.
“I wanted you know that I was proud of you.” Mingyu twists the watch around his wrist. “I am proud of you. It must’ve been so hard to put all this together alongside work…”
“I quit,” Minghao says. His eyes are on Mingyu’s wrist as well. “A couple of months ago.”
“Really?” Mingyu asks, leaning in closer. Minghao had talked about it before— quitting his job and trying to make a living off his art. Mingyu, at the time, had offered to move in with him. So they could share the costs and give Minghao a better shot…
Minghao turned him down. Never brought up the idea of quitting his job again. He didn’t need Mingyu’s help with it anyway, it seems.
“That’s great,” he says. “I’m glad it worked out.”
It’s unfair of him to feel so disappointed. Did he think Minghao would fall to pieces without him?
“What about you?” Minghao says after a moment, tilting his chin up to sweep his eyes over Mingyu again.
“What about me?” Mingyu asks, his cheeks a little warm.
“Did you do anything crazy?” Minghao asks, a little smile creeping on his face. “Shave your head? Take up ballet dancing?”
Mingyu chuckles, but the question sinks in deeper. He’s spent the last six months in a haze— drifting through the motions of his everyday life. Trying to convince himself that someday he’ll wake up and love Eunwoo.
“No,” he says after a moment, shaking his head. “I didn’t do anything like that.”
Minghao has shadows spread thick under his eyes. Mingyu wants to ask if he still has nightmares but he stops himself.
“That’s too bad,” Minghao says, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Though I guess it’d be hard to find tights that fit you.”
That makes Mingyu laugh for real, harder than it should. Funny or not, at least Minghao is talking to him the way he used to. Like they’re friends, not strangers.
It must be hard for him too— to see someone you once knew so completely turned into a stranger again. He can’t tell Minghao that he misses him. It wouldn’t be fair to. But seeing him like this— vibrant and alive, still the same person Mingyu was glad to give his heart to— makes the rest of his life seem that much emptier.
“I’m sorry, you know,” Mingyu says, quieter than he means to. The bud of a smile wilts on Minghao’s face and it hurts but Mingyu presses on anyway. He won't get another chance. “Things got all screwed up because of me. Last time I saw you…”
“Mingyu—” Minghao says, heaving out a sigh. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I didn’t get a chance to say it before,” Mingyu says, hovering on the edge of Minghao’s personal space. “But I’m sorry. It wasn’t supposed to go like that.”
“I can’t talk about this here,” Minghao says, shaking his head. “Not tonight. Not right now.”
“I’ll go,” Mingyu says, lowering his head between his shoulders.
“Don’t do that,” Minghao says, looking almost surprised by it himself. He hesitates before reaching out, putting his warm palm on the side of Mingyu’s neck. “Can we talk after? We can get a drink. The opening is only for another hour, anyway.”
“Yeah,” Mingyu says, scared to breathe in case it makes Minghao pull his hand away once again. “I can wait.”
Minghao looks up at him and slowly smiles. His eyes are curious, searching Mingyu’s expression for something— Mingyu isn’t sure what.
And then it’s gone. Minghao pulls his hand away and Mingyu steps back from him.
“I’ll, um.” Minghao shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it. “I’ll meet you outside in an hour, okay?”
Mingyu nods and swallows the desire to say anything else. Minghao turns to talk to someone looking at one of his photos and Mingyu edges away to look at the rest of the artwork. And to wait.
Minghao can’t explain the impulse that made him invite Mingyu to have drinks after the opening. Even trying to justify it to himself, it doesn’t make sense.
He shouldn’t have. He shouldn’t have said anything to Mingyu at all. The two of them are like children playing with fire; so fascinated that they forget about the danger. He makes excuses when Seokmin asks him what he said to Mingyu and again when Junhui asks if he wants a ride back home.
When he steps outside, the air is crisp and sharp. He doesn’t see Mingyu and for a second his heart seizes between his ribs.
