Nana

Jeonghan x Joshua

summary

Jeonghan is good at lying, he has been his whole life. But when he gets a call that Joshua, his ex of two years, is in the hospital, he starts showing up every morning before anyone else arrives. He leaves before being seen. He tells himself it's what Joshua would want. He's been telling himself a lot of things. Then Joshua wakes up, forgetting the last three years-- including the breakup. And Jeonghan gets a second chance to rebuild his life, or let it ruin him the way it did before. This time, he'll watch it rot from the inside. Or maybe things will change this time, maybe Jeonghan will finally say something truthful, even when his tongue burned with lies only.

Chapter 1

ao3 link

Jeonghan and Joshua broke up three years ago. It was mutual, as they had told everyone, if you ignore all the yelling involved with broken dishes on the floor, and one of them walking out while the other one stayed behind. It wasn't a mutual breakup. It was a mutual heartbreak. 

Jeonghan was out in the snow, his car mapping the traces of places they used to be. And the people they were. He didn’t mean to perform this ritual of exorcising the ghost from a haunted house he once walked out of, and yet here he was chasing it back like a lost memory he couldn’t remember anymore.  

The streets were lit up with Valentine’s decorations, couples filling the corners of every street, hands in hands, sharing the same muffler around their necks. Jeonghan and Joshua had been this, lived this, and now he was just homeless, reminiscing about the home he once had. 

His first stop was the park, the same park where Jeonghan and Joshua used to play, the same place Jeonghan had made paper rings to promise Joshua forever, an eternity that lasted for 16 years. Then came the cafe, their first date, sneaking off from the school, shoulders still heavy with bags, hearts swelling with love. Joshua had looked at him as if Jeonghan had defined the very meaning of their lives. He was the sun, the moon, and the other celestial entity in Joshua’s sky. Close enough to admire, far enough to even reach. 

Now, it was filled with people he never knew; the table they used to sit at welcomed others with the same warmth it once did for them. 

Their first kiss had been a cassette long forgotten on the radio. He could reel it back in frame to frame, moments to moments, his lips on Joshua’s, a simple relic, a forgotten memory collecting dust, yet engraved like a manuscript on their tongue. He still remembers the tremor in the back of his hands when Joshua engulfed his hands in Jeonghan’s hair, pulling him deeper until their shadow melted into one. Until Joshua felt every inch of Jeonghan’s skin on him. 

A few weeks into the breakup, he bought a pink can of sweet lemonade, which was sweeter than citrus. He’d drunk it, the sweetness maudlin on his tongue, and cried because it tasted like the feeling of being loved, how it tasted like Joshua's kiss after silly arguments. He’d hated it, but he’d kept buying it.

Somewhere along the line, he’d started to crave it. Like how he craved Joshua’s touch, his voice, his eyes. Oh, Joshua’s beautiful eyes and how hopelessly Jeonghan misses them. 

He opened the can, and it slowly condensed under his touch. He took a long swallow, the sweet, a bit sour taste zinged on his tongue down to his throat. It was just one of the many ways Joshua had permanently bruised him, leaving behind traces of scars that Jeonghan could never fully heal. Jeonghan had so much love in him that it started to rot, and then it started spilling in uglier ways.

He threw the can in the back of his car; it clattered with several other pink cans, a shrine of all those failed attempts to move on. He looked at his reflection in the rearview mirror-- his eyes tired and almost lightless. He shut his eyes in an attempt to make the exhaustion go away, but only a burning sensation seared through. If Seungcheol heard about what he was doing, he would sign him up for therapy or bug him about it until Jeonghan would give in. 

The neon of red and white from the shops and buildings bled into the snow-draped roads. He circled to other places they used to go, a ghost of Joshua in the passenger seat. Asking questions no one could answer. 

Do you think things would have been different if you stayed quiet that night? If you didn’t express what you felt? Didn’t say those words? I might still be here, don’t you think? 

His knuckles went white from holding the steering wheel, words dying in his mouth even before he could voice them. Jeonghan wanted a simple life; he wanted to settle down. A house, kids, a family with Joshua. And Joshua wanted to reach for the stars. He wanted to pursue acting; he had the talent and the passion for it. In fact, all of this gives him the perfect sob story, how he had sacrificed his first love to pursue his passion. Jeonghan was supposedly a song meant to skip. Loved and forgotten. 

Jeonghan stopped in front of the bus stop, Joshua’s face was there, advertising a skin care brand. Jeonghan couldn’t be bothered with the details. Joshua looked free? His eyes were still brown and honey, unlike Jeonghan’s, which turned green from all the crying. He couldn’t escape Joshua even if he wanted to, even when he had blocked him everywhere; his friends whispered Joshua’s name in hushed tones. It was comedic how they all would just use the word him, and Jeonghan would instantly know what they were talking about. 

Sometimes he would wish that people would bring up his name; maybe then he would still be allowed to say Joshua’s name just to know the feel of it. Just to know how it tasted on his tongue. But his friends knew better. They wouldn’t ask an addict about the taste of his addiction, right?

The honk from the other car shook him back to reality. He parked his car near the sidewalk. His phone buzzed with a call. Cheollie. 

“Hello?” 

Seungcheol immediately got to the point, his voice mixed with upbeat songs, and the chatter of people from the background, “Are you coming?”

Jeonghan stared at his phone screen. It was 10:30 PM. “Yeah.. I’ll come in a while,” He put his phone back to his ear, “Should I bring something?” He added.

“Nah, just bring your pretty face and be fast,” and then he hung up. 

There was a welcome back party at Seungcheol’s place; his little brother came back from Germany after completing his degree. The party supposedly would be cosy, warm, with a lot of free chocolates and if Jeonghan whined enough, then a lot of strawberry-flavoured soju too. He needed to be someplace else. He needed to be someone else. Not Jeonghan. And most definitely not yearnhan. 

He took a wrong turn, not intentionally. This street didn’t lead to Joshua. No street ever did. He actually took a wrong turn; the road led him away from the main city. The lights were dimly lit, and the shops were almost closed. Then Jeonghan had heard a strange noise coming from his car. 

Thunk. 

Thunk.

Thunk. 

Then it stopped. Jeonghan tried reviving the engine again, but it didn’t start. He looked outside, no cars, no humans were in sight, then his eyes caught on a pawn shop, murky with red and green lights. He got out of the car; the night air was crisp against his skin. His head throbbed with an incoming headache. He should’ve brought that jacket with him. 

He walked over to the front of the car and opened its engine, and as soon as he did, exhaust emissions hit his face. Yeah, his car was a goner. Then he took his phone out, and it displayed No signal. Jeonghan smiled as his forehead nerve stricken up in frustration. He closed the lid with palpable anguish in his movement. He sighed as the cold air settled in his lungs and waltzed towards the tiny shop. He should’ve just stayed home. 

The sidewalk was layered in dusted snow. He slowly slid the door, and he was instantly hit with the hot air from the inside. There stood an old man, his hands busy with polishing an antique piece. He didn’t notice Jeonghan yet. 

Jeonghan cleared his throat, he folded all those thoughts under his arms as he trudged inside, “Um-- excuse me?” 

The old man looked up, his wrinkles folded in a smile, his eyes made perfect crescents, “What do you need, son?” 

“I’m not here to buy anything. I just need to make a call,” Jeonghan stepped inside. “My car broke down, and my phone has no signal.”

He looked outside the glass window. Jeonghan’s car stood motionless with smoke coming out of its end. “Of course. It’s there on the table.”

Jeonghan looked around. The shop was small, but organised. The wooden floor creaked as he sauntered towards the table, and then his eyes fell on something shiny, something familiar. A ring lay defeated on top. It was awfully dear. The ring was Joshua’s. And he knew that because Jeonghan had gifted this to him. He hand-made it. He knew every curve of it because he carved it himself. 

Joshua must have pawned it. Sold Jeonghan’s efforts, the same way he threw his love outside the window like rotten tomatoes from the garden. They no longer had a purpose-- it couldn’t be eaten anymore.

Similarly, Jeonghan had no purpose in Joshua’s life aside from being the first love Joshua mused about in his interview. That was all he was, an old cardigan. He no longer fit him, and it only itched to even touch. 

Jeonghan had loved Joshua as if he were a god, and Joshua had destroyed him as if he were one. 

“Can I buy this?” Jeonghan abruptly inquired. 

The old man met his gaze, a silver of confusion masked his face, “I’m afraid that’s not for sale, son. It’s my son’s boyfriend's ring. He keeps it here.” 

Oh. 

He put the ring down. His son’s boyfriend, huh? And used the landline to call Seungcheol. 

Three beats later, he picked up. Even before his voice could come, the cacophony of the party reached him. It played a song Jeonghan only knew by the beats, but could never remember the lyrics of. Then came Seungcheol's voice, urgent and worried, “Hello?”

“Cheol, it’s Han. My car broke down in Incheon. I don’t know which part I'm in. It’s a small town away from the main city.” 

“Where are you exactly?” 

“Uh-- in some old pawn shop down the entrance lane.” 

“Oh, okay, I have an idea where you might be. I’ll be there in 20 minutes.”

