miniz breakup drabble

[soobun]

so i wrote this and then forgot about it for a week and now i'm exorcising it. upon reread it needs like 10x more care than i feel like giving it but i suppose that is the purpose of a "drabble." if anyone (kaia) wants to flesh this out please Feel Free. lando fic works too though





Nighttime. 2AM, or something close. Minhee looked at Seongmin’s left ear and said something you don’t come back from. There was a distant shout from outside, and then silence. Seongmin tried to hide the tremor in his voice when he said: Okay. I understand. Minhee finally looked at the set of his mouth and saw that he did, in spite of it all, understand. He’d always been good at that. The understanding, if not the expressing, nor the agreeing.

He’d felt—regret, or something close. Now that’s all there is.


-


They’re halfway out the door when Hyeongjun asks if Minhee wants to invite Seongmin out to eat with them. They’ve been getting closer. Hyeongjun and Seongmin. Minhee almost thinks—no. He doesn’t know what to think. There’s peace in not letting yourself get that far.

“Are you going to answer?” Hyeongjun asks.

“No,” Minhee says.

“Was that—an answer to not answering? Or my original question?”

“Both,” Minhee says, though that makes no sense. There’s something wrong with his brain. “Your original question,” he amends.

Hyeongjun makes a face but doesn’t press it, which means he thinks he knows something, which is definitely worse than if he had just pressed it. He crosses the threshold and lets the door close behind them.

Halfway down the street, Hyeongjun says: “Your malaise is really getting to me.”

Minhee deadpans: “What malaise.”

Hyeongjun sighs loudly and gestures. “Just, all of this. It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it. I get it. But it’s just—a lot. Energy wise.”

“And what am I not talking about?“ Minhee looks at the traffic around them, the blinding Seoul lights.

“You’re being difficult on purpose,” Hyeongjun says. “Are we not past this sort of thing?”

That’s finally what gives Minhee pause. They are, or they should be, but Minhee’s been learning all about his fraught relationship with things that should be past but never seem to make it to the rearview.

Minhee bites his tongue. “Can you just ask me what you’re clearly dying to ask?”

“I’m not dying to do anything,” Hyeongjun says. His phone buzzes and he takes it out of his pocket before continuing. “I said we didn’t have to talk about it. I just want you to, like.” He stops.

“Want me to what?”

“Be honest with yourself,” Hyeongjun says, typing on his phone. “Take accountability for your own decisions. That sort of thing.”

“You could at least pay attention when you’re criticizing me like this, Hyeongjun-ah,” Minhee says, ignoring how his words sounded like an echo of someone else, grabbing Hyeongjun’s hand and pulling him away from the streetlamp he almost walked into. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

Hyeongjun just looks at him. There’s something in his expression Minhee doesn’t quite recognize, but he knows he’s seen it before. He lets go when he realizes he’s still holding Hyeongjun’s wrist. A minute passes.

“Do you ever think—“ Hyeongjun abruptly cuts himself off.

“What?“

“Nothing,” Hyeongjun says. They’ve reached the restaurant. Minhee holds the door open for him. “You’re paying,” he adds.

“Don’t I always?” Minhee replies.


-


It’s always easier in a foreign place. That much is obvious. The way Seongmin laughed and laughed when he got his hands on him. A strange bed somehow safer than the familiar one. A strange feeling that felt familiar. God, the way he laughed, the sheer joy in it. Wrestling like idiots in that tiny hotel room.

When their struggle for power inevitably devolved into Seongmin on top, triumphant, Minhee breathing heavily from the exertion of putting up a token fight before letting Seongmin take the reins, he let himself think: I could have this. It’s in reach, the real thing. It’s right in front of me.

Seongmin has a way of denying himself; Minhee can’t say he isn’t familiar with the feeling. But here—it’s like all the fear was washed away in a sort of basptismal wave. Everything was right. Seongmin’s eyes were twinkling and his pupils were huge. Minhee reached for him. It was, somehow, the easiest thing he’s ever done. And he knew, even then: It would never be this easy again.


-


On the plane ride back, sitting in between Wonjin and Taeyoung, Minhee received a message.

23:21
are you sure?

Was he sure? He couldn’t answer even now. Back then he thought: Sure. I could be sure. Like it was a decision he could make and then everything else would follow.

23:23
yes

Feeling stupid, he made a tiny finger heart with his left hand and snapped a picture. He hit send.

23:23
ridiculous, kang minhee ;;

He smiled at his phone. Ten seconds later Seongmin responded with a chain of hearts of his own. Ridiculous, ridiculous. Wonjin looked over and asked what he was smiling about. He thought, absurdly, I’m sorry, and then said, “Nothing.” He remembers tapping back to look at all of his messages, seeing the hearts sitting there innocuously above group chats with his old high school friends. He scrolled down to where he knew the thread with his older brother laid in wait. He reread the message, again, stared for a minute, didn’t reply, scrolled back up and responded to something inane in one of the group chats, and then tucked his phone underneath his thigh for the rest of the ride.


-


It was good, and then it wasn’t. Even if the timelines are different: that’s how it always goes. Minhee would have liked more time. It was there, but it wasn’t theirs. It’s not like they didn’t sign up for it. You could call it something of a workplace hazard.


-


“It wasn’t about me,” Minhee had said.

“Sure,” Seongmin scoffed, picking at his nails.

“Okay, I meant—not entirely.” He’s not explaining this properly. “I never made any decision without thinking about you. Just—know that.”

“What are you even trying to say?”

Minhee tries to coalesce his thoughts into something comprehensible, or at least agreeable, but Seongmin continues, “I don’t even—it’s fine, if you don’t want this. I always knew there was a deadline. But you could at least—take some sort of accountability.”

Minhee starts, slowly, “I’m trying to—”

“I told you I understand,” Seongmin interjects, “but that doesn’t mean I—”

A frustrated noise. “Seongmin. I promise you: I wasn’t lying. Maybe it was fucking—stupid, but it was for the best. I believe that.” He has to.

“Uh huh,” Seongmin says. And then, quietly, like he can’t believe he’s being this vulnerable, “The best for who?”

“Both of us!” Minhee explodes, the way he never does unless it’s for a joke, or with his brother. “Don’t you get that?”

Seongmin is holding himself very still. “I know you like to think you take care of me—”

”Like to think?” Minhee says, hurt, unwilling to be taken away from the one role he thought he could keep. “Seongmin-ah—”

“No, hyung, I mean.” He takes a deep breath. “You do. You know you do. I just mean—I think you get so caught up in it sometimes that you forget I’m here, too. Separate.”

Minhee feels cracked open. “I…”

“So,” Seongmin says. “I understand. I’m not a kid. I know you know that—you probably know it better than anyone.”

“Yeah,” Minhee says.

“It doesn’t change anything, though,” Seongmin says, like he’s trying to read Minhee’s mind. It doesn’t feel right being on the other end of a gaze like that. “Right?”

“Yeah,” Minhee says, again.


-

Comments

[goaltender]

i am literally reeling. holy shit. holy sheeeeeeeeet. one second i actually need 2 business days to recover you are INSANE