What Was Lost [part 2]

[mikssi]

Title: What Was Lost
Pairing: Onho
Length: 20,214 words
Rating: PG-15/R
Genre: au, fluff, angst
Summary: (Sequel to No Words Spared) Intervening that day on the bridge was a decision Jinki would never regret.


Jinki woke to the sensation of warm lips pressing to the skin of his neck and his first instinct was to arch his neck to allow easier access. His eyes remained shut, too heavy to even attempt to open, body solid and unmoving, the lasting effects of too-little sleep.

"Morning," Minho said lowly, voice gruff, mouth vibrating on sensitive skin.

Jinki gave a halfhearted hum in response, forcing his static limbs to shift so he could move closer.

Soft, moist lips trailed down his neck and over the bit of his collarbone exposed by his loose shirt, warm hand sliding up his chest to push it aside.

There were already goosebumps on Jinki's skin; he didn't exactly follow what was happening in his sleepy stupor, but he bent in any way he could to allow more of it.

His eyes slowly cracked open and he felt a welcome shiver down his spine when Minho's teeth scraped lightly over the skin of his collarbone, hands sluggishly moving to grab onto the younger's shoulders.

Minho backed away at the contact, looking into Jinki's bleary eyes with inky black ones still swimming with affection.

Jinki smiled at him lightly; he considered asking what was the occasion to be awoken like this, but he decided he was too content in his place to bother reaching for his pen and pad of notes, and on top of that, he didn't really care the reason, only that it was happening.

Minho half-smiled before he dipped down to his ear, teeth gently catching the lobe with the effect of making Jinki tremble all over. "You're still half-asleep, aren't you?"

Jinki grinned and unashamedly nodded, barely conscious enough to register the question.

The younger pressed his mouth to the hollow beneath his ear and slowly dragged his lips down his jaw, each touch deliberate, body moving to hover over Jinki, knee sliding between his thighs.

His eyes shut and his mouth parted around a heavy breath.

"I'll wake you up, hyung," Minho said with a mischievous smile in his voice, crawling backwards and ducking under the sheets.

Minho kissed a spent Jinki tenderly on the forehead, leaning over the older's side of the bed so he could push his damp hair away from his skin.

Jinki blinked blearily up at him. He was already tired from the restlessness the night before, and a flurry of everything escalating so quickly that morning only amplified it. He wasn't sure how things had moved along so fast, but he'd been fully conscious by the time Minho's mouth was around him and his spine was bowing off the bed in ecstasy; the next thing he knew, he was tugging an unsuspecting Minho to his mouth by his hair and simultaneously grappling for their bottle of lubricant from the bedside table drawer.

Which in effect lead them here, to Minho's lackadaisical attempt to get ready, hair still wet from his hasty shower, clothes basic in comparison to usual.

"Try to get some rest, hyung," he whispered against his cheek, breath minty from just having brushed his teeth. "You were tossing and turning all night."

Jinki smiled weakly, pushing up on his elbows and ignoring the sharp twinge in his spine-he knew he'd be sore later from bottoming twice in a row-so he could see Minho properly.

"I'll be back later." Minho bent down to touch his lips to Jinki's lightly. "I love you."

The older nodded and craned forward to peck his mouth once more before the younger straightened, simply for the sake of the smile that spread from ear to ear when he did.

"Bye, Minho. I love you," Jinki strained his voice to say loudly enough for the younger to hear him.

Minho froze with one hand on the bedroom's doorknob. When he glanced back, the smile he wore put the sun itself to shame.

This time around, the physically exhausted Jinki slept like a rock. When he woke, it was hours later, feeling refreshed despite the dried layer of sweat on his skin and desperate need to change the bed sheets.

He slid off the side of the bed and scratched at an irritating itch at the side of his head, a yawn sneaking up his windpipe.

He tugged the blanket off the bed and went right to changing the sheets; he would've felt his usual sense of embarrassment at seeing the crumpled mess they were, but he was distracted by the nagging feeling that he had something important to do today.

Jinki froze in a kneeling position as he tucked the fourth corner of the fitted sheet under the mattress.

