Round 8: Only Dust Remains
Title: Only Dust Remains
Team: AU
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: EXO
Pairing: Xiumin/Lu Han
Summary: Lu Han and Minseok haven’t seen each other for a year.
Author's Note: I would highly recommend the song being your backdrop for this read. Terrible sorry about the rushed ending and thank you to S for getting me through this bumpy ride.
Prompt Used: Crush - Sofa
(“What do you want to do?” Minseok asks quietly, putting his palms up against the sun and Lu Han raises his hands too, lets them overlap with Minseok’s.
“I want to travel the world.”
Minseok laughs in a way that makes his back arch away from the thin blanket they’d spread over the concrete of the apartment complex’s roof, and he lets his fingers slot down between Lu Han’s even as he says, “Something less cliche, maybe?”
“Okay,” Lu Han says, curling his hands around Minseok’s fully and pulling them down to rest on his chest, and he turns his head to look at Minseok, “I want to travel the world with you.”
Minseok laughs again, but he blushes a little too.)
Lu Han smells exactly like he looks - fucking gross. It’s almost morning and he’s just finishing up his shift at the club. New York City lights aren’t nearly as pretty as everyone likes to sing about - they’re just nuisances he has to squint against as he makes his way to his dingy apartment. Climbing familiar stairs and avoiding familiar people, Lu Han keeps his head down until he gets to his door.
He greets the sunrise by drawing his curtains and knocking out for ten hours straight and then it’s the same fucking cycle all over again.
Objectively, he’s just another privileged kid who ran out on his trust fund in a desire to make it and break free - or something equally as stupid. At the time, it’d made sense. It had felt liberating. It had felt like he’d done something for every kid in America or just made a difference in a tiny, tiny way - just something, it’d felt like he’d done something. And, then, he’d met Minseok.
Minseok Kim, who spoke in slurred Korean when he got drunk and muttered things that sounded like curses (but he explained were just synonyms for beautiful, love, and forever) when they fucked. Minseok Kim, who thought Lu Han would take New York City by the collar and shake it up and make it listen. Minseok Kim, who thought Lu Han had the sweetest voice in the whole world.
Things change, dreams change and cities change. Minseok Kim stubbornly stayed the same.
You can talk shit all you want about corruption or whatever the fuck, he’d say, but only if you’ve actually given it your best. He’d pick up his worn copy of The Last Lecture and quote, brick walls are there for a reason, the brick walls are there to stop the people who don’t want it badly enough. He’d look smug, as if he’d driven ambition into Lu Han by sheer will. He’d kiss Lu Han sweet and slow and make him forget about his latest studio rejection, the latest record company executive telling him he just didn’t have the vibe they were looking for.
Whatever that vibe was and whether Lu Han had it became irrelevant eventually as Lu Han burned out. He ran out of the money he’d brought with him and going back home wasn’t an option - his parents had made that very clear. If he wanted to go back home, his mother had said over the phone when he’d finally become desperate enough to call, he better have exactly what he ran away for.
He caved and got a job - a cleaning position at a club. He climbed the ranks in a unglamorous fashion and eventually became the head of security. His job was to basically monitor the bouncers and the overall club, make sure everything ran smoothly. He made enough to make rent and keep himself fed. He’d gotten an offer to sing at open mic night, but he’d refused.
He doesn’t remember the last time he sang.
And, over the span of four years, he manages to work his way up to management position, fully furnish his dingy apartment, and lose the love of his life.
“Candy can’t make it tonight, boss,” Lin informs as she looks down at his clipboard and makes little notes.
“That’s fine,” Lu Han says, even as he cringes just a little. He knows why Candy can’t make it. She’s terrified of this creep who’s been stalking her and trying to find her home by following her back from the club. This isn’t the sort of club he’d like to be running, but beggars can’t be choosers and twenty four year old burnouts can’t be heroes.
“Well, okay. Let’s get this Christmas Eve party started,” she says, rolling her eyes at her ‘naughty’ santa outfit. Christmas, Lu Han thinks numbly, it’s almost Christmas. It’ll be the sixth one he’s spent without his family and the first one he’s spent without Minseok.
“You alright, boss?”
“Yes,” Lu Han answers absently as his mind tortures him with images of Minseok’s smile, Minseok’s soft voice, Minseok’s body spread across his bed and opening up for him - just for him. It’s almost Christmas and Lu Han has never felt this alone.
(Minseok loves it when Lu Han sings in Mandarin, says it feels like Lu Han is the most comfortable then. Lu Han thinks it’s strange how this guy he met on the stairs of their apartment complex a few months ago knows him better than his own family.
So, he sings.
He sings songs he used to hear his parents hum, songs he used to see them dance, too. They’re immigrants - despite coming from old money - and they’d always done their best to instill a level of cultural pride in Lu Han. Singing their favorite songs makes him feel like he’s with them.
He sings old songs, songs he dug up on Youtube and tried to learn how to play on the guitar.