But Mingyu is there— a dozen feet from the door, hunched against the white brick wall of the building next door. Minghao stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jacket and makes his way over.
“Hi,” he says, shy now. “I thought you might’ve left.”
“You said we could talk,” Mingyu says. The corners of his lips drag down in a frown. He’s curled in on himself like he’s worried about how much space his body occupies.
It takes a moment for Minghao to realize Mingyu's waiting for him to change his mind.
“Yeah." He clears his throat to make sure his voice doesn’t waver. “There’s a bar around the corner?”
“Okay.” Mingyu relaxes a little. “Yeah. Lead the way.”
Minghao does— Mingyu falling into step next to him. The street is quiet, though it’s barely past 10. It amplifies the quiet between the two of them, too. Minghao doesn’t know what to say— where to begin.
The two of them end up at a dim booth in the back of the bar, secluded from anyone else. Mingyu’s hands curl together on top of the table, fingers knit together in a tight, anxious weave.
“I didn’t think you’d actually wanna talk to me,” Mingyu says, a nervous smile dashing across his face.
“I’m not angry with you." It’s the only thing he can safely admit. “I wasn’t before, either. I should've told you.”
“That’s okay." The relief on his face gives him away.
Mingyu has never been good at hiding his feelings but he’s trying now. Minghao can see it, whatever it is, trying to find its way out.
“Tell me how you’ve been,” he says, taking a long look at Mingyu’s face. He looks different now that Minghao is taking in the details— a little tired, a little slower to smile. A little bit less like himself.
“I’m… things aren’t bad,” Mingyu says, hesitating.
“Mingyu,” he says, reaching out and laying his hand on top of Mingyu’s. It happens before he thinks to stop it— instinct.
Mingyu reacts in kind, opening his hands to catch Minghao's.
“I miss you.” He’s looking at their joined hands. The raw honesty of his voice scrapes over Minghao’s nerves, sets them alight again.
Minghao promised himself that he would stop getting attached to people in this way. Having his heart break twice was enough to last him the rest of his life. He's he could be happy like that. He has friends, family, time to grow his career. It would be a good life… not quite complete, but good.
Tonight it’s like Mingyu stuck both hands into the dark earth beneath the surface and pulled Minghao’s heart free from where he tried to hide it.
“I’m sorry,” he says, sliding his hand free from Mingyu’s grasp one again.
It must make Mingyu recognize exactly what he’s doing because he jolts upright, shaking his head. “I’m not… that’s not why I came.”
“How is your boyfriend?” Minghao asks, placing each word neatly in line. He doesn’t want to know the details but he needs to remind the both of them exactly where they stand. Mingyu’s eyes slide off to the side, staring at the wood grain of the wall behind Minghao’s head.
“Eunwoo’s fine.”
“Law school, right?” He prods at his own bruises.
“Yeah.” Mingyu’s hands drop off the table and into his lap. “He wants us to find an apartment soon.” He says every word with dread in his voice.
It makes Minghao ache down to his core to hear. He wants to ask plain and direct what Mingyu wants from him. He’s not sure how they’re meant to be friends if they can’t seem to remember that’s what they are.
“Do you want to?” Minghao asks, leaning his weight against the table.
“I don’t know,” Mingyu says, pursing his lips. He looks at Minghao then dips his gaze again. “No.”
A quiet pause settles over them— Minghao isn’t sure what he can say and Mingyu seems to be weighing his thoughts.
“It should be you,” Mingyu says, reaching across the table. His hands find Minghao’s again. “My soulmate… it should be you.”
He looks so lost that for a moment Minghao wants to tell him that he’s right. The universe made a mistake and it should be the two of them.
But it would be a lie. A cruel one at that.
“It’s not me,” Minghao says, shaking his head.
Mingyu’s expression wavers and for a moment he looks near tears. His fingers wrap around Minghao’s wrist, pushing his sleeve up to reveal the watch around his wrist. It’s a match to the one that Mingyu is wearing.