“Alright.”

He walked up to the old man again, “Thank you for--”

The doorbell rang as the door pushed open. 

Joshua was here.

For a split second, Jeonghan was convinced his brain was playing some cruel joke on him. He wasn’t here. Why would he? He had no reason to be here. Or maybe what stung him was if Joshua was here-- Jeonghan wasn’t one of the reasons for it. 

He looked different and similar. He looked his Shua, and not quite him. His features were more mature now. The scar near his eyebrow almost smoothed over. The Joshua from the earlier advertisement seemed improbable, but the one who stood before him was improbable in every possible way. There was a luxurious hint to him that followed him around, or maybe Jeonghan was imagining it. And then his eyes fell tp the interlocked hands, and another guy appeared from behind. Wen Junhui, his co-star in the recent spring series. Of course, Joshua knew other famous actors. He was one. And of course, he had a lover. Joshua was lovable in every way. It would be hard not to love him. Jeonghan still did. 

“Shua?” He prayed his name even before he could catch it, then the air shifted, he quickly turned towards the counter, with a slight bow, he showed his gratitude, “Thank you for letting me use your phone, I'll see myself out.” 

The old man nodded, “You can wait it out here, if you want. My son is here,” he gestured towards Jun, and added, “He makes the best chai tea.” 

“Yeah, no, thank you,” He kept his gaze lowered as he walked past Joshua. 

Jeonghan felt Joshua’s gaze on him, following him out of the shop. It had started to snow. The snowfall was rimed against his skin. They left a drag path on his face as they silently condensed. His vision began to blur; he wasn’t sure whether it was the cold or the face that he had been seeing everywhere had finally looked at him for once, and he didn’t know what to do with that. He dragged his feet towards the car.

He had imagined thousands of scenarios of them meeting again; Jeonghan had a script ready in his head, but now, seeing Joshua eye to eye, he only wanted to run and hide. 

In his script, they met in dramatic ways where Jeonghan apologised, or Joshua did. It didn't matter who. They would run to each other and make up again because somewhere, somewhere deep in his heart, Jeonghan had still always believed they would end up together. He was like a kicked puppy, pitiful and sad and running around licking the same leg that kicked him just because he was once fed by it. 

Fuck. 

The clothes he was wearing were all wrinkled, his sweatshirt had a smudge of some stain that he couldn’t get out. His hair was a mess. Joshua looked perfect. And Jeonghan didn’t want him to see the ruins he had left behind. He didn’t want him to look at him and think I did the right thing by leaving you. Look at yourself. 

Jeonghan hastily tried fixing his hair and his shirt, but it was too late. 

“Jeonghan,” He heard his name in the air. Again and again. Then he was stopped in his tracks, Joshua pulling him by the wrists, oh, how it burned where he held him. “Jeonghan-ah,” he had said with an ease like he didn’t just push his hands down his throat to yank out the pieces of heart he had left. 

Jeonghan stole his eyes from him, he chewed on his lips until he tasted iron on his tongue. He poked the inside of his cheeks a few times, trying to form words in his mouth. He failed. He couldn’t. So, he bit his tongue instead. 

Joshua, under that dim street light, looked more ethereal than he ever did. Jeonghan didn’t want to acknowledge that. But that was all he could think of. Joshua’s eyes, his perfect velvet lips, how the snow unfairly flushed his cheeks red. He didn’t want Joshua to look at the ruin he had become. 

Then the door of the shop opened again. Wen Junhui walked in their direction, all nonchalant and assertive. He was everything Jeonghan wasn’t. His walk was stylish, like his feet knew their purpose, unlike Jeonghan, who always dragged his feet. Often mindlessly.  

Joshua loosened his grip on Jeonghan’s wrist; his wrist ached at the loss of connection. It burned because he wanted to be touched. He craved it like a sin. 

Jun smiled at Jeonghan and draped a woollen scarf around Joshua’s neck, “It’s so cold outside, wear this. Come back inside whenever you want. I’m making chicken soup,” Here comes the dog claiming its territory, was what Jeonghan’s mind wandered off to. Jun then turned to him, his eyes lit with genuine kindness, “You’re also welcome to join us.” Jeonghan weakly smiled. 

Jun shouldn’t be afraid of Jeonghan; Jeonghan couldn’t make Joshua his even when they were together, let alone he would steal him from someone else’s grip. Especially Jun’s. 

Jun nodded in Joshua’s direction and went inside the shop. 

Jeonghan took this as his cue to leave too, “It was nice to see you. I'll go now,” he quickly retreated, but then he felt the grip of Joshua’s hands in his bones, like the very touch had imprinted itself on him, “Hey.. wait. Can we talk?” 

Jeonghan took his eyes on him, Joshua’s eyes glistened with something almost identical to his, something Jeonghan couldn’t bring himself to fathom, “I don't think there's anything to talk about.”

“How have you been?” Joshua asked, his eyes never leaving Jeonghan. How was he really? Why did it matter to Joshua after three years? Jeonghan looked at him, confused, his eyebrows twitched in agitation. 

“Are you asking so that you can feel better about yourself?” 

Back then, the one thing they got good at was fighting. Jeonghan had wished so dearly that they would fight forever because at least then it meant they cared enough to fight, cared enough to yell it out, until one day Joshua went quiet, and then eventually the fighting stopped. The thing was, with people who had been abandoned all their lives, they knew when the abandonment was coming; they could smell it coming even before it happened. So, Jeonghan left even before Joshua could. He wouldn’t let him have that power. He already had his heart. 

Joshua’s face turned blue, he took a step closer, and his grip loosened around Jeonghan’s wrist. The wind was frosty on his face, “No-- no Jeonghan, why do you always have to assume the worst? I'm genuinely curious, I wanna know, I was worried,” 

Jeonghan studied his face for a beat too long. His wrist throbbed with a soft ache from where Joshua held it. He tried finding meaning in Joshua’s expression. And when he spoke, he choked on his own words; he kept his eyes pierced to the ground. His heart in his mouth. 

“I’m good, so good actually,” he finally answered. 

Joshua caught the sarcasm in his voice, he sighed, his hands limped by his sides. He then swallowed hard, his adam apple bobbing as he did, “I'm sorry, I am sorry, but you can't forever make me feel bad about choosing my dreams, right?” 

Jeonghan knew that better than anyone. He knew that. And yet, seeing Joshua unfazed, he felt the wound infecting all over again. 

He said baritone, “I'm not trying to do anything.” Then he looked to the sidelines, and a rat ran to hide itself in the gutter. Jeonghan felt like that too; filthy and ugly, and suppressing a strong urge to hide,  “I should go,” 

“Jeonghan-ah,” Joshua called out, his voice ember and yet it didn’t warm Jeonghan enough to make him stay.

“Jeonghan-ah,” 

“Han-ah,” That made Jeonghan turn at the speed of light.  He spat, harshly, but his voice was still softer around the edges, “What?”  He hated how Joshua still knew calling him that always had him on his knees, accepting war and peace like nothing in the world mattered as long as it was for Joshua. 

Jeonghan scrutinised his face. Joshua didn't know what; he didn't even know why he stopped Jeonghan. He was at a loss for words when Jeonghan stared his way. It was an old habit of Joshua’s. Jeonghan knew this all too well; he had been here before, Joshua calling out his name for the sake of saying his name. What comes after it was whatever could come after. And Jeonghan could only bet why he had said his name like he was trying to remember it. Jeonghan didn’t want to assume he had a history of always making the wrong assumption. He knew how to bet on losing dogs. He was a losing dog. In love. For Joshua.  

“Let's just talk for a while, just 5 minutes.” 

“Okay..”

Joshua looked at his own hands, and then at Jeonghan, “Now, tell me honestly how you have been? How’s work?”

Oh fuck. 

Jeonghan inhaled, hard. He felt the cold air setting inside. His mind was toying with multiple responses, 

I’m bad, shua. I need you, and I want you, and all of it makes me want to kill myself. 

I think of you like a broken record playing the same tune over and over again. 

I hate you, but I love you so much, and I hate myself even more. 

Fuck, you look okay and happy without me. Are you happy?

“Work is okay,” was what Jeonghan said instead.  “I've been okay too,” 

Joshua nodded in response; Jeonghan couldn’t tell whether Joshua picked up on the obvious lie or if he did, but didn’t care enough to point it out. Maybe Jeonghan wasn’t interesting enough anymore. He wanted to ask, but he didn’t want to find out, because, frankly, he didn’t know which was worse. Being boring or simply nothing. 

For a few melancholy seconds, they both said nothing. Jeonghan looked around. Waiting for some divine intervention, maybe a meteor would hit him, or a ball. Just something strong enough to physically hurt. So, he could be escorted out of this situation. But when nothing came to avail, he tried to fill the silence with words, “So… you're dating an actor, that must be something.”  He didn't mean it to sound so accusatory. 

“It's good. It's whatever. Jun’s nice.” It sounded practised, as if he were reading it from a script. Like he was convincing himself before Jeonghan, but then again, maybe Jeonghan was projecting his own feelings. Picking apart the tiniest things, even when they mean nothing. Putting meaning in them when there was none. 