He hung his head.

Right.

He was supposed to explain his accident to Minho today.

A heavy sigh left his mouth and a feeling of dread set over him.

He didn't want to talk about (Well, write about in this case. Considering how long a story it was, he knew his vocal cords didn't stand a chance) the accident, or the haze of utmost misery that defined his early twenties. He didn't want to think about it. He considered himself finished with it long before, and the bitter memories weren't something that he wanted to include in this new chapter, his life with Minho.

But as much as he wanted to forget about it all, it was part of who he was. A Jinki of a distant past would've told him to accept every part of himself, to share himself wholeheartedly with the person he loved. A Jinki of the past would have smiled ear to ear and given a hearty laugh to punctuate some sort of corny pun or a line from some obscure musical he'd seen as a teen.

Now, he was an older and far less optimistic Jinki, a Jinki who was resurrected in the form of jagged fragments, picked up and pieced together, jigsaw pieces still missing, stitched wounds still healing and portions molding rightly into one complete person. A Jinki without a promising future in his passion, but one who was nevertheless purely content in his position. A Jinki who'd met the love of his life and wasn't keen on letting him go anytime soon.

A Jinki who owed that man the full story.

With another sigh, he finished making the bed, pillows fluffed on his side and Minho's, striped comforter lying flat and neat.

He decided he would shower first, let the memories resurface, give him time to put them in order and think the whole thing over. He would shower so the inevitable tears could be washed down the drain, and then begin writing everything out.

The front door opened when Jinki was in the middle of stirring a pot of specialty ramyeon (he learned his strengths and weaknesses in cooking that he'd never known before in the days he spent alone at Minho's place, strengths including simple ramyeon and eggs and carefully chopped vegetables, weaknesses being not running the risk of starting a fire at least once if he wasn't paying attention) and he smiled, albeit weakly.

"I'm home," Minho called, voice accompanied with the sound of his jacket rustling as he shrugged it off.

Jinki didn't leave the pot unattended despite wanting to greet Minho. Leaving cookware alone was the highest risk in the kitchen, he'd learned the hard way.

"I'm home, hyung," the younger said, voice at a normal tone this time when he discovered him in the kitchen.

Jinki intended to turn with a grin and a "welcome home," but he didn't have the chance to before arms were folded around his shoulders and a warm body was swaying his side to side.

"I'm home," Minho said for a third time, lowly singing it this time, smile prominent in his voice.

The older lifted his hand to touch Minho's forearm affectionately. "You're home," he said with a smile, and couldn't help but wince when he heard his voice crack.

"You're not making much." Minho noticed, inspecting his pot of noodles. "Did you already eat?"

Jinki shook his head. "Not very hungry," he said, more quietly this time to minimize the ugly sound of his strained voice.

Minho pulled back and stepped sideways to look at Jinki's face properly, brow etched with concern. "Are you all right? Your eyes are red. And your cheeks." He frowned and extended his hand to gently touch his still-blotchy cheek.

The older nodded but didn't turn to look at him fully. He was already self-conscious that his face was still red and puffy from the uncontrollable amounts of tears he'd shed while recounting the entire incident of his past on paper, and though the fact that Minho truly noticed warmed his heart, he wished he'd pretended not to.

Realization clicked in Minho's eyes and he instantly went rigid. "Did you...? I mean, were you-"

Jinki bit his lip and his hand went still stirring the noodles. He stared blankly at the contents; he could feel himself starting to tremble, hot tears gathering behind his eyes.

Minho placed a hand on his arm and turned him around, wasting no time to wrap his arms around Jinki's shoulders and coax his head to lie down on his own shoulder.

The older couldn't stop himself from complying, hands fisting in Minho's shirt, frame trembling as he tried to hold back more tears.

"Shh, shh..." Minho whispered, running his fingers comfortingly through his hair and resting his palm on the back of his neck.