“I wish it was,” Mingyu says, running his thumb over the thin bones of Minghao’s wrist. The touch is so light it makes Minghao shiver— no one's touched him like this in months.
“I should get home,” Minghao says, though he lacks the determination to pull his hand free of Mingyu’s. “It’s getting late.”
Mingyu looks down at their hands before pulling away on his own. “Okay.”
Minghao stands, wishing he’d brought a heavier jacket with him to ward off the evening cold. As it is, he pulls his sleeve back down over his arm and makes his way out of the tiny bar.
Every step of the way he has to remind himself not to look back at Mingyu.
Mingyu spends a few days after his disaster of an evening with Minghao avoiding seeing Eunwoo. He owes him an explanation for why, face-to-face, but he’s not ready to have that conversation yet.
Unfortunately, it follows him even into his dreams.
A thick layer of snow covers the garden. Only the top row of stones around the rim of the well are visible. The surface of the snow is flawless, flat and untouched. When Mingyu takes a step, he leaves no trace behind him. He’s like a ghost in the cold air.
The vines are all withered and dry, hanging off the old stone walls like they might crumble at the slightest breeze. In the air, there’s the angry promise of a storm. When he faces the wall that leads out to the ocean, Mingyu can see the great bulwark of black clouds rolling in over the horizon.
Mingyu wonders if his dreams are like this because of him. Or if it’s the cold air that’s settled between him and Eunwoo for weeks that’s caused the change.
Maybe it’s neither— maybe this turbulence is how their shared world should to be.
None of these answers are good. Mingyu knows what conversation he needs to have with Eunwoo.
He doesn’t know anyone who refused their soulmate. He can’t help but wonder what his dreams will be like after.
“I can’t believe how busy you’ve been recently.”
Eunwoo has a smile on his face— pasted in place, refusing to budge. Mingyu lingers in the entryway to his apartment, coat still draped over his shoulders.
It seems silly to come inside and make himself comfortable.
He goes too long without answering and Eunwoo turns to look at him, raising his eyebrows.
“Mingyu?”
“Sorry,” Mingyu says, trying to focus on the moment he’s in.
“You can take your coat off,” Eunwoo says, hazarding a small smile. “Stay awhile.”
“I, um,” Mingyu curls his fingers around the cuff. “I don’t think I’m going to.”
“Oh,” Eunwoo says, blinking. “Are you not feeling well?”
“We should stop seeing each other.”
Eunwoo’s lips part, his forehead wrinkling. “You wanna break up?”
“Yeah,” Mingyu says, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “That’s what I want.”
“We’re soulmates,” Eunwoo says, his words tinged with disbelief.
“Are you happy with me?” Mingyu asks, shaking his head in return.
“I’m… not unhappy.” The question still makes him hesitate.
“I am,” Mingyu says, leaning back toward the door. He can’t blame Eunwoo for seeming floored by it. Breaking up with their soulmates isn’t something that people do.
His parents would tell him he should be happy for the cold, polite relationship he has with someone wealthy and bound for success. There are worse ways to live.
It’s like slow suffocation. Decades of having the life crushed out of him.
He came over anticipating an argument about it, but the admission seems to take all the fight out of Eunwoo.
“I know you are,” Eunwoo says, the peaceful smile finally giving up its place on his face. He has the same dreams as Mingyu, after all. “Is it about that guy? Your ex?”
“No,” Mingyu says, only once he’s sure he’s telling the truth. Minghao doesn’t want him back. It doesn’t change the choice that he needs to make. “I don’t think this is right. Any of it.”
Eunwoo looks at him for a long time, trying to decide if Mingyu is lying to him or not.
“That’s it?” Eunwoo asks finally, shaking his head. “I have to call my parents and tell them my soulmate doesn’t like me?”
Mingyu cringes, his shoulders tucking in close to his body. “You’d rather stay like this?”