“I saw the ring on the table,” his heart took control over his mind. A part of him wanted to know. A part of him wanted the earth to tear open and swallow him whole. 

Joshua looked reluctant, like he was carefully picking a knife to stab Jeonghan so it would hurt him less. “Uh-- I couldn't bring myself to sell it. It was too precious. It felt like I was decapitating myself, but I couldn't keep it to myself either.” he stared at Jeonghan, then shook his head as it would physically throw out his thoughts, “Do you mind if we try to be friends again?” 

Jeonghan fathomed something as the snow crowned his head; the pages Jeonghan kept on reciting like a relic, Joshua had folded them, and had decided to close the book. He answered, his voice slow and deliberate, “Yeah, I do mind. I don't want us to be friends. You know how clear I was with you. I can't tell whether you're trying to ignore it or you're just that bleak,” 

He took a step forward, his hands clutching the fabric of his shirt as the agony physically strangled him, “Can't you see Joshuji?? Can't you see what I am without you? Why would you even ask me that? Do I look that pathetic that I'll lick any crumb you'll throw my way? I still very much want to marry you; hell, I'm afraid that if I get too close, breathe the same air as you, I'll lose it. I’ll have nothing, nothing for myself. Do you enjoy this? Are you having a great time knowing the power you have over me?” He didn’t mean that. Fuck he would do anything to take back what he had just said. Cut his tongue off if needed.

Joshua didn’t meet his gaze, but Jeonghan could tell the blood that boiled in him was the same he shared with Joshua. Jeonghan saw it in real time, when Joshua looked his way, how his hands curled up against his chest like his heart would leap out of his mouth, his brows twitched together, in slight dismay and part anger, “That's-- that wasn't,” Joshua fumbled around his words, Joshua never did that. He always knew what he wanted to say; he knew how to serve poison when Jeonghan fed him venom. It was their language. 

Joshua moved towards him. He spoke through gritted teeth and quiet restraint, “How long are you going to make me the villain of our story? Jeonghan, the heartbroken, and Joshua, who broke his heart?”

Jeonghan felt the familiar anger pumping in his blood, a sanctity of ugly visceral harmony they both excel at playing, “I am vilifying you?? Did you forget what you said to me? How fucking easy it was for you to just walk out of my life like I meant nothing?” 

Now Joshua was close enough; he was close enough that Jeonghan could smell him on him, his breath fogged on his face. He took Jeonghan’s eyes on him, “Why are you even here?” His voice rough but not unkind. Joshua was always kind; he wasn't cruel, not at least in ways Jeonghan had wanted him to. 

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Jeonghan replied defeatedly. He didn’t know why or how he ended up here. The universe was just playing a cruel, harsh joke on him. If this were a dream, then he couldn’t wait to wake up. 

“I really tried to talk to you again. I stayed behind in that shitty old apartment for days, but you were gone. You just fucking disappeared,” 

“What was I supposed to do?”

“Jeonghan-ah, I really don’t want to fight. I genuinely wish I could make this easy for us. I don’t know what I could’ve done differently.”

“You could’ve asked me to stay. You let me go.”

“You wanted to start a life I wasn’t ready for.”

“Right.” Or maybe I wasn’t the one you ever wanted. 

They were closed. Too close. If Jeonghan had moved even just to shift his weight on a different leg, his nose might have touched Joshua’s. And for a stupid, pathetic minute, Jeonghan had convinced himself Joshua was about to kiss him. Like he had done a million times before, after every fight. After every yelling, Joshua would soothe the pain with his soft lips on his, and like a relic, he knelt before when he thought of devotion.

But of course Joshua wouldn’t, not now. Not ever. He wouldn’t kiss a mouth that only knew how to draw blood. 

Then came the honk of a car across the street. Seungcheol was here. 

“Joshua-ssi, I hope you’ll live happily.” he swallowed hard, still tasting the words he should’ve said. He didn’t mean to erupt like that on Joshua. He said all the wrong things, made all the wrong faces. He really just wanted a simple life, a lonely evening reminiscing about him. He should’ve asked him if he was okay if life had been treating him better. But instead, he dug out a corpse to point a finger at. He bit harder just to know if he bled the same. 

He took one last look at Joshua just to remember the shape of him, just like three years ago. Joshua stared at Jeonghan’s back, not moving, and definitely not speaking. He bore the same face as the last time. Jeonghan didn’t look back; he didn’t need to know what face Joshua was making when he walked away. Again. Joshua didn’t need to know the tears already falling down Jeonghan’s face or the hurt that suffocated him, crawling back in his chest already strangling him. 

A dog that wept after killing was no better than a dog that didn’t. He got inside the car, his eyes glued to the static, unmoving figure of Joshua. 

The snow was heavy now. Joshua should go inside, but he was still on the pavement, much similar to Jeonghan from all those times when Jeonghan wanted to confess but didn’t know how, so he would simply come to Joshua’s house, stand outside with his heart in his hands. Until Joshua found him. 

“Jeonghan-hyung?” Jeonghan turned to find Mingyu in the car-- Seungcheol’s younger brother. Mingyu’s eyes widened with part worry and part shock. Jeonghan quickly tried to dry off the tears with the back of his hand. “Ah–- Mingyu-ya, what are you doin–-” his voice betrayed him; instead of saying words, he ended up making a strange choking sound. He glanced back outside. Joshua was still there. Why wasn’t he going inside? The snowfall turned to a blizzard. Why was he still standing frozen in time?

“It’s okay, hyung,” Mingyu followed Jeonghan’s gaze, and then he looked at him. He didn’t say anything else. He simply placed his hand at the back of Jeonghan’s seat; not on him, not over him. It was just close enough for him to know Mingyu was here. 

“Where’s Cheol?” He questioned in between several sniffs. 

“Hyung got busy with Chan throwing up on everyone, it was a whole thing.”

“I don’t wanna cry in front of you,” and then he cried some more. His lips quivered, his eyes went droopy. Joshua was still outside, a living statue. Why was he still there? Why did Jeonghan feel like it was truly the end this time?  

“It’s okay. You can cry.” Mingyu didn’t ask him questions. Or probe for answers. He simply drove off into oblivion. They didn’t go back to the party. Mingyu took Jeonghan back to his apartment. Jeonghan cried in the car, on the way there and then in Mingyu’s embrace. He cried till his eyes were swollen and red. Mingyu wanted to touch his head, to pull his thoughts into his hands. But he knew it wasn’t his place. 

2 years later 

Valentin’s day

Joshua and Jeonghan broke up five years ago. It was mutual that was what they told everyone. Joshua was now a household name in every part of Korea; his acting was praised by the elites, and his visuals had always been the talk of the show. Joshua had made his dreams come true. He deserved it. Because Jeonghan, too, had finally thought of someone who wasn’t Joshua. He had started seeing someone new. So, they moved away in their own directions, no longer following the lighthouse in the ocean or tides that drifted them ashore. 

Things with Mingyu were great. Mingyu was kind and sweet, and he loved Jeonghan even when Jeonghan had only left scraps over pieces to give him. He never once complained. Never ask Jeonghan for more. 

Mingyu loved Jeonghan in quite way; their love didn’t require hurt to prove that he loved. For once, hurt didn’t mean love. Jeonghan knew one thing all his life: if it hurts, then it must be love. But Mingyu had taught him better. Love was simple. Reverent. And gentle in ways, Jeonghan hated how it only ached with how soft it was. It had burned him in ways; he began to like the smell of his skin burning. 

For Mingyu, Jeonghan didn’t have to perform a ritual just to be digestible. 

Jeonghan had convinced himself he had moved on. Joshua was a chapter he loved, and remembered it on his tongue. And Joshua was in the past. Even though he hated just the idea of it. But he was a past, not participating in Jeonghan’s banquet of miserable love. 

Mingyu and Jeonghan shared a sanctuary. About two months ago, they moved into the same apartment, A quintessential need as Mingyu had expressed. He wanted to be closer to Jeonghan and paint him inside out. To him, Joshua was the name of a disease Jeonghan was suffering from, and if he held him tight enough, then maybe, maybe he would be cured of it. He wanted to get under Jeonghan’s skin, in both annoying and lovingly way; built a home under his skin like a parasite. 

The sunlight filtered through the blinds. Mingyu had Jeonghan’s head resting on his chest; a soft weight he loved breathing with. The blonde twitched in his sleep underneath. He whispered, “shua..” Mingyu looked down and ignored the lingering name of the ex on Jeonghan’s mouth. He still kissed Jeonghan even when he sometimes tasted Joshua on him. It had hurt him gravely the first time it had happened, the slipping of a name during a ditzy moment, but then Mingyu got used to it. Got used to the face Jeonghan made every time he woke up next to him, wishing he were someone else. Because in the end, Jeonghan held him, right? He came home to him even when he moaned an ancient name. That was enough for Mingyu. 

“Hyung…” Mingyu whispered in Jeonghan’s hair. Jeonghan only nestled closer, humming a sound more melodic than his heartbeat on him. “Let’s get ready. I have a surprise for you.”