Jinki swallowed thickly and burrowed further into the side of his neck. The page of notebook paper on the dining table had taken every ounce of energy from him, emotionally and physically; everything. Now, he didn't want Minho to read it, didn't want to be there while Minho read it. He wanted to sit down on the younger's couch and settle into his side, drape a blanket over both of them, listen to Minho tell him that it was all going to be okay, whisper again and again that he loved him and make promises that he wouldn't let anything hurt him.

But no, there were still words that needed to be read, things that Minho still needed to understand.

"It's on the table," Jinki whispered. "The paper is." With those words, his voice gave out and the next ones he attempted came in the form of a hoarse breath.

Minho pulled away again, eyes soft. "Do you want me to read it right now?" he asked, voice quiet and sympathetic.

Jinki nodded, blinking away the wetness that'd pooled in his eyes.

The younger did the same in return, and before he let go of Jinki's shoulders to sit at the table, he leaned in to brush a kiss to the tip of Jinki's red nose, the apples of both of his cheeks, and finally his lips.

Jinki remained at the stove, now stirring numbly. He didn't watch the scene, but he was aware of Minho's every move, hearing hypersensitive to the sound of the notebook paper being unfolded and Minho's steps from the table to the couch.

He wondered how fast Minho could read his handwriting after years of practice, how simple it would be for him to read even the messiest sections where his hand was uncontrollably shaking. He'd read his handwriting at its worst over the years, whether it was from cold, emotion, or awkward positioning of his wrist from pen-to-pad.

He took advantage of the momentary distraction to allow the affection he felt toward Minho to come forefront. Not every couple could distinguish mood just from handwriting, but one lackluster swoop to a character and Minho automatically knew something was off.

Minho was so smart, so perceptive. The perfect fit as Jinki's partner. They didn't match, not really (which he'd overheard maybe one time too many from bitter stylists or coordinators when he went with Minho to work, hateful words about Minho's "charity case tagalong" murmured where they thought he couldn't hear; that was their mistake, however, because he was mute, not deaf), but they fit, like the grooves of a jigsaw puzzle piece. Two adjacent pieces made for completely different designs.

Jinki brought himself to smile as he switched off the heat to the burner. He lifted the handle of the pot with one hand, a potholder steadying the bottom with the other. He set it at Minho's spot on the table, extra careful not to slosh any of the hot broth onto the clean tabletop.

It was only when Jinki returned to the table with a spoon to set in place that he glanced over and saw the rigidity in the younger's posture as he gripped the notebook paper.

The older hurriedly returned to the counter to grab his notepad and quickly scrawled, "Are you okay?" He stuck it to the side of Minho's wrist where he could see it.

Huge doe eyes looked up at him, shining with unshed moisture, brows drawn slightly upwards.

One white-knuckled hand let go of the paper and reached beside him to curl around Jinki's hips.

Jinki stumbled sideways as he was tugged, confused and feeling a bit frantic to stop Minho from crying, if that was what he was about to do.

"Sit with me," Minho said, words phrased as a question.

The older complied, sinking onto the cushion right beside Minho.

"You have to eat when you're done," he warned, not wanting his food to go to waste.

The younger didn't hesitate to wrap his arm around Jinki's shoulders, pulling him in closer with a tiny smile.

Jinki swallowed and tried to look anywhere but Minho's face or the paper in his hand. He knew the story written on the lines by heart, knew every bit of the story in between those lines, fuzzy as some memories were compared to others. He didn't want to read it again, to suffer through the years summarized into two pages front and back.

But really, he'd seen this same setting a million times already; there wasn't anything in particular that could hold his attention, not even the shelf with the photos of Minho at graduation or both of them in front of the Eiffel Tower from when they'd gone to Paris the year before.

So his eyes wandered, eventually betraying him by landing on the paper in Minho's hand.

He traced from the line on the page to Minho's eyes, watching the huge dark eyes scan over the writing, still a bit glassy, lips pressed into a thin line.

His heart plummeted and he looked at the page to avoid Minho's expression.

From what he could tell, Minho was already through the beginning section that overviewed his, put in mild terms, crippling depression. The inescapable feeling of being absolutely crushed, dreams ripped away, hope drained. Tired, weak, absolutely useless and broken down.

