Antonym iv
Title: Antonym (iv)
Pairing: Minho/Onew side!Jonghyun/Key
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~5,725
Summary: Antonyms are sometimes complementary....
Notes: Okay, I so KNOW it's shorter than normal and I...WAIT...hear me out. It's just that I'm still writing the next chapter and I didn't want to..WAIT A MINUTE. PUT THE SHOE DOWN...I wanted to go ahead and post this...DON'T YOU THROW THAT AT ME, I'M WRITING! THE NEXT CHAPTER IS COMING! SOON!...kinda...
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It was quiet. Like hear all of your thoughts quiet, intercept sirens and cries for help quiet. Best friends have a sort of sensor. It kind of goes off, whines in your ear, buzzes around your head…something that lets you know that you are needed. He felt in down in his bones which was why he was sitting in the dark, staring at his front door, waiting.
And he wasn’t disappointed. At precisely 1:47 am, there was a small knock at the door, which was kind of ridiculous because the person on the other side had a key. If they wanted they could waltz right in, walk past him, sit on the couch and turn on the television as if it was the most natural thing to do. Granted, it would be natural-Kibum was here for Jinki, he always would be.
The knock repeated itself and Kibum sighed before he rose from the bar, walked across the room to his front door, and turned the lock. Jinki spun around quickly as if he were maybe in the process of walking away, his eyes wide and bloodshot.
“Ki-Kibum? You’re up! I, um…”
Kibum reached across the space and tugged Jinki into his arms. “Get in here you old fool,” he whispered.
Jinki looked down at the frosted etched tumbler filled with some kind of brown liquid. He didn’t know the name of it, never caught the label as Kibum pulled it down from over his fridge, and frankly he didn't care. His raised the glass to his lips and took a sip. It stung going down, which was okay and he wasn’t trying to throw a one man pity party but the burn of it lighting his chest on fire was numbing the pain in his heart.
Oh, god. He was going to throw a one man pity party.
“Does it taste good? It's an old Scottish rum, got it from my Dad.”
Jinki hummed into the glass. “Your Dad has terrible taste.”
“He wasn’t the best drinker, you know that.” Kibum glanced at Jinki. “Are you going to tell me or am I going to have to get you sloppy drunk and peel it out of you?”
“Kibum,” Jinki sighed. “I don’t need you to be pushy or nosey right now. I just…I don’t want to think.”
“Nosey, he says. I’ll have you know that me being the pragmatic one between the two of us isn’t my forte, but if you’re going to succumb to some void of vapid emotions, then I have no problem stepping up and using my logic. This is about Minho, isn’t it? ”
Jinki snorted. “Isn’t everything about Minho? This entire planet revolves around the need to satisfy every complexity of that man’s life. It’s like the heavens opened up to supply him with everything. He’s a blessing unto all of us.” He took another sip. ”I hate him.”
“That’s what I’m talking about! Feelings, Jinki. You’re so type A that you don’t see the logic in hating someone, so you don’t. You don’t see the logic in being mad, so you tell yourself that you aren’t. You’re like some diluted version of Spock and it has always worked so I didn’t say much. But you’re pissed off right now! Show it!” Kibum stood from his seat at the bar, impassioned and ridiculous. “What has that gargantuan fool done now? Tell me,” Kibum implored.
Jinki closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling nasally, as if his head wasn’t connected to the rest of his body. “He’s being opportunistic. He’s achieving his dreams. He’s spearheading a path for success. Pulling himself up by the bootstraps. He's a real go-getter.”
That deflated Kibum and Jinki laughed miserably. “I wouldn't say that being this depressed about Minho's achievements is exactly loving boyfriend material but…Beijing is a go isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“He’s going to marry Blaire.”
“Yes.”
“Oh,” Kibum said quietly. “B-but how does that make sense? I thought his father was just yapping in our ears because he seems like the type. You know, talk too mich about things he only knows half about. But.. you told me that he had feelings for you. You said that, right? That-”
“I said it felt like he had feelings for me. That he gets this really stupid look in his eyes when he’s talking to me and sometimes it feels like serendipity, you know? So I stacked it all together and that’s the equation I came up with. And I was wrong. I’m not worth the fight.”
Jinki felt his chair tilt a little bit when Kibum rushed him with his arms wide open. Next thing he knew, his head was crushed between two arms that were stronger than they looked and the soft cashmere sweater Kibum was wearing.
“Listen to me,” Kibum said as he lifted Jinki’s chin. “You are worth the fight. You are worth wars.”
Jinki felt his eyes prickling and his limbs felt heavy and it took everything for him not to collapse but Kibum held him up, he was the only thing holding him up.
‘You are worth wars.’
Somehow he fervently wished he believed Kibum’s words.
An hour later, Kibum’s house was occupied by two others. Taemin was over there in a dash, living only two floors below Kibum, but it took Jonghyun a half an hour to arrive. Taemin was stockpiling a cache of vanilla ice cream and bowls on the floor in front of Kibum’s flat screen when Jonghyun walked through the door. He had a look on his face where the corners of his lips were pulled down in a guilty sort of way but Jinki smiled up at him and he sort of relaxed. It wasn’t Jonghyun’s fault his best friend was an advantageous asshole.
The recommended dose of ice cream only cured broken hearts if combined with an antithesis for pain so some comedy splayed across the television had the other three laughing while Jinki followed the motions of amusement. Forty-five minutes into the movie, the four of them were tangled in some funky spider web of human limbs on the floor, three of them asleep, one of them wide awake and alone with his thoughts.
It had been a week since he’d confronted and walked Minho into a confession he obviously didn’t want to make-which pissed Jinki off because who the hell was he to delay the inevitable, especially with his mind made up? To try and take the power of Jinki walking away first away from him? ‘Well, Jinki mused internally, he failed.’
Since the bath, a lot had happened, none that could be contributed to a white flag from either side. Flowers were delivered to Jinki's job, lillies, a fact Minho had learned in secret because he'd never told the man. Countless messages were left on his voicemail, all deleted and all unplayed. The taller man even delved into an effort before his time-a mixtape of apologetic ballads, each with a message scribbled under the tracklist on the insert. The worst was “You Wouldn’t Answer My Calls” with a sad face at the end like his inspiration for being melodramatic via chicken scratch had been boiled down to just emojis. Pathetic.
The attempts didn’t matter and Jinki though that’s why it hurt more. It was one thing to suffer from plausible deniability; that there weren’t true feelings, that Jinki was just some weird experimentation into a skewed version of Minho’s sexuality. But Jinki, despite what he’d told Kibum, knew Minho felt something. It was tiny and maybe it had a impossibly dull flame but it was something and for that something to not be enough, even if it didn’t light up a whole room or a whole sky, really hurt. That Minho could stand to look him in the face, say he wanted him in his life, but not enough for him to fight for Jinki's place, hurt.
And not that he wanted Minho to be some kind of sacrificial martyr for their happiness but if Minho had to go down, he wanted to see him go down kicking and screaming, not with a frown and displaced complacency. Not with his hands tied behind his back and ear splitting silence. It wasn’t fair.