“You do?” Jeonghan replied, his voice still laced with sleep. He did not attempt to actually move.

“Yeah. Get ready, I’ll show you,” he racked one of the strands behind Jeonghan’s ears. He remembered how last year Jeonghan showed up with blonde hair on a random Monday, his hair still crisp from a hot blowout. How it took everything in Mingyu not to confess. How he eventually did anyway. 

Mingyu had liked Jeonghan since he was a kid. Jeonghan was introduced as his hyung-- Seungcheol’s bestfriend, who often visited their house for food or just to laze around. He often teased Mingyu, and Mingyu would pout and then secretly wish he would never stop. He remembered Joshua, too. Things changed when he showed up in the story. Mingyu had a perfect story until Joshua turned it around and claimed himself to be the main character. Then, before he even realised it, they became Joshua and Jeonghan. Always together. Always in each other's space, it was like a meeting of opposite sides of a magnet; the more they were away, the stronger they would pull back together. They were in many ways like perfect dovetails. 

They did get ready after Mingyu promised he would get Jeonghan that overly sweet coffee. Jeonghan used to like the pink lemonade one, but it got discontinued a year back, but the long to drink remained. He hated the cloying taste but also craved it. So, on Mingyu’s persistence, he began drinking this one. It wasn’t cloying like the previous drink; it was sweet enough to calm his nerve but it wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted the pink lemonade. 

“Hyung.. I don’t know how you drink this. It’s way too sweet.” Mingyu complained, his eyes occasionally stealing glances in the rearview mirror, carefully dissecting Jeonghan. 

“But you like sweet,” Jeonghan replied, his head resting against the headrest, fingers intertwined with the hem of his jacket. He then turned his head towards the window. Observing the Valentine’s decoration of several shops as they passed them. 

Mingyu pulled his hands in his, only if he could pull Jeonghan out of his head the same way, “I like sweet when it’s you, I like you,” he squeezed his hands in assurance. 

Jeonghan didn’t meet his gaze, and all Mingyu wanted was Jeonghan to look at him, and maybe only him, “You shouldn’t.. You shouldn’t like me,” Jeonghan pulled his hand back and put it inside his jacket.

Mingyu’s grip slightly tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles turning a bit white. He didn’t look at Jeonghan this time, afraid he would be caught wanting, asking for more than he was allowed, he spoke through gritted teeth, “Too bad, I don’t listen to any of my hyungs. Especially the ones who talk so self-depricatingly,” 

“Why are you so kind to me?” Jeonghan bit back almost instantly. Mingyu loathed how easy it was for Jeonghan to say vile things about himself, like he was just calling his blood red. 

“No reason. I’m kind because I want to be. And you deserve kindness,” 

“What if-- what if-- I’m ugly inside,” Jeonghan was almost pressed to the window, his words fogged on the glass. His voice weak, almost a soft whisper. 

Oh, how badly Mingyu wanted to shake Jeonghan by the shoulders until he would see what he saw. Mingyu was not a religious man; he didn't believe in a God, far from it, but the way his heart aches and then softens and aches again and softens again, and again, and again, he’d like to believe Jeonghan was one. 

“Then I’ll love all your ugly parts too,” Mingyu spoke like a believer. 

Jeonghan didn’t say anything to that. He rolled down the window and rested his head on the edge. Wind was in his hair, and Mingyu had to swallow down an urge to sail on the golden tides, to let it take him ashore, or drown him in it. He didn’t mind drowning if it was Jeonghan. 

They parked outside an opulent museum. It was twenty minute rid from their apartment, away from the lights of the main city, tucked under a small urban park, it was more white than green due to the snow draping everything in its warmth. The Museum was covered in the Valentine’s day celebration, a simple display of red and warm white light across the big wooden gate. 

Mingyu got off first and lapped around to open the car’s gate for Jeonghan. He held out his hand, and Jeonghan took it, wrapping his fingers around it, “Let’s go inside. Your surprise’s waiting.” He handed the keys to the valet. 

“I told you.. I don’t like surprises.” He answered, feigning annoyance, but Mingyu learnt one thing about him. Jeonghan wanted things; he just didn’t know how to ask for them, and then he would get sad about not having them. So, even when he said, “I don’t like this, and I don’t like that,” it always meant, “I don’t know how to ask for things, especially when I feel unworthy of those.”

“Too late, hyung,” He met his gaze, finally. It felt like a lifetime, “You have something on your face,”

“Wait— did I mess up something? I knew that sunscreen gonna oxidise on my face.” Jeonghan panickly began dusting his face, eyes widened in soft terror, “Quit staring, help me out.”

Mingyu chuckled, the back of his fingers grazing Jeonghan’s cheekbones. He liked the slight tilt there; it always felt like he almost touched the sun, and galed back to the ground, “Hyung, hyung. It's just an eyelash,” he placed it in front of him, “Here, make a wish.”

Jeonghan gaped at him, and then at the single, short strand of eye lash laying top of Mingyu’s finger. He rolled his eyes to stay in character and then smiled, blowing the eyelash anyway. Mingyu was already undone, messy, and his heart bled with wants and wants and Jeonghan and just Jeonghan. “What did you wish for?” He questioned. 

“If I tell you, then it won't come true.”

“Fine.” 

They scurried inside. Jeonghan led the way while Mingyu followed him from behind, his hands resting at the hollow back of Jeonghan. He wished Jeonghan wouldn’t notice the slight tremor in his hands whenever they walked beside. But sometimes he wished he would notice how even touching Jeonghan felt sacred to him. 

It was an exhibition, an oeuvre of Mingyu’s work over the years. Since it was a special day, the lead image, the signature piece, was a click of Jeonghan. Apparently Mingyu’s description was that he always liked taking photos and found his muse when he was eleven— his hyung’s best friend, who occasionally made fun of his height. Now, gets shy every time he has to get on his toes to even reach Mingyu’s forehead. The story was almost toothachingly sweet. 

As soon as they entered the venue, they were greeted by a pool of people. Mingyu intertwined his hand with Jeonghan's, feeling the river of Jeonghan’s palm on his. They must align in some way-- the rivers of their palms. Mingyu had him after years, so they must align, right? They had to align because Mingyu was someone who let the rope burn him from holding it too tightly, rather than having his palms empty of it. 

All eyes were on them as they made their way inside. Usually, Mingyu excelled at this, oh, he in fact loved it dearly—the crowd, the chants of his name, everything, but now, having Jeonghan by his side, suddenly, he was apprehensive, his breath sharp and quick. He nervously kept on glancing at Jeonghan, examining his face to study it better. So far, Jeonghan appeared content; there were no signs of grimaces on his face. Is he enjoying it? Is he having fun? Is this too much? Should we have stayed at home? 

“This is the lead image,” Mingyu shyly worded as they approached the main photo of the show. It was Jeonghan from when he was seventeen-- sitting idly by the tree, a cast of soft sunlight on his face. It was ethereal, untouched and unbroken. Jeonghan looked at it for the longest time. He was in ways time-machined back into that year when things were simple, when Jeonghan was kind, and he didn’t turn violent.  

Mingyu stared at Jeonghan more than his own exhibition. Everything else felt pallid; they were not even in the same league as Jeonghan. 

Jeonghan moved closer, his eyebrows knitted together, taking in his own image through Mingyu’s lens, “You still kept it.” It meant more to him than to Mingyu. 

Mingyu nodded, “It’s the prettiest thing I have.”

He softly nudged Jeonghan’s shoulder when he saw him still lost in thought, “See my friend over there, he wants to know if you think I’m cute.”

Jeonghan intently followed his direction, with a smile he couldn’t suppress. He mused, “Tell your friend over there, I think you’re a big pabo.”

“Pabo--” He was interrupted mid-sentence when one of the serving staff asked him something. 

“Jeonghan hyungiee…” Mingyu whined, pouting, locking eyes with Jeonghan, who weakly smiled, his lips forming an erectine, “Go, go. Deal with your thing.” He gave him a tender push. 

“I'll be back before you know it. Wait for me. Don't go anywhere else,”

“Alright.” 

 ‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

After months of frantic research, stalking his sister’s Instagram, Joshua got to know where to find Jeonghan. He didn’t move across the country or the world, and yet finding him felt like he travelled across a country only to find everything was in a language he couldn’t read. 

Joshua didn’t mean to come here, especially not after he was informed Jeonghan was dating Mingyu-- the big kid from their younger days. He didn’t mean to be here; he just happened to come by. He had a shoot near somewhere, or a thousand kilometres away; it didn’t matter, he didn’t mean to be here, and he was here, standing outside the museum like he was asking for a second chance, or maybe third. It didn’t matter because Jeonghan wasn’t his. He didn’t mean to be here, and he was already ambling inside. 

The ambience was warm, it was lightly crowded-- filled with people talking about Mingyu or his exceptional skill at capturing the beauty of things, storing its essence, and how the stillness of a photo moved them. Joshua raised an eyebrow at that. He didn’t know Mingyu was this big of a deal. Sure, when he was going through his Instagram last night, his alarming number of followers did catch him off guard, but he brushed it off as Mingyu being hot or whatever.   