Sleeping for twelve hours at time and waking up completely drained. Moving sluggishly through his mother's house that he'd been forced to move back into (no voice meant no more paying job at the theater, nothing to do but sit and feel and be utterly useless), helping out with daily work, cooking food with no taste, returning to lying down and crying. Crying so much so often that his tears dried and all he could do was sob soundlessly, tearlessly. So broken that he couldn't even cry correctly anymore. Repeated thoughts and considerations that maybe he didn't belong on the planet at all anymore, that maybe he was supposed to have died in the wreck and fate was being horribly cruel by making him continue.

All part of his daily life for three entire years. The three longest, most painful years of his life.

Naturally, he'd cut off all contact with his theatre company, the people he'd considered his family for so long. It'd been a mixture two parts shame and one part desolation that caused him to shut everyone out, and he wasn't proud to admit that he'd turned off his phone for months after the accident. After he was released from the hospital, he hadn't seen anyone. Made no contact whatsoever.

It was lonely. Appallingly isolating. And still he did it to himself.

Minho's hand began to tremble.

Alarm rose in Jinki and he sat straighter, eyes going to Minho's face.

"Don't cry," he croaked out instantly, watching with distress as a tear rolled down Minho's cheek.

Minho met his eyes briefly and then pointed to the lines that caused his tears.

Jinki read it hurriedly.

His stomach filled with ice.

"You asked me before how I knew you were thinking about jumping off that bridge when we met, and this is the honest answer I never gave: I almost did the exact same thing. Two and a half years after the accident, I was so tired, so done with everything. My foot was on the ledge and my heart was pounding and I was so ready to do it, but in the end I couldn't. I was too scared to do it, I was too"

Jinki stopped reading there, feeling his own eyes flood with tears at the memories. The memory of being there the first time with every intention to jump into the freezing river beneath, and the memory of seeing Minho in the exact same position, eyes void of emotion, posture so recognizably contemplative.

He didn't regret intervening that time; he never had and he never would. He couldn't even imagine his life without Minho now.

He bit his lip so hard he could feel it splitting and taste tiny bits of blood in his mouth. "Please don't cry." His throat felt thick and raw, too many tears shed that day, too many words still to be said.

Minho laid the paper on his lap and brought both hands to his face, wiping at his eyes and then covering his face completely for a moment.

Jinki hesitantly touched his arm, unsure if he would be able to help or if he would make whatever Minho was feeling worse. He'd never seen Minho cry before, and the sight of his red face and tears rolling down his cheeks, eyes glossy, lips quivering with emotion, broke Jinki's heart and made him feel absolutely helpless.

The younger's hands brushed upward through his hair; his eyes were tinged red and his nose was the same.

"Are you okay?" Jinki asked, quietly as he could manage, still frantic to help his boyfriend, since it was his fault he was crying at all.

Minho nodded, but didn't look directly at Jinki. He picked up the paper and his eyes scanned over the final lines before he laid it aside and began to read the second sheet.

Jinki was relieved that things got better from that point. After the one and only incident where he'd been close to actually taking his own life, he started to heal. His mother finally managed to get him out of bed every day, and it was then that he started working with her at the meat shop. He didn't ask for any pay, because he'd already spent three years at her house, not paying and still using electricity, water, and eating food. He owed everything to his mother for being there to help lift him when he needed it.

It was still a meaningless existence; that fact didn't change. He wasn't happy, not in the slightest. Depression still ran through him like thick syrup through his veins, unyielding and still casting him with a dark haze. However, he started to leave the house again, usually with his mother at his side. He interacted with people, though he'd grown reserved and hateful towards the world. Hope began to rise in him when he met someone who was patient and willing enough to talk with him, however short and awkward a conversation it was. There was still an underlying pity in everything, sadness in their eyes or an unnaturally soft, gentle tone in their voice.

It still was much better than he expected.

Minho's arm slowly draped around his shoulders again and Jinki's cheeks colored when he saw which part Minho reached.

"And then I met you."

