Chapter Text
Somedays, it is easy—a breeze. He wakes up without snoozing his alarm, brushes his teeth, showers, eats breakfast, and leaves his house without hurrying. He takes his time, work goes by easily. In the evening, it pinches his ribcage. An undecipherable emotion, one that is him as much as he is; an attribute of who he is, the absence of which makes him less of a person.
He shuts the door to his driver seat behind him and flexes his shoulders. It’s that time of the year where it is too hot for layers and too chilly for none; bones tend to contract more, muscles shrink in on themselves. He tugs at his denim jacket before he heads in.
It is a familiar sight when Seokmin opens the door for him, looking as happy as ever. A dissociating experience from how he lives day to day himself. His own smile stands weaker, but it is there nonetheless—a sorry excuse for his existence. “Mingyu-yah, how was work today,” Seokmin asks as Mingyu hands him the bottle of whiskey he brought for today. “Sucked,” Mingyu responds mechanically, and Seokmin laughs.
There are more people today than their hangouts usually. Mingyu looks around the living room to find more unknown or barely familiar faces than the ones he is friends with. “Hyung invited a few people from his work. If you feel bothered, you know you can always go to our bedroom.” Mingyu does, the only space in this massive apartment that is locked for guests.
“Thanks. I think I am fine,” he replies, walking to the kitchen, wherein he finds who he has sort of been dreading. He stops in his tracks and considers running away, and he perhaps would have had his presence been not caught on to.
Minghao's eyes light up like Mingyu has never felt himself before. He smiles at Mingyu like he's worth something grand, and walks to Joshua’s expensive collection of glasses and picks out a beer mug. His movements are so elegant and gentle, Mingyu feels he can fall asleep just looking at him.
He keeps looking at Minghao, a major part of his anxiety eases, like nobody else in the world matters. When Minghao stands right in front of him, Mingyu sees the heart shaped sticker in blush pink under his eye. “So pretty,” he says, like an automated response. Minghao giggles and looks down only for about five seconds.
Then, he offers Mingyu the beer. “Will you mind nursing this for the whole night? I don't have a ride.” Mingyu nods, easy as breathing when he doesn’t think about it. Minghao smiles at him softly, looking at him from behind his eyelashes like he is coy. “Thank you. You're perfect.”
He then guides Mingyu out of the kitchen and to the terrace. It's currently occupied only by Jeonghan and Wonwoo, who are huddled together and whispering. They greet Mingyu and Minghao when Minghao opens the door but then they get back to each other. It is pretty obvious they have started to get drunk.
Minghao leads him to the grand three-seater cushioned swing and sits in the middle. Mingyu follows him, leaning against the armrest because he knows Minghao will want to lean on him.
They haven't been dating for that long, two months at most, and Minghao's patience and stubbornness are likely catalysts. Mingyu still feels guilty: for keeping him waiting so long and for still feeling like he doesn’t deserve to be with Minghao. He also feels selfish when Minghao leans into him like this, back against Mingyu's chest, propping his feet on the empty seat, and pulling Mingyu’s free hand around his chest, because this makes Mingyu feel so safe, and so useful.
“Was today nice,” he asks, intertwining his fingers with Mingyu’s from the back. “It is nice right now,” he mumbles, running his fingers through Minghao's hair. It is true; for the first time in the whole day, he feels his hands being stable.
“Because of me,” Minghao asks, looking up at Mingyu with a pout. Honesty isn't something that comes as easily to Mingyu, but when Minghao is gazing up at him like this, so warm and cosy in his arms, it's hard not to be. “Mhmm,” he nods and kisses Minghao on the forehead.
Minghao makes a noise of discontent somewhere along the way. It rings alarms in Mingyu's brains. Have I disappointed him? Oh no no please! Minghao shifts a little, to kiss Mingyu on his nose. “I wish that it is nice even without me,” Minghao whispers, very obviously upset, but yet so lovely.
Mingyu cannot help the low chuckle omitting from his throat. “Why? Do you plan to leave me already?” It is a half-joke; the thought of Minghao even considering it sends bile shooting up his body.
“Absolutely not! I just want you to be happy with yourself.”
Minghao doesn’t know the depths of Mingyu yet. They have known each other for only six months and have been dating for one. He doesn’t know what, if at all, Minghao likes about him beyond the surface. “Mhmm, I am happy, Myungho.”
Minghao sighs, not out of disappointment or sadness, but somewhere between the limbo of contentment and longing, of something Mingyu cannot see. But he hugs Minghao closer, because he is selfish, and because this is the first time he has felt safe anywhere. “Mingyu-yah,” Minghao whispers, his mouth buried on the side of Mingyu’s neck, his exhales soothe the burn in Mingyu’s heart.
“Hmm?”
“I think you are too special for me.”
It stings the corners of Mingyu’s eyes; when he looks up at the sky, the handful of stars are blurry. He wants to say what Minghao isn’t. He wants to give voice to words Minghao is afraid will scare him. He wants to bring Minghao happiness, too.