He sings classic songs from classic movies, and Minseok’s favorite, Tian Mi Mi.
Lu Han sits perched on the window, foot planted on the frame of it and one hanging down inside. There’s an ashtray on the window sill under his bent leg and his latest cigarette is smushed into it. He strums his guitar and starts by humming, watching Minseok close his eyes and smile. He sways when Lu Han starts singing, working the familiar lyrics over a slower beat, making it sweeter.
By the time he finishes, Minseok is plucking the guitar out of Lu Han’s arms and kissing him. It’s you, he whispers in broken Mandarin, the one I see in my dreams.)
There’s an old couch in Lu Han’s apartment that’s out of place amidst the new, shiny furniture, but he can’t find the heart to throw it out. Back then, it’d been Minseok’s favorite place in the apartment. He’d curl up there to read a book or he’d sit there with his sketchpad and just scratch, scratch, scrape until the sun set. Sometimes, he’d get his wicked smile on his face and he’d sit Lu Han down on it and ride him. Sometimes, he’d just pull Lu Han down for a nap.
It was Minseok’s space and even after he left, Lu Han thinks it’s still his space. He doesn’t admit, at least not out loud, that he’s hoping one day Minseok will walk back in through that door and sit down on it, tilt his head and tell Lu Han to stop staring and come sit with him, please.
In the grand scheme of things, he knows Minseok will never come back.
It’s Saturday night and Lu Han just wishes it was Sunday morning already. The constant thump, thump, thump of the generic music is making his skin itch and he’s stopped about three bar fights already. It’s barely ten.
Rolling his neck and sigh, he leans back against the wall.
When he heads back in, he’s directed towards the VIP lounge by one of his workers. Some patron wants to meet him apparently. Lu Han snorts - his club isn’t exactly high class though it isn’t exactly seedy either. It’s just a club, a popular one among the gay crowd. That’s pretty much it.
When he knocks on the door and hears a muted, “Come in,” he’s not in the least prepared for what he’ll see. It’s Minseok and yet, it’s not.
It’s Minseok if Lu Han looks only at those wide, panicked eyes and those pale knuckles turning paler as Minseok squeezes his formerly folded hands together. It’s not Minseok if Lu Han looks at the smudged eye liner, the fitted, black suit, the long arm draped across his tense shoulders.
“Do come in, Mr. Lu Han,” the apparent patron says, dragging Lu Han’s attention away from Minseok. He’s handsome, in a muted sort of way, and he looks like he’s in his late thirties. He looks like he has no business touching Minseok. “I’m Hyungsik Yoon and this is my lovely boyfriend, Minseok Kim.”
Minseok resolutely avoids Lu Han’s eyes.
“Your boyfriend seems a bit skittish,” Lu Han says dryly and he doesn’t even know why he does that. Why he sounds like he’s accusing Minseok of something. Minseok is allowed to date as many rich, old fucks as he wants, technically. Technically, Lu Han is an ex-whatever. Technically, Minseok can stay snuggled up to Hyungsik Yoon’s side forever and Lu Han can’t say shit about it. Ideally, however, Lu Han thinks he should be allowed a little anger.
Minseok left him because he thought Lu Han was wasting his life and they had a fight about it every other night until one night Minseok just gave up. Just packed up his shit and left after telling Lu Han to get his shit together or nobody would ever put up with him - no matter how much they loved him.
And, Minseok loved him - as much as someone can love another person. And, Minseok still loves him, because when Lu Han scratches his wrist, his eyes automatically dart to Lu Han’s jean pocket as if expecting him to whip out a cigarette in a VIP lounge.
Minseok used to say Lu Han was an addict, but he was a worse addict because the taste of nicotine on Lu Han’s tongue always made him hard. Horny, Lu Han would counter, it makes you horny, you disgusting fuck. And, Minseok would always suck his cock good enough to make him lose all the laughter and teasing.
Hyungsik Yoon isn’t as dumb as Lu Han has hoped he’d be, because he’s frowning - looking between Minseok and Lu Han warily.
“Do you know him, babe?”
Lu Han snorts at the endearment (Minseok fucking hates pet names) and Hyungsik is glaring a little, now.
“No,” Minseok says just as Lu Han says, “A little.”
The visit is cut short as the patron starts asking Minseok questions he’s visibly reluctant about answering and Lu Han makes a display of giving them their privacy that earns him a sharp glare from Minseok.
Lu Han is smoking near the back door when Minseok finds him, silently making his way over and leaning back against the wall. He doesn’t say anything for a stretch of time that feels strangely comfortable despite Lu Han’s urge to kiss Minseok.
“Still smoking?”
“Like a chimney,” Lu Han says, grinning.
“I’d hoped you’d quit.”
“Well, I wanted to, but my boyfriend ditched me for greener pastures.”