Joshua knew Mingyu had liked Jeonghan for the longest time, and even when Joshua pretended it didn’t get to him, it, in fact, did get to him. Mingyu used to scowl at him every time he visited his house, and would often talk about how he was gonna hire Jeonghan as his live-in model for photoshoots. It was obvious, it was child-like. And yet Joshua always felt less than he was. 

Mingyu was talented, Joshua would give him that, his sense of capturing the perfect light, and angle was palpable in his photos. Then came the lead piece of today’s show. Joshua didn’t know what he expected, but it was not this. Not his Jeonghan, oh, his beautiful Jeonghan. He stared at the picture as if he could stare at it for enough time, maybe, then just maybe, he could get it to re-live it again. Only if he could. Only if pictures weren’t just small pixels but memories frozen in time, and if your heart was warm enough or burning, you get to replay them in real time. 

Jeonghan, his Jeonghan was irresistibly enticing, enthralling and exquisite even in pictures. He felt the familiar trembling in his hands; he curled them, and furled them, and curled them again. He wasn’t going to cry, not like this at least, but the memories collided like vehicles on the road. It hurts, it's paralysing, and it's warm, and it’s ember. Joshua wanted to crack his memories up and make a home in the ruins of it. 

“Would you like something?” A serving staff member asked, his hands filled with a platter of snacks. 

“No, thank you.” He quickly replied, raking a hand through his hair. 

Then he was tapped on his shoulder, “Joshua-ssi,” Mingyu said like it was punctuation. He was already putting a period to the start of a conversation. 

“Mingyu? It’s been a while. Your photos are really exceptional.” Joshua returned the smile, though his eyes stayed glum. If it weren’t for the fake glasses, Mingyu would’ve caught a trail of dear tears down his cheeks. Mingyu did notice the crestfallen look in his eyes, how they glistened more than usual, just his tears were quick to hide under his skin, like Jeonghan’s name on his bones.  

“Well.. what can I say, my muse just happens to be the most interesting thing ever,” He looked in Jeonghan’s direction, Joshua was quick to follow his gaze. And there was Jeonghan. He was just standing, talking to someone while sipping coffee. His eyes round and demise, his sun-kissed golden hair, a halo over his head. Fuck. Joshua's eyes lingered on the golden hues of Jeonghan's hair. He looked like promises they made when they were kids-- surreal, and implausible. Fuck. Did he get even more dreamlike than he already was? Joshua swallowed hard, his heartbeat in his ears. 

Jeonghan, Jeonghan, Jeonghan, Jeonghan, Jeonghan, Jeonghan. Jeonghan. 

Mingyu almost scowled, exactly how Joshua remembered. He leaned in, forcing him to look at him, “I should go, it was nice to meet you. I wasn't expecting you to come, but then I heard you personally wanted the tickets to the exhibition. So, thank you for that. I didn't know my art interested someone famous like you, ” Mingyu said, already retreating, and with a few small strides. He was across the room. He had his one hand wrapped around Jeonghan’s waist and his other over his chest. He engulfed Jeonghan in a bear-like back hug. Jeonghan suddenly flinched and then softened at the touch. He looked happy. Joshua couldn’t recall the last time he had seen Jeonghan smile and not cry before or after it. 

Jeonghan hadn’t noticed Joshua yet, and then Mingyu blocked him with his huge frame from Jeonghan’s line of sight. Joshua received his message. 

 ‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

Jeonghan felt like he wasn’t in his skin; he was wearing someone else, someone who was simple, unlike him, who had all these tangled opened wires in his head, an alarm always going off, and someone was always drowning.

“Hey..” Jeonghan didn’t respond, not because he didn’t want to, but the voice he heard, it belonged to someone who would never be here. He kept his gaze fixed on the frame. 

“Jeonghan-ah,” He turned almost immediately, his mouth agape. He couldn't say anything; his words caught in his throat. 

Why the fuck Joshua was here? Why was he here? 

The sun was in Joshua’s hair. He moved closer, a step towards Jeonghan. He was no longer wearing the fake glasses. “Didn’t know you liked exhibitions?” 

“Here for somebody else,” Jeonghan found his voice, a bit shaky and frail, and instinctively, his eyes began searching for Mingyu. 

“Right….” Joshua followed his movement with his eyes. Jeonghan probably looked so moronic right now, his hands were trembling, his forehead must be glistening with sweat, he didn’t know what to be anymore. He looked around the room and then to Joshua. He was still the same as he carved. The more he stared, the more all those feelings he swore he buried came to the surface. 

He searched for his eyes this time and noticed the sage in them, “Joshua, I’m sorry about last time. I was out of it and said all the wrong things. I always end up being so mean to you. I'm always mean to you when I mean the exact opposite.”

An emotion passed on Joshua's face, Jeonghan couldn’t catch it; he was almost convinced he had imagined it. Joshua raised his hand, for a moment Jeonghan thought he was gonna hold his hands in his, but then Joshua quickly placed his hand inside his cardigan, “It’s okay. It's not like I didn't say things I regret. At least we got it out of our way?”

Was he really forgiving Jeonghan just like that? Was his significance crumpled down to someone who wasn’t even worth Joshua’s anger? He felt like someone stepped on his tail. Jeonghan wanted to bite.

“Yeah. I guess. Is Jun here too?”

“No, we broke up a while ago,” Joshua’s voice was seeping out of every emotion. Jeonghan couldn’t tell if the break-up made Joshua relieved or left him even more scarred. He wished it were the former. Jeonghan should be the only one who could bite him and draw blood; no one else should. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” He did know. It was the news. Everyone knew it. The film star Joshua and Jun had a sudden fallout. The reason was kept a secret for the star's privacy. He didn’t mean to lie, but in that moment, lying felt more comfortable than it should. Perhaps Jeonghan should serve some platitudes, a hug of comfort. A hand stretched in Joshua’s way, not to touch, not to pull, just to show he was there. 

Joshua took his hands in his. God, they were unfairly warm, unfairly like home, “How are you?” Jeonghan blurted. 

Joshua took his hand back, and then the winter came again. He didn’t look at Jeonghan immediately. He let the question hang in between them for a beat longer, “I’m okay.. Getting by.” 

Jeonghan caught the lie in his voice. He knew how to read Joshua’s silence. It’s a language he was no longer allowed to speak, but knew the shape of it, anyway. Was he allowed to ask him things? Was he allowed to be here? He looked for Mingyu again. 

A group of people passed them, Joshua asked through a hushed voice, “How are you? How are things?”

Things were good. They were okay. He’d like to think that they were.

“Things are okay,” I don’t miss you like the only language I knew of a country I’m exiled from. 

“Han-ah, I–- um–-” Then Joshua smiled, faltered for just a second before masking it again. A professional putting on an act.  

Mingyu kissed Jeonghan, and Jeonghan let him. A part of him wanted Joshua to look and see what he had lost. It was childish, Jeonghan knew that. He wanted to see what kind of face Joshua was making. But the neutrality on Joshua’s face felt like a bath in ice water. He seemed distant. God, what was Jeonghan even trying to do? What was the point of this childish act anyway?

Jeonghan peeled himself off Mingyu, a few of his strands sticking out, which Mingyu quickly soothed with the palms of his hands. There was this normalcy between them, utterly domestic and swell with love, “This is Mingyu, you know him already,”

“Yeah, he’s grown too much,” Joshua nodded in Mingyu’s direction, still feigning that smile, all teeth, and crescent eyes. 

“He’s-– uh–-” Jeonghan looked between the two. 

Mingyu pulled him closer, “He’s dating me,” 

Joshua replied in a heartbeat as if he would’ve let the words hang for too long, he would’ve suffocated, “Oh–- right. I’m happy for you,” then he stared at Jeonghan. Jeonghan wasn’t sure anymore if he could read Joshua like he used to, because Joshua’s red-rimmed eyes seemed desperate, like he was asking him to ask him to stay, and Jeonghan almost did, but Mingyu withered him back. 

“I should go now. It was nice to see you, Hannie,” Joshua declared with a slight bow, and turned to Mingyu, “and you too, Mingyu. I have a flight in an hour, I’ll be late.”

Sometimes Jeonghan thought he was free until he saw he was back in line again, falling into Joshua’s steps. His steps with no conscience followed Joshua, but Mingyu’s grip tightened around Jeonghan. Jeonghan wasn’t going to run after Joshua, so why did Mingyu’s hold on his wrist feel more like an anchor than it should? Why that touch tethered him to the ground, like without it he would’ve floated away in Joshua’s gravity. 

“Hyung.. Don’t go,” Mingyu’s voice was laced with desperation. He didn’t meet Jeonghan’s eyes, too ashamed at his own low, desperate voice. 

“I won’t,” Jeonghan assured, and there he was gazing at the back of Joshua as he slowly trudged away from Jeonghan’s pull. He wanted to reach, he wanted to ask him to stay, he wanted and wanted and wanted. And swiftly, Mingyu’s hand felt a bit too big to hold; he couldn’t wrap his fingers around it, he couldn’t reach Mingyu. He couldn’t love Mingyu. Oh, the realisation sat like a stone in his stomach, his ribs tightened as they couldn’t even hold something that huge and revolting. 