Eunwoo tightens his jaw but doesn’t answer. Mingyu has the feeling that if his mind wasn’t already so made up, Eunwoo might say they should.
Maybe he's right, too. Mingyu could be throwing away everything he’s fated to have.
But there is fate. There is luck. There is choice.
Mingyu would rather take his chances with choice than the trapped promise of an easy answer.
“I can’t do it,” Mingyu says, edging toward the door. “I don’t want to.”
“Fine,” Eunwoo says, low. Resigned, maybe. “If that’s how you want it to be.”
Mingyu mumbles out a soft, half-hearted goodbye before he lets himself out the door. He leaves a whole life of what-if’s behind him.
When he finishes with the photos, Minghao almost backs down from going to Mingyu’s apartment to give them to him.
It’s been four weeks since the gallery show— Mingyu hasn’t reached out to him again since. Minghao isn’t sure if he’s happy about it or not.
He spends a long time staring at the full box of pictures, running his thumb around the cardboard rim. He could throw them away, but it still feels wrong. They’re all memories— his and Mingyu’s. Mingyu deserves to have a share in them, even if he decides he doesn’t want them.
So, on a quiet, rainy afternoon he knocks on Mingyu’s door, box tucked under his jacket to keep it safe from the rain.
For a second, Minghao pictures Mingyu’s soulmate opening the door and panic rises up in his throat. He has no cover story for why he’d decide to drop in on Mingyu out of the blue for the first time in seven months. He might’ve even decided to move.
Before Minghao’s mind runs any further away with him, Mingyu opens the door.
His hair is standing up around his face in a messy halo, like he was sleeping or running his fingers through it. He takes in the sight of Minghao standing on his doorstep, rain dripping from the ends of his hair, and he smiles.
“Hi,” Mingyu says, stepping out of the way to let Minghao inside.
“Hi,” Minghao responds, shifting the box under his jacket. “Are you busy?”
Mingyu shakes his head. There’s a tentative smile on his face and he’s looking at Minghao like he can’t quite believe that he’s here.
“I, um, came to give you something,” Minghao says, freeing the box from its hiding place. He feels silly about the idea now, but what else can he do? He’s here already.
Mingyu blinks but holds both hands out to take it. When Minghao passes it over, he peels the top off and looks curiously inside. Minghao doesn’t know what he’s expecting but by the way his smile wavers. It wasn’t the dozens of pictures stuffed in as tight as Minghao could manage.
“Are all these yours?” Mingyu asks, running his fingers over them. He turns to sit down on the couch, the box perched on his knees, letting him flip through the top layer.
Minghao hovers near the door still, nodding his head. “Yeah. I had more than you’d believe.”
“You don’t want to keep them?” Mingyu asks, pulling his attention away from the individual photos to look up at Minghao.
“I thought you might want some.”
“Who’s this?” Mingyu asks, pulling a larger photo out from the box. It’s old, worn at the corners and too big to have come from Minghao’s vintage instant camera.
Minghao is instantly familiar with it, even before Mingyu holds the picture up. It’s him and Zhennan as children, holding hands. It’s not supposed to be in this box of pictures. Seeing Mingyu hold it is strange, almost out of body. The convergence of two parts of Minghao’s life that were never meant to meet.
“That’s from when I was a kid,” Minghao says. He approaches Mingyu’s spot on the couch in start-stop steps. Mingyu shifts to the side to make space, not bothered by the fact that Minghao’s coat is still damp with rain.
“That’s you,” Mingyu says, his finger hovering an inch above Minghao’s frowning face in the picture. Minghao nods in confirmation and Mingyu points to Zhennan instead. “And him?”
“Zhou Zhennan.” The name feels strange in his mouth— when was the last time he said it out loud? “We… grew up together.”
His face must give away more than he intends. Mingyu looks at him for a long moment before putting the picture in his lap. He doesn’t ask, but Minghao can feel the question hovering in the air anyway. He takes a breath, trying to steady his jumpy nerves.