Tears began spilling over Minho's cheeks again, and Jinki couldn't do much besides lay a temperate hand on his thigh for comfort.

Watching Minho cry was a bit surreal. It'd been two years since they'd been together, along with a short span of months of knowing each other added before they began dating, and this was the first time he was seeing it. He'd seen Minho close to tears before, eyes shining and brows knitted seriously as he held them back, but had never seen him pressing his lips together and wiping his eyes, stripes of dried moisture on his cheeks, emotion so thick in his expression that it made Jinki feel so small.

It was a bit surreal, but also a bit beautiful at the same time to see this side of Minho.

His relationship with Minho changed everything. He saved a person's life, and had soon enough fallen in love with that same person. But at the same time, Minho saved his life as well. When they met, Jinki wasn't happy. He still struggled with depression, with the feelings of being useless and hopeless and horribly alone.

Minho helped him climb out of the black hole that consumed more than four years of his life, though he didn't realize it at the time.

With Minho, there was no pity, no talking to him as if he was an invalid. Minho talked to him like he was a person, regarded him with such interest, such care, that Jinki felt the beginnings of happiness again. He was finally needed, if not for therapy for Minho's problems, then as a companion. Someone wanted to be his friend after so long.

And things only got better from there.

His mother insisted on paying him for his work at the meat shop, but Jinki had nothing to spend it on. He saved his money, and added to the savings he had from before the wreck, he was able to move into an apartment shortly after meeting Minho.

It was his voice he was lacking, not his sight, but he'd fallen blindly head-over-heels for Minho, so effortlessly that it alarmed him in the beginning. He didn't think he could fall in love after everything that happened, didn't think he was a person worth loving in return. He knew that Minho made him happy for the first time in so long, made him want to be a better person, made him want to get better, to do anything to make him happy in return.

Minho returning his feelings was something he thought was beyond his wildest dreams, and yet there they were.

The story written on the notebook paper had a lackluster ending, Jinki thought, but that was only because it had no ending. There was no neat little stopping point for him to wrap things up. He was constantly changing, improving, healing. Growing happier and happier each day. Falling more and more in love with the man at his side. There was no way to tie that into a neat little conclusion at the bottom of the page and sign off.

"Jinki-hyung," Minho murmured, laying the second sheet atop the first. He turned toward Jinki and looked him in the eye, his own swimming with more emotions than Jinki could begin to recognize.

He was jerked into a near-crushing embrace then, Minho's face buried into his shoulder.

He didn't know how to react or what Minho was thinking at all, so he just reciprocated the hug, trying not to get choked up for the nth time that day.

"Hyung," Minho lifted his head to speak into his ear, words quiet and more nasally than Jinki was used to hearing because of his tears. It was shocking, in a way, to hear his voice like this, so thick and laden with sentiment. "Listen to me for a minute, okay?"

Jinki nodded silently and tried to pull away, only to be held more tightly in place.

"You are the strongest, most amazing person I've met in my entire life."

His brows flew to just about his hairline and his hands stopped their aimless paths running along the contours of his back.

"I don't know anyone who could have possibly gone through so much and still come out of it like you have, so unbelievably kind and caring. You don't deserve even a little bit of what you've been forced to suffer through." Minho adjusted his arms around his back and brought him the tiniest bit closer.

Drops of moisture rolled down Jinki's cheeks one after the other, silently and of their own accord.

"I wish I could take it all back. I wish I could go back and stop anything bad from happening to you." He started to stroke his hair, relaxing him and calming his shaking shoulders.

He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what he could say.

"You're amazing. You're so amazing, Lee Jinki."

The fact that he dropped the honorific at the end of his full name made every word before it seem so much more intimate, and Jinki found himself clinging to his shirt to try desperately to hold him tighter.

"I'm glad you're still here, that you didn't jump on the bridge when you wanted to. It sounds selfish, but I'm so glad." He tucked a piece of his hair behind Jinki's ear and pressed his lips to the hollow beneath it for a brief second. "So glad that I met you, so lucky to have you here with me."

Jinki shivered, sentiment on high.