“Fuck you, Lu Han,” he says tiredly and when Lu Han looks over, he has his eyes closed. It’s been a year and Minseok hasn’t changed. He can still tell whether Lu Han is trying to hurt him or just deflecting.
“Wish you would,” Lu Han says just for the sake of saying it and watches Minseok’s body tighten up before his sighs and opens his eyes. He steps away from the wall and looks at Lu Han with an indecipherable expression.
“Hyungsik knows someone who works at a record company. If you give him your-”
“No,” Lu Han says, “Fuck no.”
Minseok sighs again, does that thing where he projects heavy disappointment with just one look, and Lu Han feels like he’s eighteen again. He feels like he’s just told his parents to screw the full-ride to Yale because he wants to sing. It’s a nauseating feeling, awful and sticky, and his ears are ringing a little, his face feels flushed.
Later, when he goes back to his apartment and pretends Minseok reappearing in his life didn’t throw it completely out of balance, he sits down on the floor besides Minseok’s sofa. He smoothes a hand across the arm of it, the felt familiar and warm, and he imagines Minseok sitting in his space again. He lays his head against the arm and closes his eyes, imagines Minseok running a hand through his hair and rough day, huh?
He imagines going back to that night and making Minseok stay.
(Minseok likes to paint, but easels, brushes, and canvases are more expensive than sketch pads and Minseok is good at pretending he doesn’t like to paint if it saves them money. But, for his birthday, Lu Han manages to scrape together enough from his tips and some extra shifts at the club to buy him a four by four canvas and a brush. It’s small, but it makes Minseok tear up.
He paints using some leftover colors Lu Han had managed to swipe from some artist in the apartment complex next to theirs and he creates a landscape that’s far beyond the supplies he’s been given. An array of colors that deserve a way bigger canvas.
He gets paint all over him, on his forehead and nose and jaw, and Lu Han watches him work all night. Minseok looks beautiful and bright. Happy.
Lu Han thinks he’ll never get tired of looking at him.
Later, Minseok kisses him almost hesitantly, whispers, “I love you,” like he’s confessing to a murder. Lu Han says it right back, boldly and loudly - like a conviction.)
Lu Han doesn’t have friends, but he thinks Lin is almost there - an almost friend. She’s the only reason he speaks Mandarin nowadays. She knows he used to sing and she never pushes him to do it again. She’s neutral and constant, and Lu Han finds stability in that. When she speaks about her family, Lu Han lives vicariously through her - watches her face light up when she shares stories about them.
She’s also the one who looks slightly protective when Minseok comes by the club again.
“Didn’t you guys break up like a year ago?”
Yes, he thinks, but he still loves me. Even in his mind, it sounds stupid.
“We’re friends now.”
“His boyfriend created this huge scene last weekend and you came back from your little back door meeting looking like you’d been run over by a train. I’m sure you’re friends,” Lin says with a roll of eyes.
By the time Minseok makes his way over to the bar counter, Lin is heading back towards the staff rooms, muttering something possibly threatening.
“Hi,” Minseok says.
“Where’s the boyfriend?” Lu Han asks instead of being pleasant and nonchalant like Lin had hoped he would be, like he had thought he would be until his mouth opened and he realized he just wanted to twist Minseok up.
“With his wife, probably,” Minseok answers casually, sitting down on the bar stool. He smiles, then, in that awful way that always makes Lu Han forget everything.
“What are you doing here?”
“Fuck,” Minseok says with a grin, “You interrogate all your clients?”
Lu Han realizes his whole body has been tense and he tries to relax, tries to shift on his feet in a way that isn’t too noticeable.
“Just the ones who look like they’re trouble,” he says and Minseok’s grin falls just a fraction.
It’s a fun game, make some jabs at sensitive spots and watch each other flinch with some carefully placed words. Minseok doesn’t want to play, though, judging from the way he’s already looking ready to bolt. Lu Han thinks there should be a rule about people who walk out on you - something ensuring they won’t be able to just walk back in whenever they please. It’s been a year. It’s been a year and Lu Han still hasn’t thrown away Minseok’s sofa and Lu Han still strums his guitar sometimes, plays broken chords of Tian Mi Mi even though he can’t sing, won’t let himself sing.
It’s been a year and Minseok is sitting there making small talk like they’re fucking strangers.
“Lu Han,” he says, soft and sweet, “I just want to talk. Maybe try rekindling our friendship.”
“We were never friends,” Lu Han says, “I fucked you the night I saw you.”
Minseok keeps his smile firmly in place even though Lu Han notices the way his fingers curl around the counter’s edge until his knuckles turn white.
“I didn’t leave in the right way and I never gave you the right reasons. I want to be friends. I want to be a part of your life again in a positive way, Lu Han. You’ve been such an important person to me for so long and it just feels foolish to let things end poorly again.”
Lu Han spends a lot of time coming up with polite ways of saying fuck you and fuck off, but it all just comes down to, “I’d love that.”