“Mmm. You are special for me, too,” he says instead, a coward, a man who hasn’t ever deserved something as precious as love, someone as precious as his Myungho.
Junhui finds them just as Minghao turns to look at him. “There you are,” he announces, as he sits on the other end of the swing—with Minghao’s feet on his lap. “Shua hyung is looking for you everywhere,” he says to Mingyu, completely oblivious to having broken something delicate.
“I’ll go to him in a bit.” His beer has lost its fizz, and he doesn’t feel like drinking it anymore. He carefully places it on the small table Joshua has managed to set close enough to reach from the swing but not to touch it, and quietly hugs Minghao, trying not to let the prickle in his eyes leak.
It is perhaps shameful, twenty-eight and so lost and broken. A man of his age and stature should be confident, strong, and willful. Proactive. Take the lead. Take charge. With the eyes Minghao is giving him right now, he should scoop him up in his arms and unravel him like he deserves. But he only sits there, motionless and dumbfounded. Incapable of doing anything, grateful for Junhui’s interruption.
It is past midnight when Mingyu parks his car in front of Minghao’s building. Minghao has his head leaning against the window, seemingly lulling into sleep. It brings a sense of peace that stings in Mingyu, the way he looks so comfortable and cosy.
He blinks awake slowly when Mingyu turns the ignition off, seemingly not entirely asleep. “We're here,” Mingyu says redundantly, clicking Minghao's seatbelt off with careful hands.
“Wanna come up,” Minghao asks him, blinking away sleep, smiling just a little, cutely. Mingyu freezes on the spot, eyes focused on the side of Minghao's face. “Um, can't, sorry. I have work,” he sputters out before he can think.
What is obvious is Minghao's curiosity. He hasn't pried, ever. Even before, when they were only friends. But Mingyu is hyperaware of the fact that Minghao looks at him like he is waiting for Mingyu to open up. He is, right now, looking at Mingyu like he knows he is being lied to.
“Okay. Can I stay over at yours then? I'll pack an overnight bag,” he offers, testing waters perhaps. And Mingyu has two options: either take up the challenge and show Minghao nothing is wrong or keep him curious.
“Okay,” Mingyu answers over the bile in his throat. Minghao laughs, loud and concerning, all sleep gone out of his eyes. “Good night, Mingyu. Text me when you reach,” he says and gets out of the car, leaving Mingyu feeling like every bit of the loser he is.
The first actual crack that causes addressal happens a few weeks later. Mingyu is in Minghao's kitchen, cooking his mother's dak galbi recipe as Minghao sits on the dining table with his laptop.
Minghao is focused, barely paying Mingyu any mind at the moment, work completely taking over his mind. It is peaceful, and this is perhaps Mingyu’s favourite thing about this relationship—how they can do their own thing but be assured of each other's presence. Mingyu is trying to be extra quiet, to make sure Minghao's peace isn't disturbed and his focus isn't broken. The entire point of him being here is so Minghao can focus on his work peacefully as he is taken care of and fed.
Engrossed in his thoughts, Mingyu drops a ceramic mug when he opens the wrong cabinet. His heart drops, a metaphorical process of what happens with the beautiful dusty blue mug Minghao loves so much. He snaps his head towards Minghao before anything, even before the mug touches the ground and sees him startle when it does.
Minghao looks in Mingyu’s direction immediately, eyes enlarged in worry. Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck, Mingyu’s brain chants. He has fucked up, he has fucked up so bad. He knows what could come of it. He takes a couple steps back and shrinks in on himself as Minghao walks towards him.
“I am so sorry,” he says, crouching down, and collecting the broken pieces with his bare hands. It isn't glass so it shouldn't be so unsafe. “I am so so sorry, Myungho, I didn’t do it purposefully.” He feels his breathing quicken in pace, he barely registers Minghao calling for him, but he cannot see anything apart from the bare fact that he has fucked up.
His eyes prickle and his vision blurs. Then, he feels a pair of soft hands grabbing his wrists. It is too gentle, which is maybe the worst kind of reaction for the hope it burns in his gut. He looks at Minghao, whose eyebrows are furrowed together and mouth pinched. He looks angry, and horrified.
“Drop the pieces,” he says, and Mingyu cannot comprehend his tone. So he just shuts his eyes tight, might as well get it over with. “I am really very sorry, Myungho. You can hit me, but please don't be angry.”
It is like everything goes still, and that is when Mingyu realises Minghao had been fussing over him until then. There's a sharp gasp on Minghao's end when he grasps what Mingyu has said. He drops Mingyu’s wrists, and Mingyu clenches his jaw, prepared.
It happens quickly at first. Minghao holds Mingyu's face in both his hands, and it is surprisingly gentle. Mingyu still hisses. And then, there is a soft press of lips against his left right cheek, the one that he has bared for Minghao to slap. It is so gentle, and it lingers. Minghao drops multiple pecks in the same place. “Open your eyes, baby, please,” he whispers, and Mingyu shivers at the breath that hits the corner of his mouth.