"You've come so far just since I've known you, Jinki. I'm so proud of you. For everything you've been through, for every bit of recovery, for staying such an incredibly beautiful person in spite of it all."

He was shaking uncontrollably by the end.

Minho touched his lips to the side of his neck. "I won't let anything hurt you again, okay?"

Jinki backed away then, his cheeks still wet and only getting wetter. He lifted his hands and held both sides of Minho's face in place as he kissed him softly, gently. It was his only means of expressing his appreciation of every word, of letting Minho know how much they meant to him and how much he meant to him. He wanted to write novels in that moment about how much he loved this man, and in those novels would be chapters of how healed he felt because of him, chapters about how lost he would be without him at his side, more about how lucky he was that he was so accepting, and a whole section dedicated to how positive he was that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Minho.

The way that Minho kissed him in return made him think that maybe he felt the exact same way.

It wasn't often that Jinki saw Minho legitimately angry, so Jinki wasn't exactly trained in how to handle him when he saw him stomping around the apartment with a rolled-up magazine in his hand.

"Are you all right?" he asked, words slow and measured, hand hovering in the air, halfway between touching his arm and retracting it.

Minho's eyes narrowed and he dropped the magazine unceremoniously on the table, the cover curling and distorting the photo of him posing shirtless on the front. "I was misquoted."

Jinki cocked his head and carefully slid the magazine to where he could see it, flipping through until he found Minho's section.

"They hardly ever ask me anything to print, but the one time they do, they don't even use my real answer," he said, voice low and bitter.

The older scanned the page's text section until he found the single question and answer.

"What is one thing you find the most beautiful?" the magazine asked, in lieu of the photoshoot's concept of natural beauty.

The quote by Minho at the bottom was, "A loved one's smile,"

His brows furrowed. "That wasn't your answer?"

"No," he said bluntly, resting his head on his hand, cheek pressing into his palm, brows knitted together.

"What was?"

In one smooth movement, Minho's lips parted, his cheeks tinted pink, and he snatched the magazine back. "Nothing."

Jinki's mouth gaped and his mind raced to think of what he said wrong.

Minho stood from the table and crossed to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

"Why is Minho so upset about the magazine?" Jinki wrote and showed Kibum, hoping to shed some light on the situation when Minho wasn't there to blow up about it again.

Kibum seemed equally confused as Jinki was, reclining in a previously-vacant makeup chair while his clients were taking photos. "He's upset about it?"

"He said he was misquoted," Jinki explained, handing the blue post-it to Kibum, who proceeded to fold it into a triangle shape.

"What did the magazine say?" he asked, toying with the sticky corners of the note.

Jinki thought for a moment so he could remember the exact wording. "The question was 'What is the thing you find most beautiful?' and his answer was 'A loved one's smile,'" he said aloud, keeping his voice low, not favoring writing out something that lengthy.

Kibum looked blankly at the cosmetics strewn across the vanity tabletop for a moment to remember. Jinki thought he saw a glint of something in his eye and he unconsciously leaned away before Kibum could grab hold of an eye shadow brush and use Jinki's face as his canvas.

"Why is he upset? That's a nice thing to say," Jinki said, troubled.

Something lit on Kibum's face in memory and almost instantly softened again. "Oh, he was misquoted."

Jinki cocked his head to the side in question.

Kibum shook his head fondly, a smile tugging at his lips. "He didn't say 'a loved one's smile.'" He paused for a moment to chuckle, "He said 'my boyfriend's smile.'"

By the time Jinki wriggled out of Kibum's grasp, Minho was in the makeup chair beside Jonghyun, eyes closed, smile prominent as he chatted with him.

Jinki smiled fondly and hovered back, out of the way of anyone working, where he could still hear Minho's low voice traveling through the space.

Judging by the grin on Minho's face and the matching one on Jonghyun's, they were enjoying themselves, snarky one-liners being passed from one to the other.

There was a pause between the two and Jinki considered walking over to them so he wouldn’t just be standing and lurking, but he didn't want to interrupt the artist's work or distract Minho.

The conversation started again, and Jinki was rooted in place.