Being friends with Minseok is easy, apparently. He’s got a nice place about half an hour away from the club. It’s small, but it’s clean and it’s in a nice enough part of the city. He has canvases littered all over the place and Lu Han bites his tongue from asking if fucking Hyungsik Yoon bought them. The bitterness of the thought, though, stays with him until Minseok shows him his room and there’s only one canvas there. It’s four by four and makes Lu Han grin all the way home.
Minseok makes the world’s best coffee and Lu Han says he’d give up cigarettes for one cup of it. Minseok calls him a fucking liar, but makes him a cup anyway. Minseok is taking some community college classes, now, started in the fall - right after he left Lu Han. He says he sold a few art pieces and has made a little name for himself, enough to get him through rent and all other necessities. He looks content and accomplished. All in one year away from Lu Han.
Lu Han doesn’t like meeting Minseok at the club and then taking the subway to his apartment. It feels like two different worlds. Even though he makes more than Minseok, he’s still stuck in the same place. He keeps asking himself why and his mind does its best to avoid the answer. He’d wanted to stay in the same place so Minseok could find him. He kept the sofa so Minseok could sit on it. He stayed in the same fucked up part of town in hopes he’d run into Minseok.
All the while, Minseok moved on and never looked back until his tool of a boyfriend wanted to be far away from his wife and kids and whatever social circles they all run in.
It’s an awful feeling, staying the same. Minseok wasn’t supposed to change.
(Minseok has been sketching Lu Han for a few hours, hissing sharply whenever Lu Han moves even slightly out of position, and it’s honestly tiring as fuck. He has a night shift he has to get to in a short while and he feels like he’s going to be stiff for most of it.
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Lu Han mutters.
“Well, you’ve got the type of face I want to draw. Considering yourself blessed.”
When Minseok finishes, grinning wide and stretching out his fingers, Lu Han thinks the wait was worth it. Minseok has made him look surreal, he’s transformed the couch he was laying across into this throne made of twigs and wires. He’s manipulated expressions and little nuances to make Lu Han look confident and powerful.
He looks-
“Beautiful, right?” Minseok says, shuffling close to kiss Lu Han’s cheek, “My muse.”
Lu Han pretends to shrug it off but he keeps the sketch and stares at it until all the lines blur. This must be, he thinks, what Minseok sees when he looks at Lu Han. Someone else entirely.)
Minseok takes Lu Han to the community college and subtly hints at some vocal training classes, some open mic nights at the student activities center. He smiles innocently when Lu Han tells him to fucking stop, please.
“I’m your friend, now. I can say anything I want without the need to spare your feelings.”
“Exactly how many friends have you had?” Lu Han asks, “Just ballpark it.”
Minseok just sticks his tongue out and makes Lu Han want to kiss him on his stupid, red mouth.
He walks into his apartment and Minseok is sitting on his sofa. Lu Han thinks you could cut this scene out and paste it between any scene from a year past and it’d blend right in.
“You kept this?” he asks, stroking the arm of the sofa, and Lu Han suddenly feels ashamed. There’s a reason he’d avoided Minseok coming over, a reason why they’d mostly just met at the club or at Minseok’s place. This is the reason - that trace of sadness in Minseok’s voice.
“I just,” he says, licking his lips nervously, “I just felt like a waste to throw it away,” and in an attempt to change the subject, he adds, “How did you get in?”
Minseok gets up and smiles, moving towards Lu Han.
“I kept the key.”
It’s nothing. It’s nothing - it’s just. Minseok could have just kept it by mistake, left it on his keychain and just forgotten about it, except. Except, he’s smiling and Minseok doesn’t forget and Minseok never does anything without a clear purpose.
“You kept it.”
Minseok’s eyes look suspiciously wet and his own are stinging.
“Lin says you’re an idiot and you’ll never fight to make me stay,” Minseok states softly, stopping a few breaths away from him, “She says I’m going to have to fight for the both of us. So, I sent your demo to Hyungsik’s friend last week and I’ve got an answer right here.”
He holds up an envelope and Lu Han’s heart is thundering painfully - threatening to beat right out of his chest.
“Whatever it says, at least you’ll have tried. And, that’s all I wanted. You to give it your best shot before calling it quits, because you’re allowed to quit, Lu Han. Just not after a few half-assed attempts at something you left your home for.”
He holds the envelope out and waits for Lu Han to take it into his shaky hands. The envelope is thin and Lu Han imagines tearing it in half. He’s scared. He’s so fucking scared he’d rather live with a maybe than a concrete yes or no. And, that’s always been the problem. That’s why Minseok left.
So, he breathes in and gathers up his courage. He opens the envelope and feels his whole body quack with anxiety as he slips a paper out.
He thinks he goes deaf and mute for a few minutes until the world comes ringing back into sound as Minseok holds him close and whispers, “You did it, Lu Han. You did it.”
Lu Han sings for millions on an average day, but at night - in bed - he sings for just one.
Your smile is so familiar to me. Where on earth have I seen you?