“Hyung, look at me, please,” Mingyu said, his voice growing desperate. Jeonghan hated how small and insecure he sounded. He didn’t mean to hurt Mingyu, but again, that was all he was capable of. Mingyu shouldn’t curl himself into something softer, just because Jeonghan only knew how to bleed from all his scars. 

Mingyu’s voice reached him again, “Please look at me once.” Jeonghan couldn’t meet his gaze, couldn’t see the reflection of his own ugly selfishness in Mingyu’s eyes. 

And Mingyu could only stare at the top of Jeonghan’s head. Jeonghan must’ve wished for this earlier. Or maybe he didn’t, Mingyu was terrified even to uncover. He wondered for a minute if he were to leave this moment, would Jeonghan wait for him this way, too? Would he look at the door as the only obstacle holding him back? Would he swear his name in sleep like he did for Joshua? Would he?  

Mingyu had one bitter epiphany: you could eat your lover's heart, and yet the pain they would feel would still be theirs. Mingyu had wanted to be the sun in Jeonghan's world, to be the only force pulling him in; he wanted to be the moon, moving waves and water. He wanted Jeonghan to love him like a wound; even after it heals, it scars. 

Even after all the pain, you're worth a scar. 

And that was what Joshua was for Jeonghan. A wound, a scab he kept on scratching so it would bleed, and Jeonghan then would know the feel of him. Over and over again. Until he could wear that scar like a badge of honour for loving him most viscerally and violently. He was bleeding; it must mean love. He was aching; it must mean love. Jeonghan was Joshua’s at his best or his worst. 

A tangible, ugly feeling rose in Mingyu’s chest. He hated Joshua. God, he hated him, and wanted to be him. To know the taste of Jeonghan when he worshipped him like a God. To be the one Jeonghan chose. To be the one Jeonghan wanted to have scars of. The greatest tragedy of it all was that Mingyu wasn't Joshua. He would never be him. Mingyu knew that even if he held Jeonghan by will and chains, he would still run after Joshua. He let go of his hands with a heavy heart, a heart that was in his mouth, ready to leap in Jeonghan’s direction. He spoke, swallowing it down, “Go.”

The air around Jeonghan shifted, and he saw the ever-so slight relief in Jeonghan’s shoulder. He finally met his gaze. Fuck. Jeonghan was breathtakingly beautiful, and he was broken in ways Mingyu couldn’t hold him. He was like water in his hands. The more he tried to hold him, the faster he slipped out of his grip. 

“Are you disappointed in me?” He finally, finally, met his eyes.

“No, I just love you, and I think you deserve happiness. I was foolish to think I could be the reason for it. But it’s okay. You should go before it’s too late, and I’m begging you again to stay.”

“Do you hate me now? Do you see how ugly I am?”

Mingyu pushed back his flicks and placed them over his ears, “You’re still beautiful, and I still love you just the same.” Jeonghan didn’t move even when he was no longer being swallowed down by the swamp; he held Mingyu’s hands in his. 

“Hyung.. Go. It’s fine. I’ll be fine,” He let go of his hands, catching a glimpse of the river of Jeonghan’s hands, how it was different from Mingyu’s, how they moved away from each other and not towards. 

“Be happy and never let me know how happy you are without me.” He tightened his arms around his waist so he could, one last time, remember the shape of his bones. How it felt to reach the sun, before he would fall back on the ground as Icarus did.  He spoke through a kiss in his hair. “Don’t come back,”

Jeonghan let go, and Mingyu smelled the burn of his skin. How comforting it felt to know there would be scars, leaving a drag path, to trace back the evidence of its existence. He was there, and he loved him.  

Mingyu sipped on the rest of the coffee Jeonghan left. A kiss left of him. 

A year later 

Valentine’s Day 

Joshua and Jeonghan broke up 6 years ago. It had become an old tale. Jeonghan and Joshua loved each other, and then Jeonghan broke his heart for loving him. How could anyone love him after seeing the decay of his soul, his rotten love spilling ugly? Jeonghan knew how to hurt and then hide. He had mastered the art of ripping the heart out with his fangs of people who only ever loved him. 

He was back again in the same town, in the same street that haunted his dreams and made him paralysed to the point that even an hour of sleep felt like a luxury. He shouldn’t think of Joshua, well, at least not anymore. All he had done was hurt people in his life. Be it Joshua or Mingyu. He knew how to ruin things; he knew how to suffocate good things in life until he could only hold the remnants of them. He held too tight, afraid if he let go even just a little, it would go away, it would disappear, vanish from his grip, so he collected the corpse of happiness. Maybe his love was violence. Maybe his hands were only capable of that. Maybe Jeonghan could only love if it hurts him or the other person.   

Mingyu was kind; he held Jeonghan when he didn’t deserve it. He loved Jeonghan when all he did was pretend. Pretend that his skin wasn’t burning, his mind wasn’t someplace else, thinking of someone else. Thinking of Joshua. Jeonghan knew how to love Joshua, and somewhere along the line, that was the only thing he became good at. 

In the midst of all these chaos, Jeonghan had started to smoke, not because he liked it but it reminded him of his college days, and how he would stress smoke and Joshua would’nt let him come near until he would get rid of the stench and even after denying it multiple times he would kiss him just to annoy him, just to have Joshua run around the dorm and then catch him by the waist or trap him by the walls. Joshua always pretended to hate it. But eventually the cigarette began to taste like those stolen kisses, and running around the room, and Joshua’s crescent smile, the crinkles by his eyes. 

He was in a way a gallery of all the people he had loved, except it was just Joshua. He didn’t realise when he turned into a museum, and Joshua was the only thing on display.  

It began snowing again, he dragged himself back to his apartment, the unopened box still collecting dust in the living room. His things were shifted back here a week ago, all thanks to Seungcheol, who was still fixing something in the kitchen. Jeonghan felt reluctant to come back here again; if the water wouldn’t drown him, then the memories of them would. 

The last time Jeonghan had met Joshua was a year ago, during Mingyu’s exhibition. He did go after him, after he broke Mingyu’s heart and collected its corpse, put it in his back pocket and left. The traffic was so bad that day, he barely made it to the airport. He waited, he tried, but Joshua was gone. He didn’t find him. He couldn’t find him. So, for the last year, Jeonghan lived in a small town, worked in a cafe, and did some small gigs here and there. He hid again. Recoiled like a kicked puppy. The universe had rejected him and shunned him like a dog that went rogue, and he wasn’t allowed to be around people anymore. 

Mingyu contacted him several times, called him in the middle of the night, but Jeonghan never replied. The texts kept on piling, the calls stayed unanswered, and eventually it stopped. Jeonghan successfully proved what it costs to love him, and why anyone shouldn’t. 

Over time, Mingyu was doing better, his portraits were sold in millions, and Joshua was supposedly working on a movie abroad. Everyone was okay without Jeonghan. He didn’t just think he was unlovable; he was proven to be one.

“How do you feel?” Seungcheol asked, a bit pleased as he finished setting up the kitchen. He saw Jeonghan still standing at the doorstep, his silhouette glued to the floor, unmoving. 

“I feel okay,” He answered, taking his jacket off and pushing it aside on the floor. 

“Don’t lie to me,” He walked closer, dusting his hands on his pants. His eyes observed him, scanning the bruises he couldn’t see, how his hair wasn’t golden anymore, but close to how it looked when they were kids. 

Jeonghan furled himself small, his shoulders slumped, disappearing into himself, “Cheollie, I’m sorry about things.. About me and Gyu,”

Seungcheol smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder. It was grounding, comforting. Jeonghan needed it, “I wish I could say it was fine because it wasn’t, but I also know how much you’re hurting, and Mingyu is doing okay, better, I hope. So, cut yourself some slack. It’s fine,” He patted him on the back. “He asked about you multiple times, you know, when you ghosted everyone. He blamed himself for pushing you to go after him, and then things got bad--”

“It’s not his fault.” Jeonghan abruptly cut Seungcheol mid-sentence. He repeated, “Not his fault.”

“I know… I think to some extent he knows it too,” 

Jeonghan remembered how anxiety-inducing it was to set his foot back in this city, how his heartbeat was a constant ringing in his ears, how each step forward felt alienating, floating, the ground felt cotton under is feet, but thankfully, when he called Seungcheol, he quickly picked up, almost as if he was waiting by the phone, and waited for Jeonghan to reach. Jeonghan didn’t deserve to receive Seungcheol’s kindness or his patience. Kindness felt like a debt; for Jeonghan, kindness was cruel; it was as if the other person was demanding things from him when he had nothing to give. 

“I’ll swing by this evening.. We can grab some food and catch up, maybe? It’s been so long hannie. Just because you’re not dating my little brother, it doesn’t mean you’re less of a family now.”

“Okay..” Jeonghan nodded, a familiar ringing strung in his ears. 