And he needed to tell him that. He needed to tell him that right now, even if it wouldn’t change a thing, even if it was complete waste of breath and explanation. Kibum was right. Things like this didn’t need to sit on his chest.
So quietly, he untangled himself from the human pile of support in the form of his friends and made his way to the door. As his hand wrapped around the handle, he heard a sleep sodden voice call out to him.
“You’re worth the war, Jinki. Remember that.”
He didn’t turn around but he was very very glad that he had Kibum in his life.
Minho stared at his phone. Then he glared at it. Then he frowned at it-he frowned at it as if it was the phone’s fault that all of his calls to Jinki’s cellphone had gone straight to voicemail. Three-hundred and twenty-two calls, straight to voicemail. Most people would have lost count after ten…maybe fifteen, but Minho counted them, kept a record as if he could use it in a court of law.
Look how much, look how hard I tried, your honor! Three hundred and twenty two percent of full throttled trying. All unanswered. I tried.
This was stupid. The position he was in was entirely born of fruitless stupidity. How did he even get himself in this situation? How had he allowed it to get this far gone? Free spirits were supposed to be flexible right? Gliding in and out of rigid things like practicality and logic. So why was he the victim of a situation so rod-iron and inescapable that his malleable brain couldn’t escape?
His eyes dipped past the glossy screen of his cellphone to the beige linen and rice paper invitation sitting on his coffee table-an invitation to an engagement party that he had a month to approve. He hadn’t even proposed to the woman and she was flying right ahead with wedding plans as if he was some sort of ornament in her life. His dad wasn’t any help, supplying her with all the information and approval he needed to shove his son right into a new aged arranged marriage. He thought he was going to be sick.
And this was the thing that pissed him off. The commission was fine. It was a year. He could have explained that to Jinki.
‘It’ll only be a year. A year and by the time I return, the museum will be financially stable, and my reputation will be solid enough for me to actually make a living off of my talents. Only a year and I’ll be back.’ is what he wanted to say.
A year had turned into eternal matrimony and vows that he didn’t want to keep. He thought of briefly on how cowardly he was being, how he thought of abandoning the museum and running off with Jinki. Or how he could save his father’s legacy and still have Jinki in his life. All of it was making his brain hurt.
The sound of a key being inserted, sliding back, jingling, and then sliding forward again broke him out of his self-loathing. Minho’s brows flew to his hairline and his thoughts registered. The door was being unlocked. Two people had a key and he was more than confident that Mr. Gong was not going to give a new person a tour of the apartment in the middle of the night. That left only one person. The smart thing to do would be to go to the door, open it, stand there, arms wide open and welcome Jinki back as if he never left, as foolhardy as that sounded but all he could do was stand there as the door creaked open and his heart walked through the threshold.
“Hi, honey. I’m home,” the older man said, sardonically, when he noticed Minho frozen in the living room.
“W-what are you doing here?”
Jinki’s lips rose in one corner, not really a smile as he took a few timid steps into the apartment. “I came to talk. That’s what grown people do when there is a problem, right? They talk.”
“But I’ve been trying to talk to you for an entire week and three o’clock in the morning is the time you randomly decide is a good time?”
“Yes,” Jinki said simply. He looked like he wanted to another step, but he lingered in the foyer with his hands stuck in his pockets.
“Look, I don’t have much to say and I’d worked up some sort of speech on the way here. Something about things being unfair and how I’ve done everything I was supposed to do and it kind of sucks because I think I’m used to this, you know? This lukewarm reaction to the total annihilation of my heart. But then I thought about that. If any of that really mattered, we wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with right? So I really came back to tell you I’m moving out earlier than I said. Kibum is going to let me crash so I can still pay the rent here, so you don’t have to worry about that-“
“Jinki.”
“-and until you move out, we can keep the utilities in my name, I don’t mind-“
“Jinki!”
“-and when I move my things out, you can, you know, get rid of the blue tape so you-“
“Lee Jinki!”
“Goddamn it, what!?” Jinki screamed, exasperated. “I’m making this easy for you! I’m giving you your freedom on a silver platter and you’re still not satisfied? God save the fucking queen, Minho! You’re getting, maybe not what you want, but what you need, handed right to you and isn’t that what you’ve been wanting all along? Aren’t your needs more important than your wants? Hasn’t that been the problem the entire time!?”
Minho tried to not be angry because he was in the wrong here. Jinki was stubborn and his stubbornness intensified exponentially when he was feeling things because Jinki was logical and not overwrought with emotions. But he couldn’t help it. He was angry, he was so mad, whether it was at himself or Jinki’s impractical talent at being un-empathetic. He rushed across the living room and cuffed his hand into Jinki’s shirt before shoving him up against the wall.
“Why don’t you ever listen to me? Listen to the things I don’t or can’t say? Why do I have to rip myself apart in order for you to understand me? It’s like you try to misunderstand me on purpose so you can feel like a victim.”
“That’s bullshit..”
“Well act like it then! If you didn’t understand it before, I’ll say it. I need you, Jinki. I need you and it won’t go away. I feel like I have been suffocating for the last week like someone has my head under a vat full of ice water, that breathing requires you and I can’t catch my breath. So don’t tell me that I’m sacrificing my wants for my needs when you won’t pick up the damn phone to talk to me.”
“So you’re sacrificing your ‘needs’ for what, other needs? That doesn’t make any fucking sense and you know it. I get it, okay? Maslow, there’s a-a hierarchy in place…security comes before emotional attachment. I get that, you don’t have to make me understand. I’m just telling you it hurts, Minho. It hurts.”
Minho’s face suddenly softened and all the anger drained at the seams and was instantly replaced by a compassion he could only feel when he was painting or with Jinki. “Tell me, okay?” Minho’s hand loosened on his grip of Jinki’s shirt and his other hand trailed down until it was kneading the soft flesh right under Jinki’s shirt. “Tell me so I can make it better.”
Jinki shook his head. “I can’t. I can’t be selfish.”
“Can I be?” Minho said in reply, laying his forehead against Jinki’s.
“Aren’t you always?” Jinki whispered, his eyes dipping to Minho’s lips and it was the first beam of light through Jinki’s rigid stubborn wall that Minho had seen in forever.
Minho caught it and the fire it set consumed him. “Damn it, Jinki.” He pressed forward, jamming his leg between Jinki’s and trapping him against the wall. His lips pressed kisses to throat, hungrily, as if he was starved for the man in front of him, that there was only Jinki who could sate his hunger. Jinki put his hands up against Minho’s chest and he could feel the slight resistance.
“Minho, don’t.” Jinki pushed his chin down, stopping Minho’s assault on his neck, although his hands were trembling at they clutched his shirt. “We can’t do this-“
“Be patient with me. Please,” Minho simpered, begging against Jinki’s cheek. “I want this...” He pulled back to look at Jinki’s face. “Please?”