Poll
Team: AU
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: EXO
Pairing: Xiumin/Lu Han
Summary: Lu Han and Minseok haven’t seen each other for a year.
Author's Note: I would highly recommend the song being your backdrop for this read. Terrible sorry about the rushed ending and thank you to S for getting me through this bumpy ride.
Prompt Used: Crush - Sofa
(“What do you want to do?” Minseok asks quietly, putting his palms up against the sun and Lu Han raises his hands too, lets them overlap with Minseok’s.
“I want to travel the world.”
Minseok laughs in a way that makes his back arch away from the thin blanket they’d spread over the concrete of the apartment complex’s roof, and he lets his fingers slot down between Lu Han’s even as he says, “Something less cliche, maybe?”
“Okay,” Lu Han says, curling his hands around Minseok’s fully and pulling them down to rest on his chest, and he turns his head to look at Minseok, “I want to travel the world with you.”
Minseok laughs again, but he blushes a little too.)
Lu Han smells exactly like he looks - fucking gross. It’s almost morning and he’s just finishing up his shift at the club. New York City lights aren’t nearly as pretty as everyone likes to sing about - they’re just nuisances he has to squint against as he makes his way to his dingy apartment. Climbing familiar stairs and avoiding familiar people, Lu Han keeps his head down until he gets to his door.
He greets the sunrise by drawing his curtains and knocking out for ten hours straight and then it’s the same fucking cycle all over again.
Objectively, he’s just another privileged kid who ran out on his trust fund in a desire to make it and break free - or something equally as stupid. At the time, it’d made sense. It had felt liberating. It had felt like he’d done something for every kid in America or just made a difference in a tiny, tiny way - just something, it’d felt like he’d done something. And, then, he’d met Minseok.
Minseok Kim, who spoke in slurred Korean when he got drunk and muttered things that sounded like curses (but he explained were just synonyms for beautiful, love, and forever) when they fucked. Minseok Kim, who thought Lu Han would take New York City by the collar and shake it up and make it listen. Minseok Kim, who thought Lu Han had the sweetest voice in the whole world.
Things change, dreams change and cities change. Minseok Kim stubbornly stayed the same.
You can talk shit all you want about corruption or whatever the fuck, he’d say, but only if you’ve actually given it your best. He’d pick up his worn copy of The Last Lecture and quote, brick walls are there for a reason, the brick walls are there to stop the people who don’t want it badly enough. He’d look smug, as if he’d driven ambition into Lu Han by sheer will. He’d kiss Lu Han sweet and slow and make him forget about his latest studio rejection, the latest record company executive telling him he just didn’t have the vibe they were looking for.
Whatever that vibe was and whether Lu Han had it became irrelevant eventually as Lu Han burned out. He ran out of the money he’d brought with him and going back home wasn’t an option - his parents had made that very clear. If he wanted to go back home, his mother had said over the phone when he’d finally become desperate enough to call, he better have exactly what he ran away for.
He caved and got a job - a cleaning position at a club. He climbed the ranks in a unglamorous fashion and eventually became the head of security. His job was to basically monitor the bouncers and the overall club, make sure everything ran smoothly. He made enough to make rent and keep himself fed. He’d gotten an offer to sing at open mic night, but he’d refused.
He doesn’t remember the last time he sang.
And, over the span of four years, he manages to work his way up to management position, fully furnish his dingy apartment, and lose the love of his life.
“Candy can’t make it tonight, boss,” Lin informs as she looks down at his clipboard and makes little notes.
“That’s fine,” Lu Han says, even as he cringes just a little. He knows why Candy can’t make it. She’s terrified of this creep who’s been stalking her and trying to find her home by following her back from the club. This isn’t the sort of club he’d like to be running, but beggars can’t be choosers and twenty four year old burnouts can’t be heroes.
“Well, okay. Let’s get this Christmas Eve party started,” she says, rolling her eyes at her ‘naughty’ santa outfit. Christmas, Lu Han thinks numbly, it’s almost Christmas. It’ll be the sixth one he’s spent without his family and the first one he’s spent without Minseok.
“You alright, boss?”
“Yes,” Lu Han answers absently as his mind tortures him with images of Minseok’s smile, Minseok’s soft voice, Minseok’s body spread across his bed and opening up for him - just for him. It’s almost Christmas and Lu Han has never felt this alone.
(Minseok loves it when Lu Han sings in Mandarin, says it feels like Lu Han is the most comfortable then. Lu Han thinks it’s strange how this guy he met on the stairs of their apartment complex a few months ago knows him better than his own family.
So, he sings.
He sings songs he used to hear his parents hum, songs he used to see them dance, too. They’re immigrants - despite coming from old money - and they’d always done their best to instill a level of cultural pride in Lu Han. Singing their favorite songs makes him feel like he’s with them.
He sings old songs, songs he dug up on Youtube and tried to learn how to play on the guitar.