Seungcheol moved towards the door and sat on the threshold to put his shoes on. “You’ll be okay, right?” His eyes moved between Jeonghan and his own hands. 

“Yeah.. I guess. I have work from tomorrow. So, I’ll be busy.” He wasn’t going to be okay ever again, but he could be busy. He could somewhat resemble a normal person, Jeonghan thought. 

“You know you can always call me, and we can talk it out, like how we used to.” Seungcheol began to leave, but then Jeonghan spilt his guts out in the middle of the living room, “Did– did he-- nevermind,”

Seungcheol stopped mid step, he looked back, his face twisted in reluctance. His careful mask slipped off for a moment. Jeonghan had asked him something that Seungcheol didn’t want to give an answer to. He took a deep breath, “He did. About some months ago. Joshua was worried, too, you know? Everyone kind of was…” 

Jeonghan's urge to hide only intensified; he started digging at his own skin. Seungcheol quickly pulled him back before he drew blood with his nails, “I’m sorry..” Jeonghan breathed. And looked up through his tired eyes, “I’m sorry, Cheol.”

“Don’t be. If it brings you peace. It is what it is, I guess?” Then he schooled his face for a fleeting second, brows knitted in contemplation. He approached like getting closer to a wounded animal, “I don’t say it because I know you both got some fucked up level shit to figure out, but I hate how things went bad between you two, and you both stopped being my friends, too.”

“I’m sorry, I am–- I know it’s not enough, but I will make it up to you,”

“It’s fine. You contacting me first and calling me was enough, and I’m just glad you’re okay, and you’re here.”

He wrapped his hands around Jeonghan. He felt slimmer than he was, too bony, too pale. Initially, Jeonghan didn’t lean into him, but soon thawed anyway. He patted Jeonghan’s head as he let go, “I’ll get you dinner tonight, yeah?” 

Jeonghan nodded. Seungcheol looked at him one last time and then left. 

Jeonghan was back in Seoul for his sister’s wedding. He came back not with the intention to be back. His sister was getting married, and the apartment was just cheap enough to live in. And maybe just maybe he might see Joshua again, Jeonghan hated it how he wanted, wanted, and wanted. He was selfish and cruel. He was ashamed of his longing. He was again ready to lick a wound just to know the taste of its hurt. He was tired of bleeding on people who didn't deserve it. He was tired, and he really just wanted to hide. 

He lay on the couch, his legs spread out till his feet hung at the end, like wet clothes on a wire. He pulled out his phone and opened the gallery. There was nothing except one single folder–Shuji

He swore to Seungcheol about deleting these photos, and for a good 2 seconds, he did delete them, but his thumbs moved faster to undo the action. He wished he could undo several of his actions, take back words he had said, and swallow them instead of poisoning Joshua’s heart with them. Or Mingyu’s. 

If Jeonghan thinks he loves like a dog, then he should also learn to wait like one. 

Wait by the pavement until Joshua lets him in. 

Bring a dead bird in his mouth and call it love

Would Joshua eat it?

Was Jeonghan's love digestible?

Would Joshua play fetch with him and do laundry afterwards?

If Jeonghan bite him out of love and not just to see if he bled the same,

Would Joshua allow it? 

Jeonghan didn’t know the answer to any of this anymore. He was okay. He was fine. He would wait, if he ever got a chance to be Joshua’s life again. He would wait like a dog with love in his mouth. If Joshua got married, he would go there uninvited, he would get him gifts and tell him he was happy. Even if he wasn’t. He would tell him all the right things and tell him he loved him, truly. Even if it didn’t work out. He would be there for him when he starts a family. Probably teach his kids how to ride a bicycle. He just didn’t want to be nothing to him, not anymore. He would take whatever place Joshua offered him. A neighbour, a friend, an acquaintance, just not someone he used to know, a stranger, and nothing. God, he didn’t want to be nothing to Joshua. Anything but that. 

It was all a pipedream, though. He was in Busan, and the chance of Jeonghan running into Joshua was the same as seeing Atlas. 

shuji(1004)

He tapped on it with a trembling finger. But then his doorbell rang. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Seungcheol went back to work. He didn’t order takeout. He threw his phone across the couch. The world outside his new-old apartment was a blur of falling snow.

The wooden floor thudded under his feet. The door cam was yet to be installed. Its box was scattered near the gate with several things. Seungcheol insisted he would install after his shift. So, it was just collecting dust.  He opened the door, and there stood Joshua, the sunlight caught in the curls of his hair, and snow draped him in its embrace. He looked frozen and not real. Like Jeonghan had imagined him into existence. 

Joshua’s breath condensed, his lips slightly blue, and his forehead glistened with sweat. Did he run here? But why would he do that? Why would he run to an old rented apartment like it was heaven? It almost felt like he ran into Jeonghan’s arms? Or maybe Jeonghan was imagining it. 

“I-- I heard you’re here,” He finally answered, breathing quick and fast. Jeonghan almost missed his words as they fogged on him. 

Joshua was here. He was here. He was standing in front of Jeonghan. Joshua was here. 

“Uh-- fuck, um-- come on in. It’s… It’s freezing.” Jeonghan fumbled with words. He bit the inside of his cheeks to rectify the reality of this moment. His tongue twisted and folded, but couldn’t birth words coherently. 

So Joshua did, he peeled his jacket off and left it on the floor beside his shoes. The apartment was bare, boxes stacked like tombstones; it was no better than the cold outside, and yet in the presence of Joshua, the way his eyes lingered on Jeonghan, it felt warm and almost livable. 

They sat on the couch, Jeonghan on one far end and Joshua on the other, carefully maintaining the distance of 6 years between them. Jeonghan didn’t know how to breathe anymore when Joshua was at a distance where he could reach him. Where he would moan his name in nothingness, and Joshua would hear it, caught him praying. Those years without each other were a physical presence in the room, suddenly, as if the rubber stretched for too long, it snapped. Jeonghan stood up abruptly, and the reality dawned on him, slow and dense, “I’ll get you something warm to drink.” He didn’t wait for an answer.  

Fortunately, the kitchen’s necessities were arranged. He took some random tea out of the cabinets, and just for a brief second, he turned to look at Joshua, who miraculously didn’t disappear; he was still very much on the couch, looking more nervous than he had ever seen him. He quickly stole his gaze off when Joshua saw him. His hands shook as he brewed tea. Joshua liked his drinks sweet, but did he now? Did he still like overly sweet things? Or did he finally realise how bad they are? Should Jeonghan put two sugars or one? Instead, he didn’t put any in and placed them in a different dish for Joshua to pick whatever he liked. 

Clearing his throat, he placed two warm cups of tea and the dish with cubic sugars on the coffee table. Joshua bit his lips, his gaze flicked between Jeonghan and the cube of sugar on the table. He looked like he understood. He fathomed what Jeonghan felt, or maybe he didn’t, but Jeonghan liked to think he did. 

Joshua took two sugars, and with the similar familiarity that Jeonghan knew, his fingers curling around the amber of the cup. A habit Jeonghan realised still lived under Joshua’s skin. His shoulders dropped in relief. He didn’t curl into himself. Not yet. 

“I’m sorry for just barging in. I should’ve called, but I don’t have your new number,” Joshua carefully picked his words. His voice was melifferous, it was sweet, not like the cloying pink lemonade but like honey; heavy and all-consuming. It felt like the last six years were a long-running nightmare; none of it ever happened. Jeonghan never left, and Joshua never went quiet. They were having tea together on Valentine’s Day like any other couple. 

“Why?” Jeonghan asked, reluctant that his words might break the thread of normalcy they had woven themselves in, but he needed to bite, he needed to know, “Why are you here, Joshua?”

Joshua didn’t look up, his fingers still cradling the cup. “I lied that day, at the exhibition. I wasn’t there for that, I was there to see you. It was stupid. I know. And seeing you happy with Mingyu was just-- I didn’t go to the airport. I didn’t even have tickets. I wanted to get out of there. So, I lied again about the flight. There was no flight. There was just regret. Seeing you happy should make me happy, right? But it didn't all I could think was how I’m not the reason for it anymore.” 

“I waited hours for you at the airport.” The truth slid off easier than Jeonghan thought. He didn’t know if Joshua’s truth aided him from the fire he set himself on every time Joshua was in the proximity. It should feel good, right? Jeonghan spent almost a decade to have Joshua back, and yet when he said exactly what Jeonghan wanted to hear, it felt incredibly void. He began to entertain a different possibility… What if they would.. What if it happens again? What if? Jeonghan hadn’t changed. His fangs were still sharp, his love was still putrid, and his eyes were still full of devotion. 

“I know. I found out later. And before I could make things right, you vanished. Again. I tried finding you everywhere, every city, every town,” Joshua finally met his gaze. His eyes weren’t just brown; they were weary, ringed with sage-colored shadows. “You’re good at that. Disappearing.”

Each word felt like a dagger to Jeonghan’s heart. It was beating so fast, it must’ve bruised his ribs. “It’s what I’m for. Ruining things and then hiding the evidence.” Jeonghan sadly smiled, his teeth a soft press against his lower lip.  