“Minho,” Jinki sobbed as the taller’s hands played dangerously high on his thigh.
“Please?”
Jinki’s eyes focused for a second under the layer of lust as they landed on Minho. He gulped and Minho followed the action with his eyes.
“I need you, Jinki,” and Minho watched the last of his resolve wither away as Jinki’s body relaxed against his and his hands coming to land on Minho’s thick shoulders.
Moving, he palmed under Jinki’s thighs and hoisted him up, pleased when Jinki’s legs wrapped around his middle instinctively. His lips nipped along Jinki’s jaw as he blindly made his way to a bed, any bed. His room was closer so he shouldered his way passed the door and fell forward when his shin hit the frame. As they fell in a fluff of cologne and pure animal frenzy, Minho’s fingers began to claw at the button holding Jinki’s deep brown khaki’s up. Frustrated, he yanked hard and watched the button fly off into the sunset for all he cared before he shoved his hand past the hem of Jinki’s boxers.
Jinki choked on a gasp as Minho fisted him in his large hand, his movements frantic with need. There wasn’t any time for preparation-this wasn’t romantic, this was desire fueled insanity and he’d fed half of the monster by simply being in Jinki’s presence, being wanted back by Jinki in this moment. He didn’t have time to worry about anything but the feel of Jinki in his hands, the mewling sounds Jinki made as his eyes slammed shut, the knowledge that each shudder was bringing Jinki closer to climax. He wanted to give Jinki something, anything, even if it meant rutting against his thigh while he pulled Jinki into bliss.
Moments later, he felt Jinki spill over his hand, sticky and warm, and the gasp of release that tumbled between his lips was all it took for Minho to follow him, shuddering hard with his lips mumbling nonsense in Jinki’s ear. He collapsed shortly, his body overcome with physical ecstasy and his emotions sated in Jinki’s presence.
His body felt tired, as if he’d been holding all of his energy in a reservoir, simply waiting for this moment. He was so tired and as he felt Jinki’s arms wrap around him, Minho smiled.
“I love you, Jinki,” he whispered before he fell asleep.
Hours later when he finally felt his body waking up, he realized that he was shivering-an involuntary act that happened usually when you were cold. And he was. But as his eyes fluttered open, he realized he was shivering not only because he was cold but because he was scared and he felt a loneliness he’d never felt before in his life.
Jinki was gone.
“You’re at least going to let him finish the damn commission you made me call an ex-boyfriend for before you force him into this right? I’d hate for him to get paint on your wedding dress,” SoonYe muttered as she angrily scribbled her name on the bottom of a press release.
“I’m not heartless. Of course he's going to finish the commission. Matter of fact, him gaining notoriety is very beneficial to this marriage.”
SoonYe snorted. “How gracious of you to let him experience one last great thing before the old ball and chain.”
“Look here. I didn’t invite you here to give me a lecture on ethics. Sign the damn papers and leave if you’re so disappointed in me. We’ve discussed this. I’m doing this for his own good.”
“His own good?” SoonYe scoffed. “How in God’s name is this for his own-“
“I can provide for him,” Blaire said, exasperated, as if she was tired of explaining the same thing. “I saved the museum and I can offer him ten times more than that funky account exec of his could. Security is worth more than ridiculous insipid creations like feelings. He’ll get over it.”
“You sound like a broken record.”
SoonYe bent over to reach into an ostrich leather briefcase to withdraw a manila folder. Once laid flat on Blaire’s desk, SoonYe began to spread the papers. “We’ve got the go head to treat this as a diplomatic sort of adventure, an event that will broker ties with the Chinese Embassy of Culture. If this goes well, even if Minho ends up only doing a half decent job, the profit driven to the museum will be significant. But by signing this, you guarantee the future of this museum, not by your own merits, but by Minho’s. So essentially, you will no longer be the benefactor.”
Blair snorted. “It’s not like this was a money maker to begin with. I felt like being benevolent. None the less, I’ll be Minho’s wife, so the spoils still go to me in the end.” Blaire slid the paper across her desk and scratched her name at the bottom.
“Do you plan on telling the man or at least his father, that you are no longer the sole salvation to this museum, or is that going to be like a wedding gift?”
Blaire giggled. “Tell them? Now why would I do something stupid like that?”
SoonYe rolled her eyes. It wasn’t like she was surprised that Blaire was a ruthless, self-serving, megalomaniac. It was one of the things she loved about the woman. And Blaire was right-if it were a man in Blaire’s shoes, the disdain would be different…or wouldn’t be there at all. He’d be seen as taking charge, not as some shrew luring a naive man into a death trap of commitment. But she was a woman and SoonYe expected a touch of compassion that men sometimes lacked-to see past the bigger picture and to notice the smaller ones. But Blaire didn’t own rose tinted glasses, nor did she slow down enough to see anything except for her goal-to be self-made woman…a selfmade married woman. Minho looked damned good on her arm and he was cultured and well spoken and he’d never murdered anyone or anything like that and that served Blaire’s goals to the highest degree.
She just wished that Blaire could experience some of the love she and Minseok shared. Yes, he had an affinity for that Luhan kid (and so did she on occasion and sometimes they shared that affinity but that was neither here nor there) but the bottom line was they cared for each other and they’d willingly entered into their marriage wanting to be married to each other. But Blaire didn’t believe that love and happily ever after existed-not after SoonYe decided to be with someone other than her.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Blaire audibly gnashing her teeth. “Doesn’t that pocket protector wearing asshole ever get the hint?”
SoonYe’s forehead pinched and she looked over her shoulder. Her brow rose at the bravery.
Lee Jinki was standing at the front reception desk with his arms tucked under his chest, looking like he wanted to bolt from the place. She wondered why he was there because walking into the museum your boyfriend’s fiancée was known to frequent took a lot of balls and she had to applaud him. She also wanted to know why he looked like he hadn’t slept in days.
“I’ll go see what he wants. It’s probably nothing,” she said as she rose.
“It better be nothing. After today, he’s no longer welcomed here; I don’t care if it is a public place.”
Sighing, SoonYe rose from her seat, wanting to remind Blaire she didn’t own the museum but instead turned to open the glass door of Blaire’s office and strode out to the lobby.
“Mr. Lee?”
He spun around, surprised, and instantly SoonYe liked him. He most certainly didn’t fit the descript of someone who would catch Choi Minho’s eyes. His hair was combed to the side, a precise part keeping his short trimmed brown locks behind his ear. He wore a starch stiff button down shirt, white, and slate grey slacks. She glanced at his shoes, presentable, but they had a rubber sole, so she knew they weren’t quality. As she walked closer, he didn’t look defensive or scared, just shocked.
“How…how do you know my name?”
SoonYe winced. “A client of mine has used the services of your agency before,” she lied smoothly. “Is there anything I can help you with? The curator is not here at the moment,” and she looked at him pointedly, “and neither is his son.”
Lee Jinki was cute as a button as his mouth drew together to form a small ‘O’ and he stuffed his hands in his pockets. Silently, he pulled out a small silver key. “I, um, I’m Choi Minho’s roommate, and I forgot to give him the key before I moved out, so…yeah.”