“He was my soulmate.” The words try to get caught in Minghao’s throat. He has to force them out, looking at the picture rather than at Mingyu.
For what feels like a long time, Mingyu is quiet. Minghao has to give up staring at the photo and confront the mixture of confusion and sympathy on Mingyu’s face.
“You never… you never said anything about that,” Mingyu says, shaking his head. He lifts his hand, letting it hover over Minghao’s shoulder. He hesitates until Minghao leans toward the contact. “I didn’t know.”
“I know.” Minghao puts his head on Mingyu’s shoulder and lets Mingyu’s arm wrap around him. “I should’ve told you. It seemed better not to.”
“How did he…”
“Die?” Minghao asks, lifting his head to meet Mingyu’s eyes again. Mute, Mingyu nods his head. Minghao presses his lips into a thin line before he answers. “It was a car accident. I left home a few months after it happened.”
There’s an unbearable sadness on Mingyu’s face, a mirror to Minghao’s own.
“That’s why you don’t sleep,” Mingyu says, his fingers tight around Minghao’s shoulder. The tears welling up in Minghao’s eyes make it hard to see more than the outline of Mingyu’s features. “You still have dreams about him?”
“Something like that.” He’s never seen Zhennan in his dreams— just the echoes he left behind.
“Sorry,” Minghao says, pulling out of Mingyu’s hold and using the edge of his sleeve to swipe the tears out of his eyes. “I haven’t talked about it in a long time.”
Mingyu catches his hand before he can finish pulling away, giving it a squeeze. “You don’t have to keep it secret from me.”
“I didn’t want anybody to know,” Minghao says, shaking his head. “I left home because I couldn’t stand all the pity anymore.”
“I’d never pity you,” Mingyu says, almost laughing. There’s a smile on his face, small and kind. Minghao opens his mouth to answer but finds he has nothing to say.
He’s saved from having to come up with anything by Mingyu pulling him into a tight, warm embrace. His breath blows over the top of Minghao’s head. In spite of the ghosts Minghao has been trying to escape, there’s a whole living world for him to hold onto.
It’s Mingyu who kisses him— fingers cupping his face, thumbs wiping the last of the tears off Minghao’s cheeks. It takes several minutes for Minghao to remember himself and pull away, pushing Mingyu back by the shoulders.
“You can’t—” he’s out of breath. Mingyu blinks at him, confused.
Then he smiles again, his eyes wrinkling at the corners. “I ended it. I’m not seeing him anymore.”
For a long moment, Minghao isn’t sure what to say.
“You’re serious?”
Mingyu has no reason to lie about it but Minghao still holds his breath until Mingyu nods.
“Yeah,” he says, a little bit of laughter in his voice. “A few weeks ago.”
“You didn’t tell me.” He’s not offended about it. He’s not sure how he would’ve reacted if Mingyu had shown up at his apartment and declared that he’d rejected his soulmate. He’s not even sure how he feels about it now.
“I didn’t think you’d wanna know,” Mingyu says, scratching the back of his head. “I mean I didn’t do it so…” He trails off, his gaze dropping to his lap.
This time Minghao kisses him because he can. Because there are no more reasons for him not to. He can feel the surprised sound Mingyu makes against his lips before he has his arms around Minghao’s waist, trying to pull him in closer.
Mingyu kisses him the way he expected he would never be kissed again. Minghao missed more than the physical skin-on-skin contact of it. He missed the heat of Mingyu’s breath on his cheek, the way the blunt tips of his fingers dig into his skin. He missed the intimacy, too. Not touching Mingyu but being close to him, feeling close to him.
He could bury his face in Mingyu’s neck and listen to the steady beating of his heart for the rest of the year. Mingyu’s hands slide up his back, underneath his jacket but over his shirt, his palms warm and broad. Minghao shuts his eyes and leans his forehead against Mingyu’s, breath coming quick and uneven.