He sings classic songs from classic movies, and Minseok’s favorite, Tian Mi Mi.
Lu Han sits perched on the window, foot planted on the frame of it and one hanging down inside. There’s an ashtray on the window sill under his bent leg and his latest cigarette is smushed into it. He strums his guitar and starts by humming, watching Minseok close his eyes and smile. He sways when Lu Han starts singing, working the familiar lyrics over a slower beat, making it sweeter.
By the time he finishes, Minseok is plucking the guitar out of Lu Han’s arms and kissing him. It’s you, he whispers in broken Mandarin, the one I see in my dreams.)
There’s an old couch in Lu Han’s apartment that’s out of place amidst the new, shiny furniture, but he can’t find the heart to throw it out. Back then, it’d been Minseok’s favorite place in the apartment. He’d curl up there to read a book or he’d sit there with his sketchpad and just scratch, scratch, scrape until the sun set. Sometimes, he’d get his wicked smile on his face and he’d sit Lu Han down on it and ride him. Sometimes, he’d just pull Lu Han down for a nap.
It was Minseok’s space and even after he left, Lu Han thinks it’s still his space. He doesn’t admit, at least not out loud, that he’s hoping one day Minseok will walk back in through that door and sit down on it, tilt his head and tell Lu Han to stop staring and come sit with him, please.
In the grand scheme of things, he knows Minseok will never come back.
It’s Saturday night and Lu Han just wishes it was Sunday morning already. The constant thump, thump, thump of the generic music is making his skin itch and he’s stopped about three bar fights already. It’s barely ten.
Rolling his neck and sigh, he leans back against the wall.
When he heads back in, he’s directed towards the VIP lounge by one of his workers. Some patron wants to meet him apparently. Lu Han snorts - his club isn’t exactly high class though it isn’t exactly seedy either. It’s just a club, a popular one among the gay crowd. That’s pretty much it.
When he knocks on the door and hears a muted, “Come in,” he’s not in the least prepared for what he’ll see. It’s Minseok and yet, it’s not.
It’s Minseok if Lu Han looks only at those wide, panicked eyes and those pale knuckles turning paler as Minseok squeezes his formerly folded hands together. It’s not Minseok if Lu Han looks at the smudged eye liner, the fitted, black suit, the long arm draped across his tense shoulders.
“Do come in, Mr. Lu Han,” the apparent patron says, dragging Lu Han’s attention away from Minseok. He’s handsome, in a muted sort of way, and he looks like he’s in his late thirties. He looks like he has no business touching Minseok. “I’m Hyungsik Yoon and this is my lovely boyfriend, Minseok Kim.”
Minseok resolutely avoids Lu Han’s eyes.
“Your boyfriend seems a bit skittish,” Lu Han says dryly and he doesn’t even know why he does that. Why he sounds like he’s accusing Minseok of something. Minseok is allowed to date as many rich, old fucks as he wants, technically. Technically, Lu Han is an ex-whatever. Technically, Minseok can stay snuggled up to Hyungsik Yoon’s side forever and Lu Han can’t say shit about it. Ideally, however, Lu Han thinks he should be allowed a little anger.
Minseok left him because he thought Lu Han was wasting his life and they had a fight about it every other night until one night Minseok just gave up. Just packed up his shit and left after telling Lu Han to get his shit together or nobody would ever put up with him - no matter how much they loved him.
And, Minseok loved him - as much as someone can love another person. And, Minseok still loves him, because when Lu Han scratches his wrist, his eyes automatically dart to Lu Han’s jean pocket as if expecting him to whip out a cigarette in a VIP lounge.
Minseok used to say Lu Han was an addict, but he was a worse addict because the taste of nicotine on Lu Han’s tongue always made him hard. Horny, Lu Han would counter, it makes you horny, you disgusting fuck. And, Minseok would always suck his cock good enough to make him lose all the laughter and teasing.
Hyungsik Yoon isn’t as dumb as Lu Han has hoped he’d be, because he’s frowning - looking between Minseok and Lu Han warily.
“Do you know him, babe?”
Lu Han snorts at the endearment (Minseok fucking hates pet names) and Hyungsik is glaring a little, now.
“No,” Minseok says just as Lu Han says, “A little.”
The visit is cut short as the patron starts asking Minseok questions he’s visibly reluctant about answering and Lu Han makes a display of giving them their privacy that earns him a sharp glare from Minseok.
Lu Han is smoking near the back door when Minseok finds him, silently making his way over and leaning back against the wall. He doesn’t say anything for a stretch of time that feels strangely comfortable despite Lu Han’s urge to kiss Minseok.
“Still smoking?”
“Like a chimney,” Lu Han says, grinning.
“I’d hoped you’d quit.”
“Well, I wanted to, but my boyfriend ditched me for greener pastures.”
“Fuck you, Lu Han,” he says tiredly and when Lu Han looks over, he has his eyes closed. It’s been a year and Minseok hasn’t changed. He can still tell whether Lu Han is trying to hurt him or just deflecting.