SoonYe felt her brow rising again. “You moved out? I was under the impression that his lease wasn’t up for another month or so?”
“Well, he’s staying. I’m leaving. He knows why,” Jinki said sharply. His fingers rose to his lips as if he realized his tone and he bowed. “I-I’m sorry, it’s just that…it’s complicated, and soon, he won’t need a roommate. I heard he’s getting married.”
“Nothing’s been announced yet. However we are having a banquet to announce the engagement at the end of the month.”
If she hadn’t been looking, she wouldn’t have noticed the way Jinki’s shoulders sagged or the sad look that reflected in his eyes, but it was gone a split second later and SoonYe had to admire him. He hid his discomfort well. It was then, because Jinki was brave, that he exuded the type of bravery that she only saw once a blue moon, even if it was hidden behind the quiver of his voice or his audacity in the first place, that she decided that she was needed.
“Look, I don’t mean to be…presumptive, but I’m under the impression you’d rather not be there for this party?”
Jinki didn’t say anything, but his frown deepened.
“Yet, I have some news for you.” She took a step closer, crossing over a line of loyalty that’s she’d examine later. “By the time that party rolls around, Minho will be free of any obligations that bind him legally to this museum.”
“Excuse me? I don’t under-“
“Blaire knows, Mr. Lee-about you and Minho and what you do behind closed doors. She’s known for some time and if you don’t think this abrupt out of the blue rushed engagement isn’t her snarling at your feet like some territorial wolf, then you are not as smart as I took you for. My real question is…how far are you willing to go to keep what’s yours?”
She looked at him intensely, not understanding what compelled her, but feeling it all the same. She cuffed her hand around Jinki and sharply pulled him back out of the lobby. “I can help you, but you have to tell me that you want the help. Park & Park & Kim. That’s the lawfirm I work for. Ask for SoonYe.” She shoved him towards the door. “But whatever you do, don’t come back here.”
Jonghyun kicked Minho’s door. Then he kicked it again. Why? Because he knew the younger man was home. He was home and not answering the door even with him banging the damn thing off the frame. When he didn’t hear anyone coming to the door, he decided that he really was going to pull the door off the frame, but when his hand bent around the knob, it turned. Oh. It wasn’t locked.
He pushed and the door swung back to a very dark apartment, which was weird because it was like…six but whatever. Impulsively, he reached for the light switch and watched the light in the kitchen blink on.
“Oh, are you fucking kidding me dude?”
Minho was supine on the floor, unmoving. In his right hand was a green glass bottle of soju. By his feet where at least ten more bottles. Jonghyun peered into the trashcan in the corner of the kitchen. A few more bottles stuck out the top.
“You are pathetic.”
Minho made a whining noise in the back of his throat, but didn’t move.
“So you broke up with your boyfriend! It happens! You’re not going to die-“
“Yes, I am,” he said as his grip tightened on the bottle. He tried to lift it to drink, but most of it spilled across his face. “I’m going to die. I can feel it now, death’s loving hands wrapping around my throat and choking me.”
Jonghyun crossed the room and loomed over Minho. He was staring to the side, his head turned towards the now vacant side of the living room. There was a pool of tears resting in the corner of his eye and he was sniffling. “This is by far the saddest shit I’ve ever seen.” Jonghyun kicked a bare foot with his boot. “Get up, won’t you. And when you do, please shower.”
“Jonghyun, go away.”
“Oh, trust me, I am because you stink. But before I do, I wanted to get your side of the story. Kibum has been chewing my ear off and not because I’m delectable, which I should let you know, I am. But because you have become Public Enemy #1 and I have been charged with coming over here to teach you a lesson. I’m not sure what kind of lesson that blond fairy asshole is talking about and although you do look like the villain in the story, I still am your friend and my loyalty lies with you. Kibum got really mad when I said that and started making Star Trek references like you’re Spock and Uhara is mad at you and I’m supposed to come in here and say something stern but if you’re Spock and he’s Uhara, then Kibum has got to be Bones, and Taemin is Scotty so that automatically makes me Kirk and I run this damn ship-“ Jonghyun cut himself short when he heard Minho groan and turn his head away from him.
Frowning, he shifted so his legs were on either side of Minho and abruptly squatted, landing all of his weight on Minho’s chest. Minho’s oomped and Jonghyun smiled because he’d trapped Minho’s arms to his side and that left his face wide open for good round of stiff finger poking.
“Get the fuck off of me, you overgrown Lilliputian asshole!“
Jonghyun lifted just a tad and then dropped his weight again. “Ah! That’s the spirit. Ready to talk?”
“I’m going to kill you.”
“Okay, not ready to talk.” He took his time playing with Minho’s thick eyebrows, alternating on shoving one up and down at a time. “If you’re going to wallow in despair, which is kind of stupid to tell you because you did this to yourself, I told you to break up with the hag months ago, it’s obvious you don’t have a plan. You don’t have a plan do you?”
“I didn’t have a plan before and I don’t have one now. I was going to be a brat and say screw the museum, we can do bad all by ourselves-“
“We…can do bad all by ourselves?” Jonghyun said with a brow furrowed.
“It was a movie Jinki made me watch. It was rather enjoyable, actually. The black women in America are not only assertive in certain situations but also very beautifu-“
“Minho,” Jonghyun said lowly. “Concentrate.”
“Oh, right. But then Blaire drops this commission bullshit on me and my dad is acting like Jesus Christ has hand delivered his baby version to him in the form of my unholy matrimony and the only person I’ve said no to is Jinki. Because I’m an asshole.”
“Well, you paint for a living. It’s not like we expect you to be the greatest strategist.” Jonghyun surveyed him for a second before he lifted to standing. “But I’ll tell you this, it’s easier than you think. You either choose Blaire or you choose Jinki. Simple.”
“If it were that simple, I wouldn't be sitting in an half empty apartment. If it were that simple Jinki would actually talk to me. If it were that simple, when I told that goofy bastard I needed him, he would have stayed and helped me armor up. But no, he’s not here, he’s not picking up the phone and if that wasn’t embarrassing enough, he returned the key through my fucking receptionist and moved out in the middle of the day. So, no, it’s not easy and all I want to do is sit here and cry, so if you don’t mind.”
“Understood.” Jonghyun shrugged and made his way to the door. “Oh, by the way, miraculously, the band I play for at the hospital? It was hired for your little shinding, so apparently I’ll be playing your death march into engaged bliss.”
Minho lifted his head. “What? Are you kidding me? How does she even know about you guys? It’s not like you are famous or actually any good.”
“I’ll contribute that highly blasphemous and highly erroneous answer to the numerous bottles of liquor you've consumed tonight, you sad, sad little man. I’ll let myself
out.”
“Jonghyun?”
The older man paused.
“How do I win this? How do I get what I want without disappointing everyone else?”
Jonghyun chuckled. “That’s something you’ll have to figure out, my friend.”