"So what do you think of this concept?" Jonghyun asked, a sarcastic smile on his lips, "Bachelors. How original is that?"

Minho chuckled. "I don't mind it. At least it's simple."

"You don't really fit this concept anymore though,"

Minho glared at him sideways, eliciting an irritated grunt from the makeup artist who very nearly smeared his eyeliner. "Neither do you."

"Tell that to Kibum," Jonghyun grinned. "He's still convinced that there's nothing going on between us."

"But you two are-"

"Intimate?" Jonghyun supplied, much too proud of the fact.

"Yeah, that."

He shrugged. "He'll come around eventually. Him and his dumb professionalism." He paused and shook his head. "Either way, I'm not the one that's pretty much married now."

Jinki jolted slightly as he was indirectly injected into the conversation. He suddenly felt far guiltier of snooping, and considered finding Kibum again so he wouldn't be eavesdropping.

Given the option of Kibum fawning over him and trying to sneak some clothes from the racks for him to model or put eyeliner on him again (the first and only occurrence of applying the kohl remained to that day an event that made Jinki blush to remember, considering Minho's immediate and quite… passionate reaction to it, and how urgently he wanted to get home when he saw the makeup), he decided he could suffer the guilt.

Minho pursed his lips, but with closed eyes, he couldn't do much else.

"I'm just saying," Jonghyun began flippantly, "you and Jinki-hyung are pretty serious nowadays, aren't you?"

"We've always been serious," Minho murmured, mouth barely moving.

"Do you two live together?"

"Not yet."

Jinki's eyes widened. So, Minho was planning on moving in with him? That logically-deduced thought sent a thrill through him, made him smile.

"When's the wedding?" Jonghyun asked, a playful smile on his lips.

Minho laughed good-naturedly, sending a mock-glare towards Jonghyun.

Jinki was sure that his smile was even bigger than either of theirs.

"What's this?" Minho asked, setting the magazine on the table in front of Jinki, promptly turning to the page with his interview.

Jinki hid his mischievous smile as he looked at Minho innocently.

"Did Kibum tell you?" he asked with narrowed eyes.

Jinki shrugged, smile betraying him.

He sighed heavily and picked the magazine up, covering his blush as he walked into the living room again.

The older felt quite pleased with himself; he thought it was clever of him, really, to stick a post-it into the page with his own question and answer written in.

"Jinki-ssi, what do you find most beautiful?"

"The fact that my boyfriend is too embarrassed to tell me what he actually said" was marked out with a single line and underneath it was written, "Choi Minho."

It was cheesy, sure, but Minho's blush was worth it.

And at least he wasn't angry about it anymore.

"You know what I hate? Winter," Minho said, grimacing as he sprawled out on the couch, head in Jinki's lap.

The older combed his fingers through Minho's freshly-dyed hair, marveling the rich brown color if it and how soft it still felt between his fingers.

Minho looked troubled despite his relaxed position and shut eyes. "You know what sucks? Everything is in winter."

Jinki tugged a piece of his hair in amusement.

"Your birthday, my birthday, Christmas, Valentine's, our anniversary… We have nothing to celebrate in any other season. It's all condensed into this one." He scrunched his nose in distaste. "And it's the worst one, too."

Jinki playfully tapped the tip of his nose to relax it again.

"Maybe we'll have to start making up holidays to celebrate. One each month. Like… Jinki's Bedhead Day. Or Minho's Day Off After Fashion Week. That's an occasion in itself." He grinned, mood lifting.

Jinki rolled his eyes and decided just to humor his boyfriend and his utter loathing for winter this time. He wasn't up for trying to convince him for the nth time that it really wasn't terrible, because the cold weather could be countered with hot chocolate and sitting together under a blanket. It wasn't worth Minho's grumbling about how they could do that when it was warm outside, too.

"I don't want to go to a party," Minho whined, more than a bit childishly, planting himself on the couch and crossing his arms. "I want to stay home with you."