Hazy, Mingyu obeys, and blinks his tears away. He sees that Minghao's eyes are filled themselves; it is confusing, scary, and so fucking heartbreaking. He never wants to see Minghao upset, and especially never wants to be the reason for it. He wants to protect and cherish and love him, the one good thing in his doomed life.
“Hao,” he mouths, unable to produce voice. Minghao smiles at him, so beautifully, even as two trails of tears track down his cheeks. “Why the fuck would I ever raise my hand on you, Mingyu?”
He says it so simply. Like that is just it. Mingyu looks at him. “But you look so upset,” he says, never having been addressed with such devoted conviction. Minghao scrunches his nose and thumbs Mingyu’s lips. “Do you really think a stupid mug is more important than you?”
He makes it look so easy. Mingyu tries to wrap his head around it. It isn't that he hasn't seen gentleness in relationships. He has seen Seokmin bundle Joshua up in a warm hug when Joshua accidentally says something mean when he is overwhelmed and stressed, which Mingyu knows Joshua regrets as soon as he says it, and then spends the rest of the week making up to Seokmin. He has seen Junhui take multiple days off of work over the years when Wonwoo is sick, and seen Wonwoo attend every single office party of Jun's despite the fact that he cannot stand them. He has examples, he just doesn't have experiences.
Maybe Minghao sees what this is doing to Mingyu, so he gently pulls his head in his arms and hugs him, drops a kiss on the top of his ear. “Will you please stand up? So we can clean it up.”
“I am so sorry, Myungho.”
“It's okay, Gyu. It's all okay. It's just clay. It's got nothing on you.”
He sits Mingyu on the chair previously occupied by himself and brings him a glass of water. “Try to breathe, okay? I'll be back in a minute. Also, thank you so much for the food. It smells great.”
Later, when Mingyu has calmed down and now tinged with humiliation and shame inflicted by himself and they have eaten lunch, they lay down next to each other on the couch. Minghao's head is on Mingyu's arm and his hand on Mingyu's chest.
It is quiet, Mingyu hasn’t spoken since the incident, and Minghao is gentle. They have both shed tears, and thus, they're both still upset. What Mingyu hasn't been able to understand is the reason behind Minghao's sadness.
“Can I ask about it,” Minghao asks when the silence stretches without any sign of giving answers. Mingyu stiffens. He doesn’t particularly want to talk about it, and doesn’t even know how to in the first place. “What is there to ask?”
Minghao gasps, scandalised. “Mingyu, you asked me to hurt you, that is something significant to be talked about.” Mingyu clicks his tongue in defeat, rubbing Minghao's arm with the hand under him softly. “I don't know what I am supposed to say, Myungho, it's just it.”
Minghao raises himself a little, still in Mingyu’s arms but at enough distance to look at him. “Then why did you not beat me up when I broke your expensive camera that cost you an entire year worth of savings?”
Mingyu has an elaborate answer for it. It is not so kind as Minghao's “You're more important than clay” thought, and he doesn’t think Minghao will even like hearing it. The thought that is tainted with fear of loss, and lack of self-preservation is hardly romantic. “The thought never even crossed my brain,” he silently admits, thinking for the first time how violence hasn't ever been an option for him.
“Exactly. It didn’t for me either. Never will. I know you have gone through a lot of bad things, and I know it is hard to speak about it. You don't have to do anything you don't want, but Mingyu, can you please try to open up to me? I want to know you, and I want to help.”
He falls back properly into Mingyu’s arms, burying his face in Mingyu's neck. His breathing goes uneven and his shoulders start shaking, there's wetness on Mingyu's skin.
Something dies further in him at such a distraught sight. “Baby,” he calls, quiet and heartbroken. He doesn’t want Minghao to feel this way. He is bright, funny, happy, and loving. This lost, messed up, pleading version of him makes Mingyu feel like even more of a failure. “I am so sorry,” he continues, kissing Minghao's forehead.
Minghao leaves out a wailing noise, muffled against Mingyu's dampening collar. “Shut up, Gyu, please. You have nothing to apologise for.”
Mingyu has nothing to live for. Most days he just feels he is living in search of something—something that will make him want to be alive. Every tinge of hope he has allowed himself has proven to be a fallacy. So, even if Minghao's tears are genuine, Mingyu doesn’t think he can fully fall for it.
The last time he told a partner about a past abusive and manipulative relationship, it turned into an intensified version of it. While his first boyfriend made him feel less of a man for everything he has gone through, his first girlfriend left physical marks on him for being so.
The burn on his underarm from the curling iron might have faded, but the pain of it just gets fresher.
For someone like himself, there is no condolence or consoling. Every bit of vulnerability is a culmination into a deeper, even more grotesque, mark.
So he just keeps quiet as Minghao lets it out on him. He only pulls him closer when Minghao asks him questions. Words get lost somewhere between the buttons of his shirt, and Minghao goes silent for the whole day.