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Pairing: Minho/Onew side!Jonghyun/Key
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~5,725
Summary: Antonyms are sometimes complementary....
Notes: Okay, I so KNOW it's shorter than normal and I...WAIT...hear me out. It's just that I'm still writing the next chapter and I didn't want to..WAIT A MINUTE. PUT THE SHOE DOWN...I wanted to go ahead and post this...DON'T YOU THROW THAT AT ME, I'M WRITING! THE NEXT CHAPTER IS COMING! SOON!...kinda...
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It was quiet. Like hear all of your thoughts quiet, intercept sirens and cries for help quiet. Best friends have a sort of sensor. It kind of goes off, whines in your ear, buzzes around your head…something that lets you know that you are needed. He felt in down in his bones which was why he was sitting in the dark, staring at his front door, waiting.
And he wasn’t disappointed. At precisely 1:47 am, there was a small knock at the door, which was kind of ridiculous because the person on the other side had a key. If they wanted they could waltz right in, walk past him, sit on the couch and turn on the television as if it was the most natural thing to do. Granted, it would be natural-Kibum was here for Jinki, he always would be.
The knock repeated itself and Kibum sighed before he rose from the bar, walked across the room to his front door, and turned the lock. Jinki spun around quickly as if he were maybe in the process of walking away, his eyes wide and bloodshot.
“Ki-Kibum? You’re up! I, um…”
Kibum reached across the space and tugged Jinki into his arms. “Get in here you old fool,” he whispered.
Jinki looked down at the frosted etched tumbler filled with some kind of brown liquid. He didn’t know the name of it, never caught the label as Kibum pulled it down from over his fridge, and frankly he didn't care. His raised the glass to his lips and took a sip. It stung going down, which was okay and he wasn’t trying to throw a one man pity party but the burn of it lighting his chest on fire was numbing the pain in his heart.
Oh, god. He was going to throw a one man pity party.
“Does it taste good? It's an old Scottish rum, got it from my Dad.”
Jinki hummed into the glass. “Your Dad has terrible taste.”
“He wasn’t the best drinker, you know that.” Kibum glanced at Jinki. “Are you going to tell me or am I going to have to get you sloppy drunk and peel it out of you?”
“Kibum,” Jinki sighed. “I don’t need you to be pushy or nosey right now. I just…I don’t want to think.”
“Nosey, he says. I’ll have you know that me being the pragmatic one between the two of us isn’t my forte, but if you’re going to succumb to some void of vapid emotions, then I have no problem stepping up and using my logic. This is about Minho, isn’t it? ”
Jinki snorted. “Isn’t everything about Minho? This entire planet revolves around the need to satisfy every complexity of that man’s life. It’s like the heavens opened up to supply him with everything. He’s a blessing unto all of us.” He took another sip. ”I hate him.”
“That’s what I’m talking about! Feelings, Jinki. You’re so type A that you don’t see the logic in hating someone, so you don’t. You don’t see the logic in being mad, so you tell yourself that you aren’t. You’re like some diluted version of Spock and it has always worked so I didn’t say much. But you’re pissed off right now! Show it!” Kibum stood from his seat at the bar, impassioned and ridiculous. “What has that gargantuan fool done now? Tell me,” Kibum implored.
Jinki closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling nasally, as if his head wasn’t connected to the rest of his body. “He’s being opportunistic. He’s achieving his dreams. He’s spearheading a path for success. Pulling himself up by the bootstraps. He's a real go-getter.”
That deflated Kibum and Jinki laughed miserably. “I wouldn't say that being this depressed about Minho's achievements is exactly loving boyfriend material but…Beijing is a go isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“He’s going to marry Blaire.”
“Yes.”
“Oh,” Kibum said quietly. “B-but how does that make sense? I thought his father was just yapping in our ears because he seems like the type. You know, talk too mich about things he only knows half about. But.. you told me that he had feelings for you. You said that, right? That-”
“I said it felt like he had feelings for me. That he gets this really stupid look in his eyes when he’s talking to me and sometimes it feels like serendipity, you know? So I stacked it all together and that’s the equation I came up with. And I was wrong. I’m not worth the fight.”
Jinki felt his chair tilt a little bit when Kibum rushed him with his arms wide open. Next thing he knew, his head was crushed between two arms that were stronger than they looked and the soft cashmere sweater Kibum was wearing.
“Listen to me,” Kibum said as he lifted Jinki’s chin. “You are worth the fight. You are worth wars.”
Jinki felt his eyes prickling and his limbs felt heavy and it took everything for him not to collapse but Kibum held him up, he was the only thing holding him up.
‘You are worth wars.’
Somehow he fervently wished he believed Kibum’s words.
An hour later, Kibum’s house was occupied by two others. Taemin was over there in a dash, living only two floors below Kibum, but it took Jonghyun a half an hour to arrive. Taemin was stockpiling a cache of vanilla ice cream and bowls on the floor in front of Kibum’s flat screen when Jonghyun walked through the door. He had a look on his face where the corners of his lips were pulled down in a guilty sort of way but Jinki smiled up at him and he sort of relaxed. It wasn’t Jonghyun’s fault his best friend was an advantageous asshole.
The recommended dose of ice cream only cured broken hearts if combined with an antithesis for pain so some comedy splayed across the television had the other three laughing while Jinki followed the motions of amusement. Forty-five minutes into the movie, the four of them were tangled in some funky spider web of human limbs on the floor, three of them asleep, one of them wide awake and alone with his thoughts.
It had been a week since he’d confronted and walked Minho into a confession he obviously didn’t want to make-which pissed Jinki off because who the hell was he to delay the inevitable, especially with his mind made up? To try and take the power of Jinki walking away first away from him? ‘Well, Jinki mused internally, he failed.’
Since the bath, a lot had happened, none that could be contributed to a white flag from either side. Flowers were delivered to Jinki's job, lillies, a fact Minho had learned in secret because he'd never told the man. Countless messages were left on his voicemail, all deleted and all unplayed. The taller man even delved into an effort before his time-a mixtape of apologetic ballads, each with a message scribbled under the tracklist on the insert. The worst was “You Wouldn’t Answer My Calls” with a sad face at the end like his inspiration for being melodramatic via chicken scratch had been boiled down to just emojis. Pathetic.
The attempts didn’t matter and Jinki though that’s why it hurt more. It was one thing to suffer from plausible deniability; that there weren’t true feelings, that Jinki was just some weird experimentation into a skewed version of Minho’s sexuality. But Jinki, despite what he’d told Kibum, knew Minho felt something. It was tiny and maybe it had a impossibly dull flame but it was something and for that something to not be enough, even if it didn’t light up a whole room or a whole sky, really hurt. That Minho could stand to look him in the face, say he wanted him in his life, but not enough for him to fight for Jinki's place, hurt.
And not that he wanted Minho to be some kind of sacrificial martyr for their happiness but if Minho had to go down, he wanted to see him go down kicking and screaming, not with a frown and displaced complacency. Not with his hands tied behind his back and ear splitting silence. It wasn’t fair.