“Can we try again?” Mingyu asks, his voice soft. When Minghao opens his eyes again, Mingyu is staring at him, his gaze molten and dark.
“Yeah,” he says, curling his fingers around Mingyu’s jaw. The word comes out on a single breath and Mingyu smiles. It’s so vibrant and real that Minghao’s chest feels like it might be in danger of caving in.
“I wanna look at those,” Mingyu says, nodding in the direction of the forgotten box of pictures. His hands slide up Minghao’s sides, moving to his shoulders. He pushes Minghao’s jacket off his arms, peeling away the outermost layer of his clothes. “Later.”
Minghao shrugs the jacket off his shoulders, letting it crumple to the floor. He leans in, bending his back and dragging his teeth over the side of Mingyu’s neck. Mingyu makes a quiet, strained sound, gripping the back of Minghao’s shirt.
He has too many layers on— a pullover and a button-up underneath, trying to keep out the cold. But it’s warm in the apartment and even warmer with his chest pressed into Mingyu’s. It makes Mingyu laugh when he realizes it, tugging the hem of Minghao’s sweater back into place.
“Did you dress up for me?” Mingyu asks, his nose crinkling along the bridge. Minghao grins in return, shaking his head.
“I had a meeting earlier.” There’s a flush creeping up the back of his neck— caught in the act.
“It looks good.” Mingyu’s mouth finds the thin skin of his neck above the collar of his shirt. “You look good.”
Minghao shakes his head, tugging the hair at the back of Mingyu’s head. “Stop talking.”
He only succeeds in making Mingyu laugh again, this time pulling the sweater up over Minghao’s head as well. He pitches forward, holding Minghao’s body close to his and laying them out on the couch so Minghao is underneath him. He balances his weight on his knees, Minghao’s legs bracketing his, sitting up to take in the whole picture.
Whatever Mingyu sees makes him smile, unguarded, hair falling in his face. Minghao reaches up to brush it back from his eyes. Mingyu’s head tilts into the touch of his hand. He drags his hands up Minghao’s hips, pulling his shirt out from where it’s tucked in. He makes slow work of the buttons, opening them up one by one, revealing Minghao’s bare skin in centimeters.
It makes Minghao’s skin feel too tight on his bones. Mingyu has found his way past every layer, peeling them back one by one until Minghao has nothing let to cover up his heart. Mingyu kisses the hollow of his throat, the jut of his collarbone, the swell of his shoulder. He lingers on the mole there before sitting up again, pulling their hips close together. Minghao grunts, the friction tingling up his spine.
“Come here,” Minghao grumbles, grabbing at the hem of Mingyu’s shirt. Mingyu leans in closer, letting Minghao pull it off over his head. He buries his face in the joint of his shoulder, teeth digging into his muscle.
Mingyu’s arms belt around him, lock him in place. Their hips rock together, slow and off rhythm. It doesn’t matter. The friction feels good anyway. He’s distracted leaving a series of dark purple bruises around the base of Mingyu’s throat. He’ll feel bad for it in the morning— or maybe he won’t.
Mingyu groans, the sound vibrating the shell of Minghao’s ear. “C’mon. Let’s go— bed.”
He drags Minghao up by the hand and Minghao laughs, closing his legs around Mingyu’s waist and cling on tighter. Mingyu grunts in surprise, looking down at Minghao with a blink followed by a roll of his eyes. He leans in, letting Minghao secure his arms around his back.
His hands grasp Minghao’s back, lifting him up and carrying him off to the bedroom. He only stumbles once or twice on the way, depositing Minghao on the tidy sheets. He presses his palms into the jut of Minghao’s hips, nails scraping over his skin. He peels Minghao’s tight pants down his legs. Minghao kicks them off as soon as they reach his ankle then shoves himself into a better position on the bed.
Mingyu shoves his own pants off before following after him, laying his body across Minghao’s and finding his mouth once again. There’s much more intent to the kiss this time; Minghao’s tongue in Mingyu’s mouth, demanding. One of Mingyu’s hands finds his ribs, fingers spread wide over the arch of them. Minghao tilts his head back against the sheets, squeezing his eyes shut.