“Wish you would,” Lu Han says just for the sake of saying it and watches Minseok’s body tighten up before his sighs and opens his eyes. He steps away from the wall and looks at Lu Han with an indecipherable expression.
“Hyungsik knows someone who works at a record company. If you give him your-”
“No,” Lu Han says, “Fuck no.”
Minseok sighs again, does that thing where he projects heavy disappointment with just one look, and Lu Han feels like he’s eighteen again. He feels like he’s just told his parents to screw the full-ride to Yale because he wants to sing. It’s a nauseating feeling, awful and sticky, and his ears are ringing a little, his face feels flushed.
Later, when he goes back to his apartment and pretends Minseok reappearing in his life didn’t throw it completely out of balance, he sits down on the floor besides Minseok’s sofa. He smoothes a hand across the arm of it, the felt familiar and warm, and he imagines Minseok sitting in his space again. He lays his head against the arm and closes his eyes, imagines Minseok running a hand through his hair and rough day, huh?
He imagines going back to that night and making Minseok stay.
(Minseok likes to paint, but easels, brushes, and canvases are more expensive than sketch pads and Minseok is good at pretending he doesn’t like to paint if it saves them money. But, for his birthday, Lu Han manages to scrape together enough from his tips and some extra shifts at the club to buy him a four by four canvas and a brush. It’s small, but it makes Minseok tear up.
He paints using some leftover colors Lu Han had managed to swipe from some artist in the apartment complex next to theirs and he creates a landscape that’s far beyond the supplies he’s been given. An array of colors that deserve a way bigger canvas.
He gets paint all over him, on his forehead and nose and jaw, and Lu Han watches him work all night. Minseok looks beautiful and bright. Happy.
Lu Han thinks he’ll never get tired of looking at him.
Later, Minseok kisses him almost hesitantly, whispers, “I love you,” like he’s confessing to a murder. Lu Han says it right back, boldly and loudly - like a conviction.)
Lu Han doesn’t have friends, but he thinks Lin is almost there - an almost friend. She’s the only reason he speaks Mandarin nowadays. She knows he used to sing and she never pushes him to do it again. She’s neutral and constant, and Lu Han finds stability in that. When she speaks about her family, Lu Han lives vicariously through her - watches her face light up when she shares stories about them.
She’s also the one who looks slightly protective when Minseok comes by the club again.
“Didn’t you guys break up like a year ago?”
Yes, he thinks, but he still loves me. Even in his mind, it sounds stupid.
“We’re friends now.”
“His boyfriend created this huge scene last weekend and you came back from your little back door meeting looking like you’d been run over by a train. I’m sure you’re friends,” Lin says with a roll of eyes.
By the time Minseok makes his way over to the bar counter, Lin is heading back towards the staff rooms, muttering something possibly threatening.
“Hi,” Minseok says.
“Where’s the boyfriend?” Lu Han asks instead of being pleasant and nonchalant like Lin had hoped he would be, like he had thought he would be until his mouth opened and he realized he just wanted to twist Minseok up.
“With his wife, probably,” Minseok answers casually, sitting down on the bar stool. He smiles, then, in that awful way that always makes Lu Han forget everything.
“What are you doing here?”
“Fuck,” Minseok says with a grin, “You interrogate all your clients?”
Lu Han realizes his whole body has been tense and he tries to relax, tries to shift on his feet in a way that isn’t too noticeable.
“Just the ones who look like they’re trouble,” he says and Minseok’s grin falls just a fraction.
It’s a fun game, make some jabs at sensitive spots and watch each other flinch with some carefully placed words. Minseok doesn’t want to play, though, judging from the way he’s already looking ready to bolt. Lu Han thinks there should be a rule about people who walk out on you - something ensuring they won’t be able to just walk back in whenever they please. It’s been a year. It’s been a year and Lu Han still hasn’t thrown away Minseok’s sofa and Lu Han still strums his guitar sometimes, plays broken chords of Tian Mi Mi even though he can’t sing, won’t let himself sing.
It’s been a year and Minseok is sitting there making small talk like they’re fucking strangers.
“Lu Han,” he says, soft and sweet, “I just want to talk. Maybe try rekindling our friendship.”
“We were never friends,” Lu Han says, “I fucked you the night I saw you.”
Minseok keeps his smile firmly in place even though Lu Han notices the way his fingers curl around the counter’s edge until his knuckles turn white.
“I didn’t leave in the right way and I never gave you the right reasons. I want to be friends. I want to be a part of your life again in a positive way, Lu Han. You’ve been such an important person to me for so long and it just feels foolish to let things end poorly again.”
Lu Han spends a lot of time coming up with polite ways of saying fuck you and fuck off, but it all just comes down to, “I’d love that.”