And he needed to tell him that. He needed to tell him that right now, even if it wouldn’t change a thing, even if it was complete waste of breath and explanation. Kibum was right. Things like this didn’t need to sit on his chest.
So quietly, he untangled himself from the human pile of support in the form of his friends and made his way to the door. As his hand wrapped around the handle, he heard a sleep sodden voice call out to him.
“You’re worth the war, Jinki. Remember that.”
He didn’t turn around but he was very very glad that he had Kibum in his life.
Minho stared at his phone. Then he glared at it. Then he frowned at it-he frowned at it as if it was the phone’s fault that all of his calls to Jinki’s cellphone had gone straight to voicemail. Three-hundred and twenty-two calls, straight to voicemail. Most people would have lost count after ten…maybe fifteen, but Minho counted them, kept a record as if he could use it in a court of law.
Look how much, look how hard I tried, your honor! Three hundred and twenty two percent of full throttled trying. All unanswered. I tried.
This was stupid. The position he was in was entirely born of fruitless stupidity. How did he even get himself in this situation? How had he allowed it to get this far gone? Free spirits were supposed to be flexible right? Gliding in and out of rigid things like practicality and logic. So why was he the victim of a situation so rod-iron and inescapable that his malleable brain couldn’t escape?
His eyes dipped past the glossy screen of his cellphone to the beige linen and rice paper invitation sitting on his coffee table-an invitation to an engagement party that he had a month to approve. He hadn’t even proposed to the woman and she was flying right ahead with wedding plans as if he was some sort of ornament in her life. His dad wasn’t any help, supplying her with all the information and approval he needed to shove his son right into a new aged arranged marriage. He thought he was going to be sick.
And this was the thing that pissed him off. The commission was fine. It was a year. He could have explained that to Jinki.
‘It’ll only be a year. A year and by the time I return, the museum will be financially stable, and my reputation will be solid enough for me to actually make a living off of my talents. Only a year and I’ll be back.’ is what he wanted to say.
A year had turned into eternal matrimony and vows that he didn’t want to keep. He thought of briefly on how cowardly he was being, how he thought of abandoning the museum and running off with Jinki. Or how he could save his father’s legacy and still have Jinki in his life. All of it was making his brain hurt.
The sound of a key being inserted, sliding back, jingling, and then sliding forward again broke him out of his self-loathing. Minho’s brows flew to his hairline and his thoughts registered. The door was being unlocked. Two people had a key and he was more than confident that Mr. Gong was not going to give a new person a tour of the apartment in the middle of the night. That left only one person. The smart thing to do would be to go to the door, open it, stand there, arms wide open and welcome Jinki back as if he never left, as foolhardy as that sounded but all he could do was stand there as the door creaked open and his heart walked through the threshold.
“Hi, honey. I’m home,” the older man said, sardonically, when he noticed Minho frozen in the living room.
“W-what are you doing here?”
Jinki’s lips rose in one corner, not really a smile as he took a few timid steps into the apartment. “I came to talk. That’s what grown people do when there is a problem, right? They talk.”
“But I’ve been trying to talk to you for an entire week and three o’clock in the morning is the time you randomly decide is a good time?”
“Yes,” Jinki said simply. He looked like he wanted to another step, but he lingered in the foyer with his hands stuck in his pockets.
“Look, I don’t have much to say and I’d worked up some sort of speech on the way here. Something about things being unfair and how I’ve done everything I was supposed to do and it kind of sucks because I think I’m used to this, you know? This lukewarm reaction to the total annihilation of my heart. But then I thought about that. If any of that really mattered, we wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with right? So I really came back to tell you I’m moving out earlier than I said. Kibum is going to let me crash so I can still pay the rent here, so you don’t have to worry about that-“
“Jinki.”
“-and until you move out, we can keep the utilities in my name, I don’t mind-“
“Jinki!”
“-and when I move my things out, you can, you know, get rid of the blue tape so you-“
“Lee Jinki!”
“Goddamn it, what!?” Jinki screamed, exasperated. “I’m making this easy for you! I’m giving you your freedom on a silver platter and you’re still not satisfied? God save the fucking queen, Minho! You’re getting, maybe not what you want, but what you need, handed right to you and isn’t that what you’ve been wanting all along? Aren’t your needs more important than your wants? Hasn’t that been the problem the entire time!?”
Minho tried to not be angry because he was in the wrong here. Jinki was stubborn and his stubbornness intensified exponentially when he was feeling things because Jinki was logical and not overwrought with emotions. But he couldn’t help it. He was angry, he was so mad, whether it was at himself or Jinki’s impractical talent at being un-empathetic. He rushed across the living room and cuffed his hand into Jinki’s shirt before shoving him up against the wall.
“Why don’t you ever listen to me? Listen to the things I don’t or can’t say? Why do I have to rip myself apart in order for you to understand me? It’s like you try to misunderstand me on purpose so you can feel like a victim.”
“That’s bullshit..”
“Well act like it then! If you didn’t understand it before, I’ll say it. I need you, Jinki. I need you and it won’t go away. I feel like I have been suffocating for the last week like someone has my head under a vat full of ice water, that breathing requires you and I can’t catch my breath. So don’t tell me that I’m sacrificing my wants for my needs when you won’t pick up the damn phone to talk to me.”
“So you’re sacrificing your ‘needs’ for what, other needs? That doesn’t make any fucking sense and you know it. I get it, okay? Maslow, there’s a-a hierarchy in place…security comes before emotional attachment. I get that, you don’t have to make me understand. I’m just telling you it hurts, Minho. It hurts.”
Minho’s face suddenly softened and all the anger drained at the seams and was instantly replaced by a compassion he could only feel when he was painting or with Jinki. “Tell me, okay?” Minho’s hand loosened on his grip of Jinki’s shirt and his other hand trailed down until it was kneading the soft flesh right under Jinki’s shirt. “Tell me so I can make it better.”
Jinki shook his head. “I can’t. I can’t be selfish.”
“Can I be?” Minho said in reply, laying his forehead against Jinki’s.
“Aren’t you always?” Jinki whispered, his eyes dipping to Minho’s lips and it was the first beam of light through Jinki’s rigid stubborn wall that Minho had seen in forever.
Minho caught it and the fire it set consumed him. “Damn it, Jinki.” He pressed forward, jamming his leg between Jinki’s and trapping him against the wall. His lips pressed kisses to throat, hungrily, as if he was starved for the man in front of him, that there was only Jinki who could sate his hunger. Jinki put his hands up against Minho’s chest and he could feel the slight resistance.
“Minho, don’t.” Jinki pushed his chin down, stopping Minho’s assault on his neck, although his hands were trembling at they clutched his shirt. “We can’t do this-“
“Be patient with me. Please,” Minho simpered, begging against Jinki’s cheek. “I want this...” He pulled back to look at Jinki’s face. “Please?”
“Minho,” Jinki sobbed as the taller’s hands played dangerously high on his thigh.