There’s something overwhelming about seeing Mingyu’s skin on his. Mingyu’s mouth drags over the side of his neck, so light it makes goosebumps crawl across Minghao’s skin. He can’t handle the building pressure in the middle of his chest exactly as much as he couldn’t take it if Mingyu were to pull away now.
He starts to, only for Minghao to grip onto his arms and refuse to let go, nails needling his arms. Mingyu laughs, tipping his head to the side.
“Is that better?” Mingyu asks, his hands traveling up Minghao’s back, following the curve of his spine.
“It depends,” Minghao says, a smile stealing over his face. “Are you letting me have my way with you now?”
He nods— too eager— flush creeping over his neck and up his cheeks. “All yours.”
Minghao presses his forehead to the center of Mingyu’s chest, eyes shut, listening to the pounding of his heart. After this he won’t feel like he’s being run through with everything that comes out of Mingyu’s mouth. It can’t be healthy. He rocks their hips together again, so slow that it aches, muffling a groan in Mingyu’s skin.
Mingyu shudders in return, the muscles in his thighs tensing as he arches his hips in return. He nips at Minghao’s shoulder, starting to lose patience. Minghao reaches up, pressing a final kiss to the center of Mingyu’s chest first. He rolls to the side, digging his hand in the slight gap between the wooden frame of the bed and the mattress. Exactly where he knows Mingyu likes to tuck things away.
He doesn’t stop to think about the missing third of the bottle, instead dropping it and a condom on the dark sheets. Mingyu looks down at it before looking back to Minghao, eyes sparkling.
“Whatever you want,” Mingyu says, a flush in his voice too. “Anything at all.”
The words are heavy and sweet; like the smell of rose petals, like promises.
Minghao passes the bottle into Mingyu’s palm, urging him on. He peels his final layer of clothes off while Mingyu coats his fingers and rubs them together to try and warm up the gel. He takes his time in opening Minghao up around his fingers, letting his muscles relax. Mingyu keeps going until Minghao’s breath is coming out in gasps. He’s rocks his hips in a rough demand for more than what Mingyu is giving him.
One hand hooks around the back of Mingyu’s neck, pulling him in closer and nipping a pink imprint of teeth next to his ear.
“C’mon.” He presses his nails into Mingyu’s skin, enough to needle him again. Mingyu pulls his hand away, slick fingers dragging along the outside of Minghao’s thigh. Minghao hitches his legs further apart. He's busy planting loose, messy kisses against Mingyu’s shoulder, the side of his neck.
Mingyu shoves the last of his clothes off and grunting when he slips the condom over his dick, coating the outside with an extra layer of lube. He rolls his hips into his fingers, following the tease of friction before pulling his hand away again.
He kisses Minghao when he slides inside, mouth searing against Minghao’s. It doesn’t hurt at all when Mingyu presses in. He was already too patient in spreading Minghao’s muscles with his fingers. His body bows up into Mingyu’s until they’re so close together there’s hardly space to breathe.
Mingyu’s hides his face in the juncture of Minghao's shoulder, mouthing at the sweat-slick skin there. It’s a vain effort to cover the way he groans when their hips meet, the sound vibrating against Minghao’s chest. He pushes his fingers through Mingyu’s hair, brushing it out of his face.
“Feel okay?” Mingyu asks, kissing the sharp line of his collarbone. Minghao nods, petting his fingers through Mingyu’s bangs.
“Feels good.” He rolls his hips down against Mingyu’s, testing the motion. Mingyu takes the hint, one hand gripping Minghao’s hip, rocking his hips. The motion starts out slow and careful but Minghao doesn’t have the same patience. He wraps one of his legs around the back of Mingyu’s thigh, pressing with his heel to urge Mingyu on.