Being friends with Minseok is easy, apparently. He’s got a nice place about half an hour away from the club. It’s small, but it’s clean and it’s in a nice enough part of the city. He has canvases littered all over the place and Lu Han bites his tongue from asking if fucking Hyungsik Yoon bought them. The bitterness of the thought, though, stays with him until Minseok shows him his room and there’s only one canvas there. It’s four by four and makes Lu Han grin all the way home.
Minseok makes the world’s best coffee and Lu Han says he’d give up cigarettes for one cup of it. Minseok calls him a fucking liar, but makes him a cup anyway. Minseok is taking some community college classes, now, started in the fall - right after he left Lu Han. He says he sold a few art pieces and has made a little name for himself, enough to get him through rent and all other necessities. He looks content and accomplished. All in one year away from Lu Han.
Lu Han doesn’t like meeting Minseok at the club and then taking the subway to his apartment. It feels like two different worlds. Even though he makes more than Minseok, he’s still stuck in the same place. He keeps asking himself why and his mind does its best to avoid the answer. He’d wanted to stay in the same place so Minseok could find him. He kept the sofa so Minseok could sit on it. He stayed in the same fucked up part of town in hopes he’d run into Minseok.
All the while, Minseok moved on and never looked back until his tool of a boyfriend wanted to be far away from his wife and kids and whatever social circles they all run in.
It’s an awful feeling, staying the same. Minseok wasn’t supposed to change.
(Minseok has been sketching Lu Han for a few hours, hissing sharply whenever Lu Han moves even slightly out of position, and it’s honestly tiring as fuck. He has a night shift he has to get to in a short while and he feels like he’s going to be stiff for most of it.
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Lu Han mutters.
“Well, you’ve got the type of face I want to draw. Considering yourself blessed.”
When Minseok finishes, grinning wide and stretching out his fingers, Lu Han thinks the wait was worth it. Minseok has made him look surreal, he’s transformed the couch he was laying across into this throne made of twigs and wires. He’s manipulated expressions and little nuances to make Lu Han look confident and powerful.
He looks-
“Beautiful, right?” Minseok says, shuffling close to kiss Lu Han’s cheek, “My muse.”
Lu Han pretends to shrug it off but he keeps the sketch and stares at it until all the lines blur. This must be, he thinks, what Minseok sees when he looks at Lu Han. Someone else entirely.)
Minseok takes Lu Han to the community college and subtly hints at some vocal training classes, some open mic nights at the student activities center. He smiles innocently when Lu Han tells him to fucking stop, please.
“I’m your friend, now. I can say anything I want without the need to spare your feelings.”
“Exactly how many friends have you had?” Lu Han asks, “Just ballpark it.”
Minseok just sticks his tongue out and makes Lu Han want to kiss him on his stupid, red mouth.
He walks into his apartment and Minseok is sitting on his sofa. Lu Han thinks you could cut this scene out and paste it between any scene from a year past and it’d blend right in.
“You kept this?” he asks, stroking the arm of the sofa, and Lu Han suddenly feels ashamed. There’s a reason he’d avoided Minseok coming over, a reason why they’d mostly just met at the club or at Minseok’s place. This is the reason - that trace of sadness in Minseok’s voice.
“I just,” he says, licking his lips nervously, “I just felt like a waste to throw it away,” and in an attempt to change the subject, he adds, “How did you get in?”
Minseok gets up and smiles, moving towards Lu Han.
“I kept the key.”
It’s nothing. It’s nothing - it’s just. Minseok could have just kept it by mistake, left it on his keychain and just forgotten about it, except. Except, he’s smiling and Minseok doesn’t forget and Minseok never does anything without a clear purpose.
“You kept it.”
Minseok’s eyes look suspiciously wet and his own are stinging.
“Lin says you’re an idiot and you’ll never fight to make me stay,” Minseok states softly, stopping a few breaths away from him, “She says I’m going to have to fight for the both of us. So, I sent your demo to Hyungsik’s friend last week and I’ve got an answer right here.”
He holds up an envelope and Lu Han’s heart is thundering painfully - threatening to beat right out of his chest.
“Whatever it says, at least you’ll have tried. And, that’s all I wanted. You to give it your best shot before calling it quits, because you’re allowed to quit, Lu Han. Just not after a few half-assed attempts at something you left your home for.”
He holds the envelope out and waits for Lu Han to take it into his shaky hands. The envelope is thin and Lu Han imagines tearing it in half. He’s scared. He’s so fucking scared he’d rather live with a maybe than a concrete yes or no. And, that’s always been the problem. That’s why Minseok left.
So, he breathes in and gathers up his courage. He opens the envelope and feels his whole body quack with anxiety as he slips a paper out.
He thinks he goes deaf and mute for a few minutes until the world comes ringing back into sound as Minseok holds him close and whispers, “You did it, Lu Han. You did it.”
Lu Han sings for millions on an average day, but at night - in bed - he sings for just one.
Your smile is so familiar to me. Where on earth have I seen you?
Poll