“Please?”
Jinki’s eyes focused for a second under the layer of lust as they landed on Minho. He gulped and Minho followed the action with his eyes.
“I need you, Jinki,” and Minho watched the last of his resolve wither away as Jinki’s body relaxed against his and his hands coming to land on Minho’s thick shoulders.
Moving, he palmed under Jinki’s thighs and hoisted him up, pleased when Jinki’s legs wrapped around his middle instinctively. His lips nipped along Jinki’s jaw as he blindly made his way to a bed, any bed. His room was closer so he shouldered his way passed the door and fell forward when his shin hit the frame. As they fell in a fluff of cologne and pure animal frenzy, Minho’s fingers began to claw at the button holding Jinki’s deep brown khaki’s up. Frustrated, he yanked hard and watched the button fly off into the sunset for all he cared before he shoved his hand past the hem of Jinki’s boxers.
Jinki choked on a gasp as Minho fisted him in his large hand, his movements frantic with need. There wasn’t any time for preparation-this wasn’t romantic, this was desire fueled insanity and he’d fed half of the monster by simply being in Jinki’s presence, being wanted back by Jinki in this moment. He didn’t have time to worry about anything but the feel of Jinki in his hands, the mewling sounds Jinki made as his eyes slammed shut, the knowledge that each shudder was bringing Jinki closer to climax. He wanted to give Jinki something, anything, even if it meant rutting against his thigh while he pulled Jinki into bliss.
Moments later, he felt Jinki spill over his hand, sticky and warm, and the gasp of release that tumbled between his lips was all it took for Minho to follow him, shuddering hard with his lips mumbling nonsense in Jinki’s ear. He collapsed shortly, his body overcome with physical ecstasy and his emotions sated in Jinki’s presence.
His body felt tired, as if he’d been holding all of his energy in a reservoir, simply waiting for this moment. He was so tired and as he felt Jinki’s arms wrap around him, Minho smiled.
“I love you, Jinki,” he whispered before he fell asleep.
Hours later when he finally felt his body waking up, he realized that he was shivering-an involuntary act that happened usually when you were cold. And he was. But as his eyes fluttered open, he realized he was shivering not only because he was cold but because he was scared and he felt a loneliness he’d never felt before in his life.
Jinki was gone.
“You’re at least going to let him finish the damn commission you made me call an ex-boyfriend for before you force him into this right? I’d hate for him to get paint on your wedding dress,” SoonYe muttered as she angrily scribbled her name on the bottom of a press release.
“I’m not heartless. Of course he's going to finish the commission. Matter of fact, him gaining notoriety is very beneficial to this marriage.”
SoonYe snorted. “How gracious of you to let him experience one last great thing before the old ball and chain.”
“Look here. I didn’t invite you here to give me a lecture on ethics. Sign the damn papers and leave if you’re so disappointed in me. We’ve discussed this. I’m doing this for his own good.”
“His own good?” SoonYe scoffed. “How in God’s name is this for his own-“
“I can provide for him,” Blaire said, exasperated, as if she was tired of explaining the same thing. “I saved the museum and I can offer him ten times more than that funky account exec of his could. Security is worth more than ridiculous insipid creations like feelings. He’ll get over it.”
“You sound like a broken record.”
SoonYe bent over to reach into an ostrich leather briefcase to withdraw a manila folder. Once laid flat on Blaire’s desk, SoonYe began to spread the papers. “We’ve got the go head to treat this as a diplomatic sort of adventure, an event that will broker ties with the Chinese Embassy of Culture. If this goes well, even if Minho ends up only doing a half decent job, the profit driven to the museum will be significant. But by signing this, you guarantee the future of this museum, not by your own merits, but by Minho’s. So essentially, you will no longer be the benefactor.”
Blair snorted. “It’s not like this was a money maker to begin with. I felt like being benevolent. None the less, I’ll be Minho’s wife, so the spoils still go to me in the end.” Blaire slid the paper across her desk and scratched her name at the bottom.
“Do you plan on telling the man or at least his father, that you are no longer the sole salvation to this museum, or is that going to be like a wedding gift?”
Blaire giggled. “Tell them? Now why would I do something stupid like that?”
SoonYe rolled her eyes. It wasn’t like she was surprised that Blaire was a ruthless, self-serving, megalomaniac. It was one of the things she loved about the woman. And Blaire was right-if it were a man in Blaire’s shoes, the disdain would be different…or wouldn’t be there at all. He’d be seen as taking charge, not as some shrew luring a naive man into a death trap of commitment. But she was a woman and SoonYe expected a touch of compassion that men sometimes lacked-to see past the bigger picture and to notice the smaller ones. But Blaire didn’t own rose tinted glasses, nor did she slow down enough to see anything except for her goal-to be self-made woman…a selfmade married woman. Minho looked damned good on her arm and he was cultured and well spoken and he’d never murdered anyone or anything like that and that served Blaire’s goals to the highest degree.
She just wished that Blaire could experience some of the love she and Minseok shared. Yes, he had an affinity for that Luhan kid (and so did she on occasion and sometimes they shared that affinity but that was neither here nor there) but the bottom line was they cared for each other and they’d willingly entered into their marriage wanting to be married to each other. But Blaire didn’t believe that love and happily ever after existed-not after SoonYe decided to be with someone other than her.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Blaire audibly gnashing her teeth. “Doesn’t that pocket protector wearing asshole ever get the hint?”
SoonYe’s forehead pinched and she looked over her shoulder. Her brow rose at the bravery.
Lee Jinki was standing at the front reception desk with his arms tucked under his chest, looking like he wanted to bolt from the place. She wondered why he was there because walking into the museum your boyfriend’s fiancée was known to frequent took a lot of balls and she had to applaud him. She also wanted to know why he looked like he hadn’t slept in days.
“I’ll go see what he wants. It’s probably nothing,” she said as she rose.
“It better be nothing. After today, he’s no longer welcomed here; I don’t care if it is a public place.”
Sighing, SoonYe rose from her seat, wanting to remind Blaire she didn’t own the museum but instead turned to open the glass door of Blaire’s office and strode out to the lobby.
“Mr. Lee?”
He spun around, surprised, and instantly SoonYe liked him. He most certainly didn’t fit the descript of someone who would catch Choi Minho’s eyes. His hair was combed to the side, a precise part keeping his short trimmed brown locks behind his ear. He wore a starch stiff button down shirt, white, and slate grey slacks. She glanced at his shoes, presentable, but they had a rubber sole, so she knew they weren’t quality. As she walked closer, he didn’t look defensive or scared, just shocked.
“How…how do you know my name?”
SoonYe winced. “A client of mine has used the services of your agency before,” she lied smoothly. “Is there anything I can help you with? The curator is not here at the moment,” and she looked at him pointedly, “and neither is his son.”
Lee Jinki was cute as a button as his mouth drew together to form a small ‘O’ and he stuffed his hands in his pockets. Silently, he pulled out a small silver key. “I, um, I’m Choi Minho’s roommate, and I forgot to give him the key before I moved out, so…yeah.”