"Faster," he says, huffing the word out.
Mingyu picks up the pace, skin making an obscene sound when it collides with Minghao’s. Minghao’s body curves into Mingyu's, trying to push his hips up into each thrust. His mouth is close to Mingyu’s ear now, breathing low sounds against the shell of it for him hear.
“Like that,” he says, words getting choked up in his throat. “Keep going— like that.”
Mingyu grunts, ducking his head and sawing his hips forward. A layer of sweat builds up on his skin. It makes Minghao’s grip on his shoulders slip, dragging thin red lines across his skin. Mingyu hisses, more out of surprise than pain.
He laces the fingers of one hand though Minghao’s, squeezing it and pressing the back of Minghao’s hand into the bed next to his head. Mingyu changes the angle of his hips, long, slow thrusts straight to Minghao’s prostate. It sends sparks shooting up the column of his spine, biting the inside of his cheek to try and keep from making a sound.
Mingyu keeps going like that and each trust makes Minghao’s spine go more and more taut. He’s stretched out on the bed like he might break to pieces at any moment. The only thing holding him together is Mingyu’s grip on his hand and the warm weight of his body.
His other hand— the one not tied up with Minghao’s— finds its way between their bodies to wrap around Minghao’s cock. Minghao jerks, a small sound forcing its way past his lips. He’s wound too tight already, ready to burst at the seams. It takes only a few flicks of Mingyu’s wrist for Minghao to squeeze his eyes shut and groan. Before hes' coming streams over Mingyu’s fist.
His body squeezes tighter around Mingyu’s cock, muscles contracting and releasing without a real rhythm. Mingyu follows fast after him, his head resting against the center of Minghao’s chest, kissing his bared skin. The pace of his hips goes harsh and uneven for a handful of strokes before he stills, shivers crawling down his spine.
Minghao presses his face into the top of Mingyu’s head, eyes shut, breathing him in. Mingyu pulls out, tracing the bone of Minghao’s hip with the tips of his fingers.
He lifts his head, still breathing hard, a smile spread across his face. The corners of his eyes crinkle and he squeezes Minghao’s hand in his.
“You’re gonna stay, right?” Mingyu asks, as if anyone would have the strength to refuse him.
Minghao’s palm cups around his cheek, smiling helplessly himself when Mingyu presses his head into the touch.
“Of course,” he says, laughing when Mingyu settles in, draped over top of him. “As long as you’ll let me.”
“Move in, then,” Mingyu says, toying with Minghao’s fingers in his grasp.
“Right now?” Minghao asks, laughing a little. “Don’t you want to think about it first?”
“I thought about it for two years.” He’s speaking earnestly now, looking up at Minghao like the whole world hinges on his answer. “It can be here or your place. Or we can find a bigger one. I don’t care. I want you to be there.”
When he woke up in the morning, Minghao’s future seemed like a settled affair. Long and lonely. He’d already decided there wouldn’t be any more romance in his life— a third loss would be too much.
And yet here is another option. One he wouldn’t have dared let himself consider.
“Okay,” Minghao says, nodding. Strange how easy it is to agree.
Mingyu’s smile gets wider. He sits up on his knees, eyes bright and wide. “Wait, really?”
“Yes, really.” Minghao sits up too, separating his back from the sweat-damp sheets. “You need a shower before we decide on the details, though.”
Mingyu ignores the jab. He lets go of Minghao’s hand only to pull him into a crushing hug. He can feel the beating of Mingyu’s heart against his bare chest— steady and strong and slightly off the rhythm of his own.
But for once Minghao doesn’t feel compelled to try and count the beats of his heart. To see how many separate the two of them. It is enough to be close, to have as much as Mingyu has decided to give him.
then the voice in my head said
WHETHER YOU LOVE WHAT YOU LOVE
OR LIVE IN DIVIDED CEASELESS
REVOLT AGAINST IT
WHAT YOU LOVE IS YOUR FATE
-Frank Bidart