Joshua set the cup down with a soft clink, “Jeonghan-ah, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t think there are enough words to make up for how truly sorry I feel. It’s fine if you don’t want me to be here. Or don’t want anything to do with me. I get it. I really do, and I don’t blame you for how you feel. But at the exhibition, I know we both felt it, right?”

Jeonghan didn’t say anything. Joshua’s words vibrated in his mind; they wouldn’t fit in his mouth, so he swallowed them instead. 

“Do you wanna-- ” Joshua trailed off, gazing at everything, but at Jeonghan like he held the very plug of life support Joshua was on. Jeonghan didn’t like how small Joshua had to frame himself. 

“Yes,” Jeonghan answered almost instantly. Joshua wanted to be friends again. So, be it. It was the better option, Jeonghan wouldn’t kiss a mouth like his, too. Friends seemed like a perfect approach, Jeonghan would be invited to Joshua’s banquet of happiness, he just needs to remind himself that he wasn’t going to be the spine of it. 

“You didn’t even let me finish,”

“The answer is yes, anyway.” His voice came off as defeated, surrendered. 

Joshua tilted his head, his fingers pressing into each other, “I was gonna ask if you wanna try us again,”

“What?”

“What did you think I was gonna say?”

“To be friends or whatever..”

Joshua chuckled, breathily. “No. No.. I don’t wanna be your friend. Jeonghan-ah, you have no idea how I’ve been without you. I didn’t know where you were. I couldn’t reach you, and no matter how hard I looked, you weren’t anywhere. I didn’t know what to do.”

Jeonghan said, still stealing eyes, his head humming with a constant ring, "You don't know what you're asking for." His voice came out wrong-- too flat, too careful. "I'm not-- I haven't gotten better, Joshua. I'm still the same person who said those things to you outside the pawn shop. I still have all the same wires crossed in my head. Mingyu was-- he was good to me. He loved me the way people are supposed to love each other. Quiet. Gentle. And I still-- " He stopped. Pressed his lips together. The inside of his chest burning, his eyes went blurry for a moment, but he gathered himself and began again. "I still thought of you. Every day. While he was holding me, I thought of you. That's who I am. That's who you'd be getting back. This is who you’ll be getting back." He gestured at himself, like he was showing the height of a cliff Joshua was insisting on jumping from. It was suicide. 

“I’ll gladly take it.” Joshua's hands clasped in a prayer, he looked at Jeonghan with eyes that didn’t see ruins, and didn't think of his touch as assault, but like a kiss. Jeonghan hated that look in his eyes because Joshua only ever bore it when he had his heart in his hands, asking Jeonghan to do anything with it. 

Jeonghan peeled his eyes of him. Joshua should let Jeonghan near the fence, not inside his house. He said with a sigh, “You don’t want that. I don’t want that for you."

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Joshua's hand hovered in the air between them, and Jeonghan watched it tremblw, actually tremble, and something in his chest shattered. Joshua Hong, the face of every billboard in the country, the actor of every director’s dreams, who had millions swooning over him while Jeonghan stayed a nobody, who stood in the snow outside a pawn shop like a ghost Jeonghan couldn't exorcise-- Joshua Hong was afraid. Of him. Of this.

The power should have felt good. It didn't. It felt like standing on the edge of something and not knowing if the ground would hold.

Jeonghan looked back at him. Joshua wasn’t at the other side of the sofa, maintaining a safe distance from a violent dog, instead he knelt in front of Jeonghan, close enough that Jeonghan could see the faint scar by his eyebrow from a long-forgotten accident. Joshua’s hand was in the midst of the air, giving all the time for Jeonghan to flinch away and hide, but Jeonghan didn’t. Of course, he didn’t; he’d rather have his head split open and spill his confession, his wants onto the floor than flinch away from Joshua’s warmth. “Please stay, Jeonghan-ah. Please stay. Don’t go. I don’t wanna watch your back when you walk away from me. I never asked you to stay when all I ever wanted was for you to stay. For you to hold me and love me. Please stay. Don’t hide, at least not from me.” 

“I’m sorry.. I’m sorry. I only know how to ruin things. Everything I touch gets ruined.”

“You don’t ruin things, Ah-- Jeonghan-ah, I wish you ruin things, but you touched me, and I only ever felt mended by it. It’s okay.. It’s okay. We’ll be fine.”

“I can’t do this, shua. I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t. We can be friends, you can call me over every once in a while, but I can’t do this. We shouldn’t. I’ll ruin you. Again. I ruined Mingyu, even when all he did was love me. I ruined him. I’ll ruin us again, and I don’t think I can survive that again. I don’t think I can sleep knowing that you toss and turn in bed because of something I had said, and you pretended that it was okay. Even when it wasn’t. Even when I was bad, you didn’t walk out. I did, because I could no longer see you suffocate, going silent, because I made the air poisonous.”

Joshua didn’t say anything; he was still on the floor, looking up at Jeonghan through teary eyes. He swallowed hard, the words Jeonghan had said didn’t sit right in his stomach. He stared, his hands still above Jeonghan, “I couldn't bring myself to sell the ring," he said, his voice rough. "But that's not the thing I couldn't get rid of. You know what I couldn't stop doing? Buying stuff that reminded me of you. I bought so many of my melody stuffies because it reminded me too much fo you. I’m allergic to strawberries, and I would see that fucking strawberry milk. . I'd see it in convenience stores and my hand would just--" He made a grabbing motion, helpless. "I don't even like it. But I'd stand there in the aisle like an idiot, holding it, putting it back, leaving, coming back ten minutes later to buy it. I did that for six years, Jeonghan. Six years of buying a drink I couldn’t digest because I wanted to feel closer to you."

Joshua’s fingers closed. His thumb stroked the back of Jeonghan’s hand, a slow, steady rhythm against the frantic beat of his pulse. “You’re shaking,”

“So, are you,”  Jeonghan whispered. Joshua's hand was warmer than he remembered. Or maybe Jeonghan's hands were always cold, and he'd forgotten what warmth felt like. The calluses had shifted, different from when they were twenty-one, when Joshua's hands were soft, and held Jeonghan’s like it was everything.  Now there was something new at the base of his thumb, rough against Jeonghan's palm. A scar from a role? From a life Jeonghan knew nothing about?

He turned Joshua's hand over without thinking, the way he used to, reading his palm like a holy relic. The river of his palm was the same. He traced it with the pads of his thumbs. The heart line--

"Still there," Joshua said quietly, "Still stupidly long. Still all about you."

Jeonghan's throat closed. He couldn't look up. Couldn't. If he looked up and saw Joshua's face making that particular expression, the one he made when he was saying something true and terrifying. Jeonghan would lose whatever was left of himself.

"Jeonghan-ah." Joshua's free hand came up, hovered near his jaw. Waiting. Always waiting for permission now, when he used to just take. "Look at me. Please."

It took everything. But he did. “I don’t know how to do this.” He said, his voice trembling like a leaf in the wind.  

“Neither do I,” Joshua whispered back. “We’ll be terrible at it. We’ll fail. And then we’ll try again, because the only thing worse than this… is nothing. I don’t want to be a star in a sky where I can no longer reach you. All of this means nothing to me if I don’t have you,”

“I don’t know,” Jeonghan felt the old, feral hope rise in his throat, dangerous and beautiful. “We’ll hurt each other. I’ll say the wrong thing. I’m a violent dog. I’ll bite.”

“Then I hope you dig your canines deeper and rip through my throat. If anything is to kill me, I hope it’s your mouth,” Joshua said, a ghost of his old smile touching his lips. In an eerily comforting way-- a bite was also a touch. If Jeonghan’s gonna bite, then Joshua would love to be touched. 

“Jeonghan-ah, let’s fall in love like when we were kids, we’ll make out in the back of cheap theatres, oh, we’ll drink that terrible, terrible, terrible, terrible pink lemonade, you’ll make a mess, and I’ll scold you while cleaning it anyway,” He surrendered and continued brutally honest. “Maybe we don’t get simple. Maybe we get… this. But we'll do better. We'll try. We'll be fine.”

“I’d like to believe that,” Jeonghan reached out. Slowly, giving Joshua every chance to flinch away. He touched Joshua’s cheek, his thumb tracing the arch of it. The skin was cold from the snow, but alive. Real. It was the gentlest touch they had shared in a decade. “Next time, if you wanna come, you can call. Not that you have to call to come here, but you know, just so I can have more than just some random tea in the house,”

“I like the sound of that.” Joshua melted into his touch. Fuck. Jeonghan loved how perfectly Joshua’s face fit into the curve of his palms, like it was carved with the intention of holding his face in prayer and prayer only. Joshua added, a bit embarrassed. "Happy Valentine's Day, hannie."

"You too, shua."

On the coffee table, forgotten, two cups of tea grew cold, maybe it will rot like any other sweet things, but for now their surfaces perfectly still. Maybe things would be different this time. Maybe they wouldn’t. But they were together. Maybe that was enough. Maybe, for now, it was everything. Even if they would bleed, at least it would be onto each other. Even if the wound infects, the scar would be theirs to carry.