"I'm going with you," Jinki rolled his eyes, kneeling down beside the arm of the couch and stretching his arm so he could fix a piece of his hair behind his ear, the strands having fallen naturally from his ponytail, "It's for your birthday, Minho, you have to go."

"Kibum's parties are so boring. All we do is stand around and brag about how fashionable we are." He pursed his lips, eyes pleading at Jinki.

"I'll be with you," Jinki said reassuringly, patting his shoulder, "If it's boring, we can leave early."

Minho seemed unconvinced. "You promise?"

He smiled. "Promise."

They did go home a bit early, only after Minho was done parading Jinki around for a good two hours, proudly introducing him to everyone in attendance.

It was embarrassing, yes, considering he was being shown off to all of these intimidatingly beautiful people and more than once receiving skeptical or incredulous looks from the shallower attendees, but Jinki knew he and Minho didn't match and was used to those sorts of looks.

It was Minho's birthday, Minho's party (despite, of course, the fact that Kibum seemed to be having more fun than anyone there, Jonghyun having to shadow him as the number of shots he took increased and the layers of clothing he wore began to decrease). He was blissfully ignorant to the foul looks in Jinki's direction, so Jinki didn't have the heart to bring his attention to it.

It was cute, in a way, and more than a little bit heartwarming in its own sense, to realize just how proud Minho was of him.

"You made this?" Minho's eyes lit up and his eyes moved from the small-and mostly dismal-looking-cake on the table to Jinki and back, having been herded to the kitchen as soon as they got home.

He nodded sheepishly, because honestly, the cake was really unattractive. Supposed to be circular but not quite, coated with chocolate icing and speared with twenty-six red candles. It very much deserved a ribbon for participation, but wasn't exactly the best in show.

"Hyung…" Minho's eyes filled with affection and his arms began to spread in invitation for a hug.

Jinki rolled his eyes modestly and steered Minho to his seat at the table in front of the cake.

"I'll light it," Minho offered hurriedly when he saw Jinki grab the lighter, and Jinki could only manage to be irritated for a split second because it was Minho's birthday.

He resigned to stand behind Minho's chair, bracing hands on both sides of the back before he decided on a better alternative of leaning down for a warm hug.

Jinki rocked side to side on the balls of his feet, swaying Minho's shoulders with him, as his arms were loosely held around his neck. After a deep breath and a quick internal prayer for his voice to work with him for just a minute, he parted his lips and began to sing for the first time in seven years.

"Happy birthday to you..." His voice was quiet, mouth only centimeters from Minho's ear, heart jumping in his chest, "Happy birthday to you..." This felt so nice, to use his voice like this again, for something as important to him as this simple song, "Happy birthday dear Minho..." He could feel a shiver shake Minho's shoulders, and he gave an empathetic smile in response, "Happy birthday to you."

There was a pause, and Jinki was suddenly struck with irrational worry.

"You have a beautiful voice," Minho appeased his anxiety, turning his head so he could kiss Jinki's cheek.

The older shied away from him in embarrassment, heart thrumming and eyes growing hot because he was no less than exhilarated to sing again, short-lived as it was. "Make a wish before the candles burn out," he said, voice going in and out. It was understandable; he couldn't manage to be disappointed by it.

Minho turned back, and there was only a split-second pause before he let out a gust of breath and blew out all twenty-six of the candles.

Looking thoroughly pleased with himself, he smiled at Jinki before cradling his cheek for a quick kiss.

"What'd you wish for?" Jinki asked, laying his chin on his own forearm, arms still folded snugly around Minho's shoulders. His tone was barely more than a whisper now as he tried not to overwork his vocal cords.

"I'm not supposed to say, but…" he lowered his voice and angled his head so he could speak into Jinki's ear, "Between you and me…"

Jinki leaned forward in anticipation.

"I wished that you would be able to sing to me more often."

Tears leaked out of the corner of Jinki's eyes and Minho kissed them away just as quickly as they came.

"Don't cry, we have cake to eat." He smiled sweetly, but all Jinki could do was hug his shoulders more tightly and nestle into the side of his neck, unable to express the impossible amount of love he felt for Minho in that moment.

[next]