SoonYe felt her brow rising again. “You moved out? I was under the impression that his lease wasn’t up for another month or so?”
“Well, he’s staying. I’m leaving. He knows why,” Jinki said sharply. His fingers rose to his lips as if he realized his tone and he bowed. “I-I’m sorry, it’s just that…it’s complicated, and soon, he won’t need a roommate. I heard he’s getting married.”
“Nothing’s been announced yet. However we are having a banquet to announce the engagement at the end of the month.”
If she hadn’t been looking, she wouldn’t have noticed the way Jinki’s shoulders sagged or the sad look that reflected in his eyes, but it was gone a split second later and SoonYe had to admire him. He hid his discomfort well. It was then, because Jinki was brave, that he exuded the type of bravery that she only saw once a blue moon, even if it was hidden behind the quiver of his voice or his audacity in the first place, that she decided that she was needed.
“Look, I don’t mean to be…presumptive, but I’m under the impression you’d rather not be there for this party?”
Jinki didn’t say anything, but his frown deepened.
“Yet, I have some news for you.” She took a step closer, crossing over a line of loyalty that’s she’d examine later. “By the time that party rolls around, Minho will be free of any obligations that bind him legally to this museum.”
“Excuse me? I don’t under-“
“Blaire knows, Mr. Lee-about you and Minho and what you do behind closed doors. She’s known for some time and if you don’t think this abrupt out of the blue rushed engagement isn’t her snarling at your feet like some territorial wolf, then you are not as smart as I took you for. My real question is…how far are you willing to go to keep what’s yours?”
She looked at him intensely, not understanding what compelled her, but feeling it all the same. She cuffed her hand around Jinki and sharply pulled him back out of the lobby. “I can help you, but you have to tell me that you want the help. Park & Park & Kim. That’s the lawfirm I work for. Ask for SoonYe.” She shoved him towards the door. “But whatever you do, don’t come back here.”
Jonghyun kicked Minho’s door. Then he kicked it again. Why? Because he knew the younger man was home. He was home and not answering the door even with him banging the damn thing off the frame. When he didn’t hear anyone coming to the door, he decided that he really was going to pull the door off the frame, but when his hand bent around the knob, it turned. Oh. It wasn’t locked.
He pushed and the door swung back to a very dark apartment, which was weird because it was like…six but whatever. Impulsively, he reached for the light switch and watched the light in the kitchen blink on.
“Oh, are you fucking kidding me dude?”
Minho was supine on the floor, unmoving. In his right hand was a green glass bottle of soju. By his feet where at least ten more bottles. Jonghyun peered into the trashcan in the corner of the kitchen. A few more bottles stuck out the top.
“You are pathetic.”
Minho made a whining noise in the back of his throat, but didn’t move.
“So you broke up with your boyfriend! It happens! You’re not going to die-“
“Yes, I am,” he said as his grip tightened on the bottle. He tried to lift it to drink, but most of it spilled across his face. “I’m going to die. I can feel it now, death’s loving hands wrapping around my throat and choking me.”
Jonghyun crossed the room and loomed over Minho. He was staring to the side, his head turned towards the now vacant side of the living room. There was a pool of tears resting in the corner of his eye and he was sniffling. “This is by far the saddest shit I’ve ever seen.” Jonghyun kicked a bare foot with his boot. “Get up, won’t you. And when you do, please shower.”
“Jonghyun, go away.”
“Oh, trust me, I am because you stink. But before I do, I wanted to get your side of the story. Kibum has been chewing my ear off and not because I’m delectable, which I should let you know, I am. But because you have become Public Enemy #1 and I have been charged with coming over here to teach you a lesson. I’m not sure what kind of lesson that blond fairy asshole is talking about and although you do look like the villain in the story, I still am your friend and my loyalty lies with you. Kibum got really mad when I said that and started making Star Trek references like you’re Spock and Uhara is mad at you and I’m supposed to come in here and say something stern but if you’re Spock and he’s Uhara, then Kibum has got to be Bones, and Taemin is Scotty so that automatically makes me Kirk and I run this damn ship-“ Jonghyun cut himself short when he heard Minho groan and turn his head away from him.
Frowning, he shifted so his legs were on either side of Minho and abruptly squatted, landing all of his weight on Minho’s chest. Minho’s oomped and Jonghyun smiled because he’d trapped Minho’s arms to his side and that left his face wide open for good round of stiff finger poking.
“Get the fuck off of me, you overgrown Lilliputian asshole!“
Jonghyun lifted just a tad and then dropped his weight again. “Ah! That’s the spirit. Ready to talk?”
“I’m going to kill you.”
“Okay, not ready to talk.” He took his time playing with Minho’s thick eyebrows, alternating on shoving one up and down at a time. “If you’re going to wallow in despair, which is kind of stupid to tell you because you did this to yourself, I told you to break up with the hag months ago, it’s obvious you don’t have a plan. You don’t have a plan do you?”
“I didn’t have a plan before and I don’t have one now. I was going to be a brat and say screw the museum, we can do bad all by ourselves-“
“We…can do bad all by ourselves?” Jonghyun said with a brow furrowed.
“It was a movie Jinki made me watch. It was rather enjoyable, actually. The black women in America are not only assertive in certain situations but also very beautifu-“
“Minho,” Jonghyun said lowly. “Concentrate.”
“Oh, right. But then Blaire drops this commission bullshit on me and my dad is acting like Jesus Christ has hand delivered his baby version to him in the form of my unholy matrimony and the only person I’ve said no to is Jinki. Because I’m an asshole.”
“Well, you paint for a living. It’s not like we expect you to be the greatest strategist.” Jonghyun surveyed him for a second before he lifted to standing. “But I’ll tell you this, it’s easier than you think. You either choose Blaire or you choose Jinki. Simple.”
“If it were that simple, I wouldn't be sitting in an half empty apartment. If it were that simple Jinki would actually talk to me. If it were that simple, when I told that goofy bastard I needed him, he would have stayed and helped me armor up. But no, he’s not here, he’s not picking up the phone and if that wasn’t embarrassing enough, he returned the key through my fucking receptionist and moved out in the middle of the day. So, no, it’s not easy and all I want to do is sit here and cry, so if you don’t mind.”
“Understood.” Jonghyun shrugged and made his way to the door. “Oh, by the way, miraculously, the band I play for at the hospital? It was hired for your little shinding, so apparently I’ll be playing your death march into engaged bliss.”
Minho lifted his head. “What? Are you kidding me? How does she even know about you guys? It’s not like you are famous or actually any good.”
“I’ll contribute that highly blasphemous and highly erroneous answer to the numerous bottles of liquor you've consumed tonight, you sad, sad little man. I’ll let myself
out.”
“Jonghyun?”
The older man paused.
“How do I win this? How do I get what I want without disappointing everyone else?”
Jonghyun chuckled. “That’s something you’ll have to figure out, my friend.”
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